I’ve just returned from celebrating Dragon Fest, the annual birthday celebration of Phil Cohen, Wakefield’s poet laureate, and coincidentally, Wakefield’s very own dragon. If you are questioning my sanity, I encourage you to read the tale of Wakefield’s dragon here.
Long ago, when our children were small, our favourite story used to be There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon by Jack Kent. I knew then, as I know most assuredly now, that dragons exist. But perhaps they are not the only mythical animals to grace the village of Wakefield.
Walking my dog early one morning, I met Marta, cradling a snowball in her arms. The dog showed a keen interest in the lump of snow, so I asked “Where are you taking your snowball, Marta?”. “They’re a baby unicorn” Marta replied without any hint of pretence. “Yes, of course, silly me”. I replied.
I have learned never to argue with terrorists or toddlers, so I made the appropriate sweet “kissy” noises and approached closer to take a peek. At first, I thought the snowball might be a baby dragon. After all, as I mentioned, it’s that time of year when Wakefield’s dragon arises from their summer slumber and comes out to play in the village. But, I had just walked from the river and seen no signs of dragon breath. The snowball, I mean baby unicorn, was very white and a little fluffy, so maybe Marta was right. The closer I got, I could see that it had a pink furry tinge, with glittery strands of hair, and then a tiny turquoise hoof emerged from under Marta’s armpit.
The snowball, I mean baby unicorn, was very white and a little fluffy, so maybe Marta was right. I crept even closer and could see that it had a pink furry tinge, with glittery strands of hair, and then a tiny turquoise hoof emerged from under Marta’s armpit.
Unicorns are ungulates, aren’t they? So, probably precocial, capable of moving around and grazing shortly after birth. I tried to assess the age of Snowball. They were beginning to raise a little head and blink their eyes open. They had the longest lashes I had ever seen. Baby ungulates need their mothers, don’t they? Surely, they nurse for quite a few months. Where were Snowball’s parents? Were they close by, foraging, like the deer who leave their babies in a nest at the end of my garden while they check out my compost heap and the budding hostas?
I grabbed my cell phone. Marta scowled. No photos of Snowball are allowed, apparently. But I did manage to google zebras, perhaps a close relation of unicorns? From Google, I learned zebra mothers gather in small groups when they have younglings, leaving their babies in “kindergartens” under the care of a territorial male. I began to panic.
Was an angry male unicorn about to burst out of the trees and spear us with his horn? Now I don’t know about you, but I have never seen a unicorn in Wakefield, and never heard of a unicorn being aggressive. But I’m thinking, there’s always a first.
Snowball didn’t seem to have a horn, so I’m guessing unicorns are born without them. Actually, the alternative is too painful to contemplate. I also learned from Google that unicorn horns have miraculous healing properties, so I confess to being extremely concerned for Snowball’s future.
I know that in some countries, velvet antlers of farmed deer and elk are harvested (sawn off) to be ground into powder and made into supplements to treat arthritis or to boost the immune system. At one time, elk farms in Canada harvested antlers, mainly for the Chinese market. Some years ago, an outbreak of chronic wasting disease ran through the farmed elk population, bringing an end to the practice here. But honestly, I dread to think what would happen if word got out about Wakefield’s unicorn.
I asked Marta where she was taking Snowball, but out of an abundance of caution, I’m not going to tell you. Only that Marta knew exactly where Snowball’s parents lived and was on a mission to reunite them.
With thanks to the young lady and her Dad who introduced me to my first baby unicorn, and to the Smith-Jackson family for their kind help with the images.
Gillie Griffin, January, 2024
Wandering Wakefield 