Dudley

by

Diana Walker 

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned.  No copyright infringement on the original work is intended.  Copyright Diana Walker 2007.




DIANA
“It’s Gretchen.  Dudley's colicked.”
 
I’d just heard one of the two most dreaded words in a horsewoman’s vocabulary.
 
“I’ll be right there.”  I’m certainly glad my cell disconnects when I close it; in my rush to leave that was the only action I could manage.
 
I grabbed my keys from the computer desk and kissed Terry simultaneously.  “Gretchen has a colt down.  I’ll be there all night.  I’ll call you when I get home tomorrow.”
 
I was almost out the door when Terry yelled.  “Wait!  I’ll go with you.”
 
This was so much easier when I lived alone.  “I can’t wait for you.  I love you.”
 
I was already going through my supply checklist when Truck’s front tires touched the road asphalt at the end of the drive, and I made my left towards the main road.  There was more light coming from the front of the house than normal as I drove past it; the front door was open, and Terry’s form was silhouetted in it.  From the way he stood, filling the door with his hands at his waist, he looked pissed as hell.  I’d explain and beg forgiveness tomorrow if I had the energy.
 
I had my duffle coat in the back seat and an extra pair of barn shoes in the cargo space.  I couldn’t remember if I had a pair of long johns back there or not.  The extra clothes wouldn’t make that much difference.  Barns stay remarkably warm, and Gretchen and I would be walking off and on all night anyway so I’d stay warm through exercise. 
 
I knew I’d been Gretchen’s second call; her first had been to the vet.  Colic is the generalized term for any kind of upset stomach in a horse; it’s the symptom to what really ails the horse.  All horses always have some kind of gut noises – gurgles, rumbles, burbles, churnings, percolating sounds; that’s logical as horses are always grazing so their digestion is ongoing.  When those sounds stop, that’s your first indication of serious trouble.  You first know a horse has a belly-ache when he starts opening his mouth unnaturally.  As the pain worsens, the horse starts looking at his sides; then he starts trying to bite where it hurts.  He’ll be restless, lying down and standing back up in odd positions, sometimes rubbing his butt on whatever hard surface is available.  When the pain becomes excruciating, he’ll lie down and then start rolling.  The rolling can add a twisted gut to whatever else is wrong. 
 
Colic can be caused by anything from a momentary distress to an impaction to a gastric torsion.  Sometimes the cure can be as easy as walking the horse for some period of time – a few minutes or intermittently for six.  Horses can die of colic after a long, agonizing battle to save them.  In their efforts to find relief on their own, all the abnormal movements cause toxins to be released into their systems; sometimes the infection kills them before the initial problem does.  Surgery is often cost prohibitive and only successful when dealing with a telescoped or twisted intestine.  There’s no guarantee the surgical recuperation won’t kill the horse anyway. 
 
Laminitis is the second feared word in a horsewoman’s vocabulary and can be a complication in recovery from colic surgery.  Think about Kentucky Derby winner and Triple Crown hopeful Barbaro developing laminitis from not being able to distribute his weight evenly.  The infection was why he was finally put down, not that horribly shattered leg that had healed.
 
Gretchen’s colt, Dudley, was a cute, little guy and incredibly sweet.  He’d been a June foal, not a problem for the dressage horse he was bred to be, but he’d struggled in the summer heat.  Only racing thoroughbreds have their birthdays set at January 1^st.  By the time our horses are starting their careers, racehorses are used up.  Dudley was going to be a handsome, big boy when he grew up …if he grew up.  
 
Everyone had missed his birth.  His mom hadn’t shown any signs she was about to deliver when Gretchen left for work; she stopped at home for lunch to check on her – no sign.  When Gretchen came home from work at three, there he was – mousy brown with black legs, his newborn ruffles still on his hindquarters – with the rest of the herd standing outside Stormy Star’s enclosure, checking out the new kid, and Star doing her best to stay between her baby and the others.  In her effort to protect him, she was making his life difficult.  He was hungry and trying to nurse but had to keep walking and trying to latch onto her tit at the same time.  You try figuring out what to do with new legs that are too long for the rest of you and eating at the same time – damn near impossible.  Experienced brood mares are a sneaky bunch.  They rarely deliver when humans are around, and we could help.
 
Horses, being prey animals, are not happy about lying down or showing illness or injury around predators.  Mountain lions are clearly out to eat horses; humans, on the other hand, might be, at least in the horse mind.  Whole chapters in horse/human relations books are devoted to how we act in some of the same ways a predator might.
 

• Predators like to jump from a high place onto a horse’s back to sink its claws in, causing maximum damage and landing on one of the few places a horse can’t see.  What do people do?  We try to get on their backs.  Horses are very suspicious of anything taller than they are or in the 10° in their range of vision they can’t see. 
• Predators also have fast movements.  People are also known to move their hands quickly.  You can see why a water jug handed quickly to a mounted rider is a scary proposition.
• Some predators try to chase down horses or stalk them.  What do we do?  We go into a paddock and herd them from behind. 

Even after all these years of domestication, people confuse the hell out of horses; are we predators?  Ask any horse; sometimes it seems like it to them. 
 
There’s an old horseman’s tale that you can see what a horse’s conformation will be like at three days, three weeks, three months, and/or three years.  Terry and I met Dudley, not his name at the time, when he was three days old at the same time the rest of my horsey friends did.  When a foal is born, everyone tries to meet him on his third day to get a sense of what he’ll be like when he grows up.  Dudley would be a well-built horse.  Nice bone, short coupled, gorgeous neck, big barreled – in short, a Terry Thorne of the horse world.
 
 
GRETCHEN
The vet was already here when Brownie, being the good farm dog he is, alerted me to Dee's arrival.  He knows her truck, but until she steps out and greets him, attention must be paid.  Anyone who doesn’t know him would be concerned about the hackles standing up, and he may scare off the odd insurance salesman or evangelist, but anyone who knows Brownie knows he’d show a stranger where the expensive stuff was in exchange for a good scratch behind his ears. 
 
I knew when Dee opened her door because Brownie quit barking.  She walked up, hung her head into the foaling stall where Dudley, Star, Dr. Dave, and I were gathered, and quietly listened to what he was saying.  “Heart rate is up, but I can pick up some gut sounds with the stethoscope.  They’re faint, but they’re there.  Let’s give him some Banamine and see if that helps.”
 
Before Dr. Dave could lift his scope from Dudley’s side, Dee was across the barn aisle way and bringing his medication carryall to him.  “Oh, hi, Dee, didn’t hear you come up.”
 
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be.  I’m the muscle tonight.  You’re supposed to be paying attention to Dudders.”
 
The Banamine injection went easily.  Within a minute all three of us were outside the stall watching it take effect.  Dudley's down to just pawing instead of trying to throw himself on the ground and rolling in pain.
 
"Dee, you need to think about having some Banamine on hand with the number of horses you have around the place now.  You, too, Gretchen.  If we get the little guy through this one, he may do it again.”

Dee answered him first.  “I don’t want to mask any symptoms when you get there.  I have enough hands around the place now what with Junior, his boys, and the boarders.  I can keep a colic walking until you get there.  I do keep bute paste around.”  Of course Dee keeps bute paste on hand for emergencies; Banamine requires needles, and Dee doesn’t do needles.
 
“That’s precisely why I don’t mind suggesting you, both of you, have some.  If the horse can walk it off, I never hear from you after the first phone call.  You’d wait until that second phone call to inject the Banamine.”

I needed to come clean.  “I’ve got some, Dave, but since this is my first foal, I wanted an expert.” 
 
Dudley stretched his back legs out and stayed parked, like an American Saddlebred.  His new stance seemed to help the pain. 
 
Dr. Dave pushed away from the stall.  “I’ve got another call near here.  I’ll run over there and come back.  Some shots I didn’t get to today.  We’ll see if the gut sounds have improved by then.  If not, I’ll dose him.  Shouldn’t be gone over an hour, hour-and-a-half.”
 
I left Dee watching Dudley and Star.  That’s all we could do now, and I walked Dr. Dave to his truck and waved him off, knowing Dudley and Star were in good hands.  For as many horses as we have in the area, we don’t have many large animal vets; a little attention goes a long way in keeping Dr. Dave’s good opinion. 
 
Dudley was moving around at his mother’s side; he was trying to nurse.  “That’s a good sign.”
 
“Yeah, but one of us needs to go in and hold her still.  Star never struck me as the maternal type.”
 
“Dee, you’ve said the same thing about yourself, and right now, all you want to do is get your hands on Dudley."

She smiled at being found out.  There was wetness in the outer corners of her eyes, but that wasn’t stopping her from slipping into the stall and walking to Star’s head.  She started crooning to the mare and scratching her jaw and neck.  Star settled down, and Dudley latched on.
 
One of the very nice things about having company when nursing a sick horse is that you have lots of time to have quiet talks.  There’s not much else to do. 
 
“Is Terry home?”
 
“Yeah, he’s been home for a while.”
 
“I’m sorry I pulled you away from him.  Where was his last trip?”
 
“Not a problem; not many of his clients want him visiting during the holidays.  We went out to LA together, spent a few days on the beach in Mexico.  By now he knows where he stands on the pecking order, and I think he accepts it.  He wanted to come, but I was out of there too fast.  Kinda like when he left for Nigeria only in reverse.”  Dudley stopped nursing and dropped his head for a little nap.  That was fine, but I opened the stall door a crack to rush in should he give any indication he wanted to lay down.  Horses’ digestive tracts work much better standing up, and his wasn’t working all that well right now.
 
“This last batch of kidnappings?”
 
“No, the ones before.”
 
“I don’t know how you do it.”
 
Dee chuckled softly, and Star nickered in response.  “Look who’s talking.  Mark’s a cop.”
 
“I forget those days.  Life’s a lot different now that he’s a county mountie.  Particularly out here in quiet country.”
 
Terry and Mark get along well beyond sharing their lives with horsewomen.  They often go target shooting together and watch American football together.  They rib each other about the relative merits of rugby and American football. 
 
Terry even gave Mark some good career advice.  Mark was having difficulty with his lieutenant; after much urging from me about talking to Dee, Mark finally called.  She wasn’t home.  Terry and he arranged to meet at AK’s, the local sports bar, and talked over a few beers.  I don’t know what Terry said, but I’ve seen such a turn around in Mark’s attitude.  Mark was a bit of a slacker before, but now he’s looking for ways to make his work more valuable to the sheriff and the citizens.
 
“How’d you meet Mark?”
 
“He was my patient.”  Dee tried to keep her face neutral, but she had the beginnings of disapproval on her face.  “Oh, don’t look at me like that.  He screwed up his shoulder climbing a fence.  Six months after he was released, he ran into me at Parkland.  We started going out.  Six months later, we were married.
 
“How’d you get Terry interested in horses?”
 
She smiled softly as she always does when talking about him.  “The weekend I met him, I gave him an ultimatum.  We were in the middle of our first fight.”  They fought when they first met?  Even when I met him as his physical therapist rehabbing him from the gunshot wound, I didn’t see the normal stress most couples have.  “It was basically, ‘If you’re planning on sticking around, get used to horses.’  I never expected him to want his own nor spend so much time riding.  I should have guessed; he never does anything halfway.”
 
“Mark doesn’t mind doing the manual labor; he built the barn, but he hates grooming and riding.”
 
“Terry’s just the opposite.  I think he and Buck have solved the problems of the world.  Terry could be a good rider if he rode more consistently.  His travel doesn’t let him.”
 
Brownie started barking, probably Dr. Dave’s return.  Mark was working the overnight shift and wouldn’t be back until morning.  The engine sound coming down the drive didn’t have the distinctive diesel sound Dr. Dave’s truck makes; the motor sounded hot like a sports car.  Dee started frowning and with a subtle gesture asked me to come into the stall.  We passed on the threshold.
 
“I hate to have anyone else see me groveling.  Terry may be steaming that I ran off and left him.”
 
From my vantage point at Star’s head, when he came into the pool of light the outside bulb provided, he didn’t look angry, but then I’ve never seen Terry angry.  I doubt many people have.
 
Dee met him and edged him into the gloom and turned him sideways; she wanted to keep one eye on Dudley.  I kept a hand on Star, one eye on Dudley, and one eye on my helper.  Woowee!  If that’s the way he looks and kisses her when he’s mad, his hello when he’s glad to see her must be XXX rated.  Brownie even sat down and watched them.
 
One nice thing about living in the country, sound carries.  I could hear almost everything they said. 
 
“I thought you might be angry.”
 
“Why would I be?  It’s not like I haven’t left you in the lurch before.”
 
“I think that’s the first time I’ve told you no.  I had no idea how you’d react.  I’m sorry I didn’t explain more.  With a horse down, I didn’t have time.”
 
He shrugged down and rested his forehead on hers, his forearms resting on her shoulders.  “I know, Lady.”  Their soft smiles to each other convinced me Mark wouldn’t have to come home to answer a domestic disturbance call.  “How’s Dudders?”
 
I wondered which one of them started calling Dudley ‘Dudders’ first?
 
“He’s had a pain shot, and he’s sleeping right now.  He nursed for a bit.  The vet will be back in a little while.  We’ve been standing around watching him.”

Dudley was starting to wake; he was swaying on his feet.  I left Star’s head to provide support and catch him if he decided to lie down.  Dee was beside me with her arms ready to keep his hindquarters up; Terry stood in the open stall door blocking Star's escape.
 
These are two fast, quiet people.

Dudley steadied on his feet but began looking back at his left flank.  The short-term relief of the Banamine was wearing off.
 
 
TERRY
It had taken me longer to join Diana than I’d intended.  Whilst the dogs were eating their dinner, I’d made sandwiches as Diana left before we’d eaten.  On the evening horse check that Diana normally does before bed, I’d grabbed the cots from the tack room.  As I loaded the supplies into the Porsche, I saw Okie grab Holly’s substantial neck and tug her into the front of his doghouse.  He’d stay warm tonight; I can only hope Holly doesn’t overheat.
 
Gretchen addressed me with the same quiet, insistent tone Diana uses when a horse emergency is about to break out.  There is no mistaking the tone; it's the barn equivalent of a DI screaming in your face.
 
“Terry, get me two lead ropes.  They’re hanging on the wall behind you.”  Gretchen’s barn is as tidy as ours is, with the most urgent equipment readily available.
 
With two steps I had the lead ropes in hand; with another two, they were to Gretchen and Diana and being attached to Star and Dudders’ halters.  Diana began leading Star with her head turned so Dudders was always in her sight.  Gretchen was having a harder time of moving the colt along.  Dudders' belly hurt too much to move.  A soft call from his mum was what he needed.  He took a hesitant step to join her, looked back to his side, took another step with his neck flexed, and walked an oblong round their double stall.  Star was dancing a bit; her baby was hurt, and Diana wasn’t letting her be close to him.  I know I saw Star’s foot land on Diana’s right one; there was possibly a second time.  The bedding is so deep in there or Diana’s so intent on what she’s doing, her own discomfort is unnoticed.
 
On their third circle inside the stall, Gretchen issued another order.  “Terry, close the doors at the far end, then come back and close the right hand door on the other.”
 
I was only too happy to oblige.  Gretchen and Diana were dancing a well-choreographed waltz round the stall so that they needed no verbal communication; three sets of eyes were on Dudders – Gretchen, Diana, and Star.  The little guy didn’t know it, but he was leading the dance.  Eventually one or the other of the women will tell me why my action was important and why they began walking in the barn aisle way.  If no discussion is forthcoming, I’ll take Diana’s book on colic with me on my next trip. 
 
Once in the aisle, their slow walk was not such an oblong.  Dudders didn’t have to bend his middle so much.  That had to help him.  Diana continued to keep Star’s head bent so she could see her baby, and Diana sped or retarded her walk based on where Dudders was in relation to Star; five to eight feet behind her seemed to be Star’s tolerance.  More space than that between Mum and son, and Diana had a nervous horse to control. 
 
I clearly would be in the way on their return trip.  As Diana’s eventing rules state, “Do not stand in the trail.  Riders will run you down, and no one will tell on them.”  It applies with a sick horse as well with a few modifications.  There was nothing for it but to leave my arse out in the chilling night air.
 
Every few steps Dudders would stop, look to his left side, and then stretch his hind legs out behind him.  With Gretchen’s urgings he’d start the cavalcade moving again; Diana and Gretchen would begin breathing once more.
 
         
DR. DAVE
The Porsche I’ve seen at Dee's is here.  Good, they have reinforcements.  Tonight may be my introduction to the always-absent Terry Thorne.  Dee's never spoken about him, but her boarders have been more than eager to describe him to me.  If only the Buckskin gelding could tell me about him, I’d know better what to expect.  No man can be as jovial, strong, and debonair as Dee's boarders describe.  He sounds like an Australian James Bond.  “But better,” rings in my ears from the last time I was there.  I’d shaken my head then; I shook my head now as I gathered my equipment.
 
I’m at The Hawthorne twice a year for shots.  That’s it.  If I relied on Dee and Gretchen to earn my living, I’d go broke.  My other clients are not nearly as meticulous as they are in stable and pasture management.  Many of my calls are based on situations that could have easily been avoided.  A foal colic?  This sounds like a genetic or chronic problem.
 
“G’day.  Terry Thorne.  What can I carry?”  I’m used to female adoration at the boarding stables I have as clients – everywhere but The Hawthorne.  At most barns, I’m treated like a god, the bringer of miracles, but not at Dee's; Thorne is my competition.  As much as I wanted to dislike him, I couldn’t. 
 
“Dave Kelker.”  I pointed to the coiled plastic tubing I was hoping not to use; he threaded it onto his shoulder and picked up one of the carryalls.  I grabbed the other two, and we headed to the barn.  From the human silence and the clip clop of horses’ feet, the little guy hadn’t pooped yet.
 
“How’s he doing?”

Dee led the mare in as wide a circle as a barn will allow to head back towards me.  I’ll never know how horse owners do it; they know within a quarter of an inch how wide the aisle is. 
 
Gretchen began talking after the little guy stopped the second time.  “He nursed for a bit, took a nap standing up, but after the Banamine wore off, he started looking at his flanks again.”
 
“How long have you been walking him?”
 
Gretchen and Dee looked at each other blankly.  That’s not unusual for owners to forget.  Gretchen could tell me within a few beats what his heart rate and respiration are, but they pay no attention to time.  I could calculate it based on when I left. 
 
A quiet, confident, male voice said, “Forty-five minutes counting the circles in the stall.  Thirty minutes out here.” 
 
That fit with when I gave him the shot.  Dee had the mare next to the stalls; the mare could care less that Terry was rubbing on her neck and shoulders.  Gretchen had the colt beside me; I listened for gut sounds.  There were fewer than before.  His temperature was fine; at least we didn’t have an infection …yet.  His heart beat and respirations were still a little rapid but fine.  I pinched his neck to check his hydration.  The skin didn’t snap back into shape quickly.  “Has he had any water yet?”
 
Gretchen responded, “No.”  Terry was already moving to the water bucket on the floor.
 
“Won’t need that, Terry.  I’ll give him an IV to get some hydration into him.  We might need you for an IV stand, though.”
 
“No wurries.”
 
I wish I had his optimism about this case.  Most treatable colics would already be showing signs of improvement.  I was pretty sure this was some type of impaction.  This wasn’t a sand impaction; Gretchen had done that test before I got there.  It’s an easy test.  Pick up a stool sample from the horse who colicked, put it in a baggie, add water, and wait for the grit to filter to the bottom.  Some horses will eat sand or dirt inadvertently when they graze; in rare occasions, it mixes with the gastric juices and basically turns to concrete in the dorsal or transverse colon.  This wasn't a parasitic issue either; I’d done his worming myself.  His feed was standard.  His arrival was the last exciting thing that had happened on the farm.  I was baffled by the cause.
 
What ever it was, he needed hydration before we did anything else.
 
 
I found the vein on his neck, and the needle went in nicely.  Dee didn’t see it; she still won’t look at needles.  She may be better off using bute paste as her analgesic of choice.   
 
Once we got the fluids going into the foal with Gretchen holding the saline bag, we started strategizing how to get him through the night.  “I’d like to go ahead and dose him.  We need to help whatever is blocking his intestine to move.”
 
Gretchen nodded.  I started gathering my oil and tubing.  The little guy was quiet; the IV will take a while.  We might as well get the hose into his stomach and intestines and let the oil grease the skids, so to speak.
 
“Terry, I’ll need you on the foal’s other side from Gretchen.”  Terry immediately moved to the foal’s side, and the little guy was in what was, essentially, human stocks; he was leaning on two sets of thighs.  Most men try to use their strength on horses; men are used to enforcing their will through brawn.  Women can handle horses on the ground much better than men can, overall.  Most women don’t have the upper body strength to expect to push a horse around so they are more subtle in their handling; the horses seem more willing to comply.  In this instance, Terry’s muscles and longer arms will be helpful in holding the foal’s head and neck still to insert the tube down his nose and through his throat.
 
“Terry, I need you to gently hold his head and neck straight.  Put your hands on either side of his head, on his cheeks, and lay your arms along his neck.”  He took his time letting the colt know he was touching him, and with slight instruction from me, Terry had the colt positioned correctly for me.  The tube went down easily, and soon the front end was done.  Everything about treating this colt has been easy; the cause was the hard part.
 
As soon as I pulled the tube from the colt and Terry’s arms released, Terry made a suggestion to Gretchen.  “Love, let me have the bag.  Your arm’s shaking from the strain.” 
 
“Thanks, Terry.  When we need to move Dudley, if he’s still hooked up, I’ll take it back.”
 
“Fair enough.  Though I’ve manoeuvered my fair share of IV stands round on my own.”
 
The colt never noticed the exchange.  I wish all my barn assistants were that cautious of ports.
 
Time to issue doctor’s orders for the night and head for home; I still stand a chance of a few hours of sleep.  Maybe I can see my own children tomorrow.  I gathered equipment as I talked.  “Once the IV comes out, walk him for another fifteen minutes, then put the mare and him in the stall.  Offer him water.  No hay, no food.  Let him nurse if he wants.  Walk him ten minutes every hour throughout the night.  If he wants to lie down, let him; be sure he doesn’t thrash.  You can give him more Banamine or bute at one, if he’s still in pain.  If he passes manure any time tonight, save it.  I’ll come by first thing in the morning.”
 
 
GRETCHEN
Once Dr. Dave left, we walked Dudley for the prescribed 15 minutes.  We offered him water.  We splashed our fingers in the bucket.  We put our wet fingers in his mouth.  Dudley was uninterested in drinking.  He also didn’t poop.  Dudley wanted to lie down; so did I.  I was too tired to think.
 
“Gretchen, have the rest of the herd been fed yet?”  Dee asked as we slumped against the stall wall watching Star and Dudley.  
 
“When I got home from my last appointment, Dudley was already rubbing his butt on a tree.  I tried to walk him out of it on my own.  If I walked Star, Dudley would stop when he wanted.  If I walked Dudley, Star threw a fit.  After a couple of circles of that, I knew I needed help.  I shooed the rest of the herd to the front and locked them out.  I walked Star and Dudley down here and called Dr. Dave and you.  To answer your question, no, I haven’t fed yet.”
 
Dee put her arm around my shoulders.  “Start dipping up feed.  I’ll go get the rest of the horses.  Terry, do you remember where the hay shed is?” 
 
He nodded, and last I saw of him was when he turned right leaving the barn; Dee opened stall doors for my other four and walked out to get them.  Terry returned first, a hay bale in each hand.  He tossed one into the tack room as if it was a memo he was dropping on my desk, cut the string on the other with his pocketknife, and started passing out the horses’ salad course.  After the standard milling around, everyone found a stall and, thanks to Terry, started eating.  I stood looking at the filled feed buckets. 
 
“Who gets what, Love?”
 
His question was more than I could handle.  I had no business trying to breed a dressage prospect.  The mare/foal mortality rate is between 33% and 50% every year.  If the foal survives to be a yearling, there’s no guarantee he’ll have the mind, personality, and body to rise through the ranks.  Mark’s a county sheriff; I’m a physical therapist.  We spent every dime we had to buy this place; we were mortgaged through retirement.  I had to breed to get a dressage prospect; we sure couldn’t afford to spend $50,000 for a yearling prospect.  We’d scraped together the $10,000 for the stud fee by doing without for three years and asking, no telling, everyone we wanted cash instead of presents.
 
I burst into tears.  Terry put his arms around me in a comforting bear hug.  I know he was talking to me; it sounded comforting.  His hand smoothing my hair certainly helped.
 
“Shh, Love.  Dudders will be all right.  You have Diana and me for the duration.  We’ll get more help if we need it.”
 
I could hear the rustle of oats poured into feed bins, smell the molasses from the sweet feed wafting through the barn, and hear the whoosh of water buckets being topped off.  While Terry was taking care of me, Dee saw to my horses.  She knew how quickly the other horses could colic with the tension in the air.  Their lives needed to retain some sense of normalcy.
 
My crying finally settled to the snubbing stage.  Terry settled us onto the hay bale he’d tossed in the tack room.
 
“Better now?”  I nodded dumbly at his jacket, wet with my tears.  “Right then.  You sit there.  I need to get some things from the boot.  I’ll be back shortly.”  He grabbed a saddle pad, folded it into a thick rectangle, placed it on the end of the bale, and nudged me down so my head was on the impromptu pillow.  At least he knows hay is too prickly for human skin contact. 
 
Dee finished my barn chores and joined me in the tack room with a quiet hand on my leg; she sat cross-legged on the floor so she could keep an eye on Dudley.  She was willing to sit without talking, but I needed to re-engage.  “He’s good, isn’t he?  At the comforting thing.”
 
She smiled sagely.  “He’s very good.  Much better than I could ever hope to be.”  We were still sitting there discussing the overnight schedule when Terry came back with banana noses, a cooler, and the barn cats following him with Brownie bringing up the rear.  The cats made a beeline for their beds now that the barn had quieted. 
 
“Life will look better with a little food.”  He stepped over Dee, crouched down, opened the cooler, and handed sandwiches to us followed by bottled water.  Both of them could be in the foaling stall to Dudley, if needed, before I would be able to sit up.  “Dinner’s not up to my usual high standard, but the sammies'll work a treat.”

He tossed us each an orange.  “Those are thanks to Celeste.  Junior will be sleeping with one ear on the phone.”
 
“I’m sorry for breaking down that way.  Dudley's my future, and I saw it slipping away.”
 
“Don’t give up yet, Love.  Dudders wouldn’t leave you for the world.  He follows you because you do such interesting things.  Lucky little sod.  Two mums.”
 
Terry made me smile.  “When and why did you two start calling Dudley ‘Dudders?’”
 
"Dudley seems like such a dignified, adult name for such a scrawny, little thing so full of youthful energy.  He bounces around so stiffly and runs wherever he can.  Dudders can do that; Dudley's walk with a cane to their wing chair.  But Terry came up with the nickname.”
 
“Can’t stand the name, Love.  Had a CO once with the name Dudley.  He and I didn’t get on too well.”
 
Diana looked at him with a question on her face; he dipped his chin.  Their interchange was subtle as only a solid couple who know each other well can manage.  They had carried on a full conversation with a look and a nod.
 
 
TERRY
Gretchen took the first two hours over Diana’s objections.  I set up the cots I’d liberated from our tack room end to end against the quietly occupied stalls so as not to block Star and Dudders' walkway.  Diana settled on one of the cots with a horse blanket on her feet; she knew her duties for tonight or could improvise.  As much as I wanted to settle in across from her, I needed on the job training, and Gretchen shouldn’t be left alone with her fears. 
 
I leant over the stall door to watch Gretchen tending to the little guy and listened to the sounds of a horse barn settling in for the night.  Even with the one door open, the barn was remarkably warm.
 
Gretchen’s first order of business was to clean the single manure pile from the stall.  Star promptly made another deposit.  I’d seen the barrow on my way to gather hay; I trundled it in and placed it in a convenient place to handle a toss from within the stall.
 
Gretchen stuck the laden fork through the open upper portion of the door and shook the contents directly into the barrow without looking.  I amused myself with the accuracy of my placement. 
 
“Why the smile, Terry?”  Gretchen asked softly.  I looked quickly to Diana’s prone figure; her body hadn’t yielded into the softness that indicated she’d fallen asleep, and her breathing hadn’t deepened.  I had to assume we’d be having a three-way convo whether Diana said anything.
 
“I grew up as a city kid, and the Army hasn’t used horses in close to a century.  I’m proud of how quickly I learned where the barrow goes.” 
 
Gretchen laughed.  “I didn’t pay any attention.  I was going to clean up the aisle when I came off shift.”  She stood in the centre of the stall, watching Dudders pace and stretch. 
 
“Will you and Star continue to have a manure war?”
 
“I don’t know, but we’ll need to keep this stall manure free for the night or until Dudley poops.  I normally clean stalls once a day right before evening feed so they all come into clean stalls.  Come to think of it, all of them poop immediately when they get into their stalls.”
 
A very alert voice came from the cot.  “Ours do, too.  I think it has to do with marking territory, but I’ve never read anything about horses using manure to stake their claims.”
 
Diana was close enough that with one step I could kneel beside her and smoothe her hair.  “You’re supposed to be asleep so you’re alert for your watch.”
 
“I can’t relax.  Just lying here will be enough.”  Her eyes never opened, but the tightness round them eased when I brushed her temple and cheek with my fingertips.  “You’re supposed to be down as well.”
 
“I need to watch how Gretchen handles them.  I’ll have a kip in a bit.”  She smiled and turned round on the cot so our heads would be together once I had a better idea on what else I’d need to do when my watch came.  She moved so gracefully.
 
Horses’ hooves on sawdust make a distinctive rustle when they walk and a deeper stirring type of noise when they lie down.  Dudley was light enough his walk on sawdust was almost soundless; his hooves digging through the bedding made a scraping sound.  Dudley was going down.
 
Gretchen stayed in the center of the stall, ready to move should he begin rolling.  Diana sat up, prepared to go into action if needed.  The little guy had to be exhausted, and another nap wouldn’t be amiss.  He stretched out on his side.  Star walked ever smaller circles round her baby until she stepped on the crest of his neck.  Gretchen, with tears running down her cheeks, shoved Mum away.  Star obliged and walked as far away from Dudders as she could.  Star had just rejected her own foal.  Dudders’ situation had become more grave.
 
“You’re mostly weaned anyway, aren’t you, Baby?”  Gretchen murmured into his ear as she settled beside him and stroked his neck softly.  Gretchen sat down in the shavings as gracefully as Diana had rearranged herself on the cot.  He closed his eyes and sighed.  There was no longer any need to stay on our feet to guard ourselves from where Star’s feet and legs might land; she’d lost all interest in our corner of the stall.
 
There is an innate agility in horsewomen that translates to elegance; they have to be agile as much is communicated between horse and rider with the flexing of a rider’s individual muscles.  Good riders can tense a specific muscle on command.  I’d seen a dexterity in Diana from the moment we were introduced but didn’t know at the time what created that grace.  I felt her litheness as she moved with me when we made love that first night.  In watching her ride, I discovered from whence it came. 
 
Gretchen encouraged Dudders with her quiet voice.  “You don’t need that mean old mommy any more.  I’ll put you with your Uncle Spotty as soon as you’re better.  He’ll protect you and show you how to be a big, strong horse. 
 
“You can’t play too hard with ….” 
 
Dudders lifted his head, looked at his flank, and began to bend behind his rib cage; his hind legs started kicking at his belly.  As soon as I had the door open, Diana slid past me, knelt between his legs, and held his flailing legs still.  She must have vaulted over the barrow handles to enter the stall.  His small hooves had struck her jean-clad thighs, but she hadn’t released her hold.  She gave no indication that she noticed.  The hand Gretchen had used to pet his neck before now pushed lightly to force it back down, and the hand on his ribs stilled him after an initial fight on his part.  These two women had exerted such authority over Dudders without using force.  Only their hands on him had stopped his movement.  It was as if he knew they were there to help him. 
 
“We need to get him up and walking again.  How long has it been since his last walk?” Diana asked Gretchen.
 
“Not long enough, but you’re right.  Let’s keep him in the stall though since he bent his belly.  The smaller circles will mimic that movement.  And if he goes down again, he’ll be on a softer surface.”  Diana moved to his butt whilst keeping contact with his legs.  They snugged their forearms under him at two points – under his shoulders and hindquarters; they were kneeling with their own bums on their heels.  They lifted using their thighs as the mechanism.  With his legs stretched out, they were having no success at rolling him onto his stomach so he could rise to his feet.
 
“Terry, we need you now.  Take Dee's place at his hindquarters.”  Diana’s always instructing the boarders and me in horse handling safety.  Kneeling between an agitated horse’s legs was incredibly unsafe thing to do.  She stood and stepped across Dudders’ hindquarters; she was back between his legs once more.  Diana had risked serious injury twice within minutes in her haste to help him.
 
I took Diana’s actions and placed them in the “Do as I say, not as I do” section and walked behind her and Dudders.  She had her hands on his legs once more and waited until I was past to position them so he could easily stand.
 
Gretchen and I cradled his body on our forearms, kneeling in the comparative safety above his back.  Diana used her lower thighs to keep his legs positioned and slid her hands under his belly. 
 
“On three.”  Gretchen coordinated us.  “One, two, three.”  Gretchen and I knelt up, lifting; Diana pulled backwards.  She ended our manoeuver almost lying flat, but Dudders was standing.  Gretchen held his halter as we scrambled to our feet.  Remembering the safety advice Diana had given me in the past, I stood at the point of his hip and reached behind him to steady him on his feet. 
 
“Come on, little buddy.  Let’s have a stroll.”  All three of us were smiling optimistically at the averted crisis.
 
 
DIANA
After the initial flurry of activity, Dudders didn’t try to lie down again until much later.  He may have scared himself as well as us. 
 
Gretchen devised a method so one person could keep Dudders standing.  She kept him between her and the wall.  He could walk if he wanted, but whoever was with him walked as well – crouched over and sideways with an arm in front of his chest and one behind his butt.  It was unorthodox, and we would all have backaches in the morning, but it worked.  She insisted that Terry and I rest for a while once she and I stopped shaking from Dudders violent outburst. 
 
We went to the banana noses and lay with our faces close.  The adrenaline rush was still too strong to consider sleep.  Terry’s eyes were still bright.  I had to talk. 
 
“Dudders’ baby fur is so soft.  I know horses have what’s more properly called hair, but his is so soft it should be called fur.  It felt like a chinchilla coat I once touched. 
 
“Wasn’t he a good boy to quiet for us so fast?  I’ve never seen a horse roll his eyes in fear before.  Rabbit was afraid once, but I was on his back and couldn’t see his eyes; another rider told me about it later.”
 
“Lady, how are your legs?”  I saw a flash of physical fear for me cross Terry’s eyes. 
 
“He only grazed me when he kicked.  It surprised me that it wasn’t that bad.  If we have to do it again, I need to stay on his legs.  I have experience now.”
 
He smiled and extended the arm he used as his pillow and cupped my face.  “And your foot?”
 
“Why would my foot hurt?”
 
“Star stepped on your right foot.”
 
I knew there was a reason I had worn my goat ropers.  “I didn’t feel it.”  I wiggled my toes.  “Nope, no harm, no foul.  I’m fine.”
 
“Good.  For all the dangerous things you’ve done tonight, it’s a wonder you haven’t broken a leg.”
 
“Boomer, don’t start.  Part of the reason I harp on safety is because I haven’t taken many chances where horses are concerned.  I don’t know how much slop in handling them I can get away with; it’ll be different for each horse.  After tending to my own for eight years, it was time to take a chance.  I risked getting hurt tonight because Dudders is still so small, I figured if he struck me it wouldn’t be too bad.  We were working out a method. 
 
“He taught me a lot.”
 
Terry kept his hand on my cheek, and I stretched my arm beside his, needing to touch his strength that had gotten Dudders out of trouble.  Gretchen turned off the barn’s main lights, not so much for our benefit, but so the other horses could have some semblance of normalcy on this very unusual night.  The only lights she left on were the two over the foaling stall.  It was bright enough in there for Dr. Dave to use it as an operating theatre if necessary, and it cast a comforting glow over the rest of the barn.  Terry’s hooded eyes shut though he didn’t sleep. 
 
Gretchen’s herd sleeps the same way mine do.  One horse will lie down for a while as the others doze with knees locked or munch on their hay.  When that one wakes, after a few minutes, another one lies down.  They seem to have their own schedule, and everyone has a chance to rest their legs. 
 
Gretchen continued to talk to Dudders once she thought we were asleep.  “No, you don’t.  If you want a nap, you can lean on me or on the wall.”
 
“Want a drink?”  We heard water sloshing.  “What a good boy!  That’s it.  You can have all the water you want.  Wash that belly ache away.”
 
“Brownie?  Lie down.  The excitement is over.  That’s my good boy.  Did we scare you?  I’m sorry, Big Boy.  I was scared, too.”
 
“Star, go away.  You stepped on him!  You don’t get to do that again.  You gave away your parental rights tonight.  I’d tell you what I really think of you, but I can’t afford to offend you right now.  You are having more babies so I can afford to campaign Dudley when he grows up.”  Terry’s eyes opened.
 
I keep telling him I’m not unusual in talking to the dogs and horses as if they understand me beyond commands.  Different muscles around his face twitched and danced before he smiled and mouthed, “I believe you now.”
 
We dozed to Gretchen telling Dudders a story about a colt who grew up to be a great champion.  It was a wonderful bedtime story.  
 
 
Late in Gretchen’s shift, I heard a soft, urgent "Dee!"  I slid my hand under Terry’s where it still rested on my cheek, backed away from them, and placed his hand gently on the warmed plastic. 
 
Gretchen supported a drowsy colt.  Horses sweat where their necks joins their shoulders when they are in pain.  “He’s started to sweat.  Get me the bute and the thermometer.”  Severe colic causes toxins to be released; toxins cause increased temperatures.  Dudders was at the point where the ancillary problems could become more life threatening than the base problem that caused the colic.  His pain was worse as late night wore into early morning, but he had no fever indicating an infection had started, at least that we could tell. 
 
We held a quick conference, supporting our patient between us, about what my orders were.  Dudders was weaker; he needed some rest.  We were agreed on that. 
 
Gretchen updated me on what she had done on her shift and what I should continue.  “When he would lie down, sometimes he stood immediately without urging from his pesky nurse.  Let him lie down.  I started to let him when he wanted to.  When he gets restless, put your hand on his neck and right behind his ribs.  He settles right down.  Once he gets the bute down, he may be able to rest more.”
 
There were so many hopes and fears in what Gretchen told me, so many inconsistencies.  He was in more pain, and bute and walking could decrease it, but he was weaker because of the pain and movement.  I’ve never been around a colic that lasted this long. 
 
Gretchen’s suggestion told me she was grasping at straws.  “I’ve read about something at a holistic vet site.  It sounds a little like a Heimlich maneuver.  We join hands under his belly and lift up gently.  If it’s gas, the movement is supposed to jar the bubbles loose.  It it’s an impaction, we might loosen it so whatever’s plugging him can pass.”
 
“Tell you what, if the bute doesn’t help, we’ll try it, OK?”  I’d much rather run this airy-fairy idea past Dr. Dave before we tried it.  He’s normally open-minded about new suggestions.  With her last bit of energy, Gretchen nodded. 
 
I looked down to the human sleeping quarters.  Terry had turned onto his left side.  He can’t sleep on his left; he sleeps on his right snugged up behind me.  He’d arranged the extra horse blanket as a pillow where my head had been.  Terry was ready for a woman at the end of her rope.
 
“Go lie down for a while.  If I need you, you’ll hear me.”
 
 
The pain reliever didn’t work on Dudders at all.  He was up and down constantly, using his precious resources trying to find relief.  No amount of my discussing with him the advantages of staying down succeeded.   
 
So we walked.  We talked and walked.  I pondered better ways to help him stand – easier for him and safer for us.  I spit epithets at his uncaring mother as we passed her; Star looked at her son with some interest for the first time since she stepped on him.  He tried the parked position once more.  Nothing was working. 
 
At 4:19, Dudley lay down and threw himself flat onto his side.  He was very still but breathing.  I checked for movement on the banana noses.  None, but Terry was still on his left side.  I decided against waking Gretchen to have her watch her dream die.     
 
A huge, wet fart, one worthy of a Clydesdale, came from him – the first one tonight.  He looked surprised, lifted his head, checked towards his butt, and lay back down.  Dudders kept cutting the reassuring, normal sounding, little toots the way a horse with a well functioning gastro-intestinal tract does for the next five minutes.  Progress, but Dudders was not out of the woods yet.
 
He would not get up.
 
“Terry?”
 
I looked up to his grin.  “Dudders puts mine to shame.”
 
“Yeah, well, the minute before I thought he was dying.  He needs to pass whatever caused that much gas.  He won’t stand up.”
 
I thought asking Terry to take Dudders’ hindquarters would be asking too much.  Whatever had caused that big fart was fermented, and it wouldn’t be pretty when it escaped.  Horse manure doesn’t bother me in the least; this would be an atomic waste poop when it came.  Terry needed to be at Dudders’ head.  We folded those absurdly long legs under his belly, this time safely; we rolled him onto his belly.  Dudders wouldn’t unfold his front legs.  Terry propped up the little guy’s body with his own arms and thighs as I fished around for Dudders’ front legs, straightening them in front.  I was assisting with a breech birth without having my arm inside a mare’s birth canal. 
 
Terry was reduced to negotiating with a foal.  “Duddie, pass the rest of the shit, and you can lie down for as long as you want.  Diana thinks you have to walk to make it happen.  Please get up, little mate.” 
 
Terry’s look of astonishment when Dudders was on his own feet and walking was a joy.  I gather Buck doesn’t provide much feedback when they chat.
 
Terry led; I provided the moveable stocks, my arms on each flank, which kept Dudders steady.  I noticed his short, brushy tail begin to rise.  I jumped back with little time to spare before the wet, runny plops began hitting the ground.
 
“Poop!  We have poop!”  
 



NOTES

Banamine	Brand name for Flunixin Meglumine.  A medication used for alleviation of pain and inflammation associated with colic and musculoskeletal disorders in horses.  It is one step up in strength from bute.
Phenylbutazone, AKA, "Bute" Paste	Non-steroidal anti-inflammatory for management of musculoskeletal conditions in horses, such as generalized arthritis. It also manages fever and infections.  It is considered to be aspirin for horses.  Usual dosage is 2-4 grams daily for a 1000 lb. horse.  As symptoms regress, dosage may be reduced 25-50%.
Sand impaction	Basics explained in context.  For more detail, check this site.  http://ultimatehorsesite.com/info/colic.html

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