During my pregnancy, my horse would press her huge ear against my belly and quietly neigh—but one day she suddenly struck my stomach with her muzzle, and later I discovered something horrifying.
We had our own farm, where my husband and I grew vegetables and fruits, cared for cows, chickens, pigs, and sheep.
But our greatest treasure was our horse—intelligent, noble, and loyal. She wasn’t just a helper on the farm; she became a true friend, almost like a family member.
When I found out I was pregnant and that we were expecting a son, the world around me changed. I began to notice that the horse was behaving differently.
She would lean toward me, pressing her huge ear against my belly as if listening. Sometimes she would quietly neigh, as if laughing with joy, and gently nudge me with her muzzle.
It seemed she knew about the baby even more than I did. For all seven months of my pregnancy, she stayed close, guarding me, watching over every step I took, never leaving my side for a moment.
But one day, everything changed. The horse suddenly became restless and aggressive. She hit my belly with her muzzle—not hard, but unpleasantly. I recoiled and shouted:
— Ow! What are you doing?
But she didn’t stop. Again and again, her muzzle and teeth pressed against my belly, as if she was trying to tell me something. Finally, she bit me—gently, but in a way that took my breath away with fear.
I was shaking with fright. My first thought was terrifying: “Something has happened to the baby… the horse harmed him.”
In a panic, my husband and I rushed to the hospital. The doctors immediately began examinations. And what they discovered shocked everyone.
It turned out our son was developing a severe heart defect. Previous check-ups hadn’t detected it, and no one suspected that the situation was critical.
But now, just weeks before delivery, the baby’s condition began to deteriorate rapidly. If we hadn’t sought help in time, the consequences could have been tragic.
— “It’s a miracle you came today,” the doctor said. “The baby needs urgent care.”
And then I thought of the horse. Her strange behavior, her desperate attempts to get my attention… She had sensed something that even the doctors hadn’t seen.
After long days of worry, tests, and treatment, we managed to save the baby’s life. I returned home and went straight to her, my faithful horse.
She stood calmly, her head lowered, as if waiting for me. I hugged her neck and pressed my cheek against her warm coat:
— “Thank you, my girl. You saved my son.”
The horse quietly neighed and once again touched her ear to my belly—but now it was gentle and tender, as if she knew that the worst was behind us.
