No Horse Wanted (24 page)

He laughed. “It’s my car, Freckle-face.” He
leaned in and kissed me. “No, they’re beyond pain. They’re just
evil. Buckle up!”

Wow, he made me think. He was so smart. No
wonder I liked him. He accepted me for who and what I was, but he
didn’t just look at the surface of people or events. He saw things
for what they were. Next time I got ticked at Vick’s parents, I’d
try to give them the benefit of Bill’s wisdom.

Maybe I’d use it on my own folks. Then again,
perhaps I already had. I wasn’t angry with them about not buying
the Mustang. I understood why they turned me down. It wasn’t that
they wanted to destroy my happiness. It was just too much money,
and having big payments hanging over me when I didn’t have a good
job really didn’t make a lot of sense.

Dani, Porter, Gwen, and I were up in the
grandstand when my parents arrived at the game. We had great seats
and Gwen shifted our coats. I stood and waved. “Up here!”

Dad heard my shout. He and Mom wove their way
to us through the crowded bleachers where other parents, students,
and families waited for the big game to start. “Thanks for saving
us seats, Robbie.”

“No worries. I’m just glad you guys made it
before we got mugged.” I moved closer to Gwen. “Did Vick’s dad get
there?”

“No.” Mom smiled and pressed next to me.
“Your dad and I packed up the kids and their stuff and took them to
the tire store he manages.”

“No way.” Porter leaned forward, looking
around Gwen and me. “What did he say?”

“What could he say?” Mom asked. “He was too
busy to come get them. We explained that normally we would make
arrangements to stay with the kids, but not at Homecoming. It’s
unfair to expect Vicky to stop being a cheerleader because her
folks divorced. He and her mom should be making arrangements to
come see her perform with the squad at football games, not abandon
her at a crucial time of her life. If she wasn’t such a smart girl,
she could turn her life into a total train wreck.”

“It’s also unfair for him to keep making her
friends babysit for free so she can fulfill her dreams,” Dad said.
“It’s past time for him to quit punishing the girl.”

“Now, John. You know he didn’t think of it
like that. He was shocked when you told him that you believe he
hates his oldest daughter.”

Dad’s jaw jutted forward, and he took on his
most stubborn look. “I call it like I see it.”

“Must be a guy thing,” I teased. “Great job,
Dad.”

Mom and I shared an amused look. Maybe he’d
made a difference. We wouldn’t know until next week. We’d have to
talk about it later. No time for it now. The teams raced onto the
field.

* * * *

Saturday, October
19
^th
, 12:20 p.m.

“Wasn’t that a great game?” Porter glanced
over her shoulder at me while the technician worked on her nails.
“I couldn’t believe the run Jack made, eighty-three yards.”

“It was something,” I agreed. “I liked the
three turnovers with Bill better.”

“You would.” Vicky sipped hot tea. She always
sounded like a giant frog after an exciting game, but she didn’t
mind. She shook her head at the bottle of red polish Gwen held up.
“No. Our colors are blue and gold. Where’s your school spirit?”

I laughed. Trust Vick to think of that. I
glanced at the rack filled with containers of fingernail polishes
on the other side of the salon. We’d joined up to come to the
Everett Mall to primp for the dance tonight. Once we finished with
our manicures and pedicures, we’d have lunch at our favorite
Chinese place. Then, we’d have our hair done at the studio on the
other side of the mall. I wondered what traditions the guys had
today. They probably weren’t anything like ours. I bet Bill would
tell me if I asked. And I might later tonight.

I arrived home early enough to help with the
chores before I hit the shower and dressed for the dance. I wore a
scarf over my hair and gloves to keep my nails nice. I wouldn’t win
any prizes as a fashion diva, but I wanted to look awesome tonight.
Between Dad being gone to the store to collect the supplies for
what he called a date night with Mom, and Jack off to get his tux,
I was the first one to go to the barn. I headed straight for
Twaziem’s stall. I had carrots for him, but I’d taken them from the
fridge, not the garden. I’d make up the difference tomorrow.

He stood in the center of his stall. His head
drooped down, almost to his knees. Snot streamed from his nostrils
and mouth. “Oh my Gawd! What happened? What did you do?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Saturday, October 19
^th
, 4:45 p.m.

Mom arrived at the barn in less than five
minutes. She took one look at Twaziem and announced. “He has
choke.”

“What? How could he be choking?”

“Choke,” Mom repeated. “Something is lodged
in his esophagus. Call Dr. Larry while I start massaging him.” She
came into the stall and stepped up next to Twaz. While I pushed
buttons on my cell phone, she began rubbing my horse’s chin, then
his jaw, working her way up between his cheeks to his throatlatch
and back down again.

I explained the symptoms to the receptionist,
and she promised to send Dr. Larry immediately. She told me to keep
massaging the throat to help clear the blockage until the
veterinarian arrived. “We are,” I said, “and we will.”

“What could he have choked on?” I asked Mom
as soon as I ended the call. “Not his hay or his grain. He hasn’t
had any problems before.”

“He’s still wormy and debilitated,” Mom said.
“It could be anything he’s eaten from hay or grain to carrots to
his manure. Why don’t you clean his stall while I massage, and then
when my hands get tired, we’ll switch.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

I fetched the wheelbarrow and tools as well
as a partial bale of shavings. It didn’t take long to pick the
stall and dress it with new bedding. Despite Mom’s massage, Twaziem
didn’t look better. White mucus with bits of grain still flowed
from his nose and mouth. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

She nodded. “Yes, honey. You probably don’t
remember, but this used to happen to Cobbie when he got rolled oats
instead of wet cob. After the first couple of times, I didn’t
bother with Dr. Larry. I just massaged Cobbie’s throat until the
blockage cleared. I don’t want to take any chances with Twaziem.
He’s such a baby.”

“What is wet cob?” I asked.

“The kind of grain we feed,” Mom said. “It’s
corn, oats and barley mixed together with molasses to dampen it.
The feed store also has dry cob, the kind without molasses. Our
horses get enough work that they need the extra energy.” She
stepped back and flexed her hands. “Your turn.”

I put the tools outside the stall. “What do I
do?”

“Come on over and I’ll show you.”

I placed my hand on Twaziem’s throatlatch,
but there wasn’t a bump or anything pushing against my fingers.
“What should I be feeling?”

“It’s a bit swollen already,” Mom said. “You
want to rub softly there and stroke down the underside of his neck.
Think of it as if you have something stuck in your own throat.
You’re trying to clear the blockage. While you do that, I’ll get a
grooming kit and brush him. It’s psychological first aid. He’ll
feel better if we both fuss over him.”

That made sense. For the next hour, we took
turns massaging Twaziem’s throat, but it didn’t help. He still had
white snot streaming from his nose and mouth when Dr. Larry came in
the barn. He smiled at both of us before he eyed Twaziem. “I’m
going to have to be put on retainer with this fellow. Let’s see
what I can do to make him more comfortable. How long have you been
massaging his throat?”

I looked at my watch. “I found him an hour
and a half ago. Probably about an hour and fifteen minutes.”

“Any change in the amount of saliva?” Dr.
Larry asked.

I shook my head. “No. What are we going to
do?”

“Let’s rule out some causes first, Robin.
Any chance that he got to rat poison or other toxic substances?
Some can cause excess saliva.”

“No way,” I said. “We don’t have any rats,
and we don’t use poison because the cats could get to it.”

“I’m still going to examine him and look for
physical trauma,” Dr. Larry said. “We’ll need a halter and lead
since he may not stand still for this.”

“Okay.” I went and got the training halter.
When I returned, I found the veterinarian with his hand inside
Twaziem’s mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Checking his teeth. There aren’t any sharp
points on any of the molars. He should have been able to chew his
lunch, not choke on it. He doesn’t have a broken jaw, and there
aren’t any other signs of trauma.”

Mom and Dr. Larry shared a look before she
said, “You’re going to have to flush the blockage, aren’t you?”

“Afraid so.” Dr. Larry turned toward me.
“I’m going to run a surgical tube through his nostril and down his
throat to move the obstruction toward his stomach. I won’t use a
twitch to immobilize him. Instead, I’m going to give him a light
dose of a local anesthetic to ease his stress. While it takes
effect, can you get me some warm water to flush the blockage
away?”

“All right.” I took a bucket and headed for
the shower stall. Suddenly, it occurred to me that Bill would be
showing up anytime to take me to Homecoming, and I couldn’t leave
Twaziem. While I waited for the water to warm, I pulled out my
phone and texted Bill. I hated breaking our date, but this stupid
horse came first. He was making it easier and easier for me to sell
him to get a car next summer. I swear Twaz lived to wreck my
life.

Twaziem had started to relax when I
returned, his eyes half-closed as he drowsed and drooled on Dr.
Larry’s gold coveralls. I put down the bucket of water. “How is
he?”

“I think he’s ready,” Dr. Larry said. “I
know you’ve never held a horse while the vet does this before,
Robin, but I’ll need you to do what I say, when I say it.
Deal?”

“Of course she can do it,” Mom said. “The
two of you need to be careful, honey. If anything goes wrong, it’ll
damage Twaziem’s nasal passages, cause a nose-bleed, or injure his
lungs.”

I eyed her and the vet. “Do we have to do it
this way?”

“Yes, because nothing else has worked.” Dr.
Larry pulled a long three-eighths inch tube out of his pocket and
squirted surgical lubricant into his hand to smooth over the
plastic. Then, he stepped up to my horse and eased the rounded tip
of the tube into Twaz’s nostril. “Okay, son. Here we go.”

He slid the tube slowly up through the right
nostril, never forcing the plastic line. I shifted my hold on the
Twaziem’s head to help him partially flex it so he could swallow.
Dr. Larry didn’t try to push the tubing into the stomach. He
stopped when it was at the esophagus.

“Hold the line for me, Maura,” Dr. Larry
told Mom. “Don’t push on it or pull it out.”

She nodded agreement. “You’re the boss.”

Dr. Larry hooked up a plunger to the tube,
then began to force water through the plastic. Running water
through the tube seemed to do the trick. The flow of mucus from the
nose and mouth eased as the lump of feed was flushed down toward
Twaziem’s stomach. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when Dr. Larry
removed the plastic line.

Mom rubbed Twaz’s face. “You’ll be fine now,
fella. Promise.”

Dr. Larry turned to me. “Clear that hay out
of his manger, and he’ll need fresh water in his bucket. You may
want to add a bit of apple juice to it so he takes on extra
fluids.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“I’ll be leaving him electrolytes and pain
relievers with instructions for you to follow. No hay until Tuesday
while his throat heals. We don’t want him to choke again. The next
time could be fatal. And when he goes back on hay, I’ll want it
dampened for him so he eats more slowly. Hold off on that second
dose of wormer for another week until he recovers from this
episode.” Dr. Larry glanced at Mom. “Do you folks have any straight
alfalfa?”

“No, but I’ll send John to the feed store to
get him some,” Mom said. “What do you think about pellets if we
really soak them down? I hate to have him miss any meals.”

“I understand,” Dr. Larry said. “We still
don’t know what choked him, and we don’t want it to happen again.
So, let’s be careful. Watch the pellets and his grain so they don’t
clump and block his throat.”

I finished cleaning out his manger and
taking the hay to Nitro. Twaziem gave me the evil eye like I was
trying to starve him, but then he sighed again and started to doze
off. I checked his water tub. It was still clean. I headed for the
feed room to grab a small bottle of apple juice from the barn
fridge.

I’d just poured it into the water tub when
Dad hustled in the barn, Bill and Jack right behind him. “I saw
Larry’s truck,” Dad said. “What happened?”

“Choke,” Mom said. “But, he’s going to be
okay.”

“What is that?” Bill looked like a total
hunk in his black tux, white shirt, gold cummerbund, and gold tie.
No wonder he asked me what color my dress was. When I told him it
was a metallic short waffle knit, he seemed baffled. I added that
when my dad and Jack saw it, they’d totally freak about the way it
fit, and Bill was happy. We’d have been awesome together. I
listened while Mom explained with a few facts thrown in by Dr.
Larry.

“So, what’s going on?” Dr. Larry asked. “Do
you always wear a tux to the barn?”

“Only on special occasions like Homecoming.”
Bill smiled at me. “I’m sure I can borrow some jeans and a
sweatshirt from Jack, and we can stay with Twaziem tonight.
Otherwise, you’ll worry about him.”

A tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it
away. “You don’t have to do that. This is your last year to go
because you’re a senior.”