Stalking Ground (5 page)

Leaving Mrs. Gibbs to her own means, he said good-bye, pulled his pickup truck out of the garage, and headed down the lane to his clinic.

Cole’s assistant, Tess Murphy, arrived at the clinic shortly after him. He’d never paid much attention to the way his assistant dressed before, but the discussion at home must have triggered a new awareness. He noticed that today she wore a wild-patterned T-shirt under her white jacket, and her red hair stood up in stiff spikes.

“Hi, hi.” Tess gave him her usual twinkly greeting. “How goes it with Mrs. Gibbs this morning?”

“We’re getting along fine.” A private man, Cole had never liked to air his personal life, so he switched the subject. “What do we have on the schedule?”

The phone rang, and Tess answered. He looked at the schedule while Tess opened the computer screen for the intake of new clients. After tapping in information, Tess held out the phone, covering the speaker. “This is Carmen Santiago. New client—Dark Horse Stable. Wants to schedule an ambulatory visit for a sick stud horse. It’s way up in the mountains, so I thought you might want to prioritize.”

He nodded, tucked the phone against his ear, and headed for the treatment room to prepare for his first client of the day, a routine cat exam with inoculations. “This is Dr. Walker.”

“Carmen Santiago. I need an appointment as soon as you can work us in.”

“Tess told me you’re having trouble with your stallion. What’s going on?”

Her voice was low-pitched and melodious, and she had a slight Spanish accent. “He acts like he’s in pain. Stiff through the hind legs—doesn’t want to walk.”

“Are the muscles in his back and hind legs hard, like they’re in spasm?”

“Yes.”

“Did you exercise him right before the symptoms started?”

“Yes. We’d just finished his first morning workout.”

“All right,” Cole said. “He could be tying up. It’s a condition that sport horses can get after working out real hard. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes, I’ve seen it before. But this seems different. There are also muscle tremors.”

“Those can occur sometimes. Do you have any pain reliever?” Cole mentioned a common analgesic that most horse trainers kept on hand.

“I do.”

“Start him on that.” Cole explained the dosage. “I’ll be up as soon as I can. Where is your place?”

“We’re located about twenty miles out. Go ten miles toward Hightower and turn north on Soldier Canyon Road.” She then described a series of twists and turns that led up into the high country.

“I didn’t realize you were so far out. It will take me about an hour to get to you. Make him as comfortable as you can.” He heard the front door to the clinic open and knew his first patient had arrived. “I’ll have Tess do some rescheduling. I can leave here in about twenty minutes.”

He made arrangements with Tess to reschedule his morning and took care of the cat. Then he checked supplies in the mobile vet unit that sat in the back of his pickup truck, climbed in, and headed west on the highway going through Timber Creek toward Hightower.

The first few miles were smooth sailing through lush meadows that swept away on either side of the road. Feeling a pang of guilt, he drove past his childhood home, a cattle ranch where his parents still lived. It had been months since he’d visited. His mother was a difficult lady, and he felt she was partially to blame for his divorce. He’d found out too late that his mother had criticized Olivia constantly, and his ex-wife blamed him for not stopping it.

Good Lord, how could I stop something I didn’t even know was happening?

After he turned off onto Soldier Canyon, the road forced him to pay attention to his driving. Covered in gravel and ruts, it climbed a steep grade through pinion, limber pine, and ever thickening trees. Finally, after ten miles, he topped the last hill. From this vantage point, he could see a clearing in the valley and the red metal rooftops of several buildings, one a large barnlike structure. He kept the truck in low gear as he made his way toward the place, down through the heavy evergreen forest and pockets of aspen with golden leaves that shivered in the breeze. It seemed like an isolated location for a training stable, but many folks loved the mountains enough to put up with the distance.

He found the entry to the stable easily enough. It was the only one along this stretch and was marked well with a log archway. A wooden sign swung from the top, embossed with the name Dark Horse Stable. He drove under the arch and
followed a narrow lane a half-mile through the forest until a clearing opened up.

The lane split to the left where Cole could see a huge log home perched on a rise. Its vaulted roof rose above a wall of glass, exposing a forest view for its occupants as well as a view of the stable off to his right. He followed the right fork and drove toward the barn, made of solid red metal panels. After driving around it, he could see a flat space had been cleared on the other side where a well-groomed racetrack had been built. A bay thoroughbred streaked around the track, its black mane and tail streaming, running full out with a small rider perched on top. Cole shut down his engine and paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of the beautiful and powerful animal.

A man of Hispanic descent approached the truck, and Cole got out to meet him. As the man came closer, Cole could make out his saddened expression, and he was reminded of a bloodhound: long face, sad droopy eyes. He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Walker.”

The man offered a limp handshake with a well-calloused hand but didn’t state his name. “
Patron
,” he said, waving his other hand toward the racetrack.

Cole didn’t understand much Spanish, but he knew the man was telling him that the boss was out there on the horse. “Okay,” he said, making his way toward the track. He could see now that the rider was a woman, presumably Carmen Santiago.

The rider pulled up and slipped from the saddle, landing lightly on her feet. The man hurried to take the horse’s reins.

“I’m Carmen,” she said, extending her hand.

“Dr. Walker.” Her handshake was so firm that for a moment he thought he’d entered an arm-wrestling contest.

Carmen, also of Hispanic descent, was gorgeous. She wore her long, shiny hair pulled back and secured at the base of her
neck in a black braid. Her flawless skin was a deep tan, the same color as Mattie’s. She looked at him with earnest brown eyes so dark they were almost black. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I’ll take you to see Diablo.”

He followed her toward the barn. Near the entryway, a huge Doberman went ballistic at the end of his chain. Seeing the great jaws and flashing white teeth as the dog snarled and thrashed to get loose, Cole hoped mightily that the chain would hold.

“I see you have a guard dog,” he said.

Carmen shouted at the dog in Spanish, but he ignored her and continued to struggle to get free. “Yes, we imported him from Germany. He’s supposed to be a fully trained protection dog, but he’s not as obedient as he should be. We allow him to patrol the grounds at night. These horses are very valuable.”

Nothing like having a poorly trained dog roaming the property at night. He hoped the dog didn’t bite an innocent person by accident. They’d continued to walk as they spoke and soon moved from the sunlight outside into the subdued light of the barn. The central alleyway had stalls and rooms branching off on either side and smelled of hay and horse manure. Wheelbarrows, pitchforks, rakes, and small stacks of hay sat at intervals down the alley. It was neat and well organized, a place for everything and everything in its place.

“He’s in this first stall,” Carmen said. “We gave him the medicine you suggested, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling any better.”

Cole peered over the stall door. The black stallion moved stiffly around the stall, clearly in pain but too agitated to stand still. Sweat ran in rivulets down his neck and torso, dripping from his chest and belly. Muscle fasciculation, fine muscle
tremors, ran through his entire body. The sight shocked even Cole, who was somewhat used to seeing animals in pain.

He followed Carmen into the stall. She murmured sounds of comfort, and the stallion let her clip a lead rope onto his halter. “I didn’t know if I should tie him or let him move around. I called to ask, but your secretary said you were on your way. He seemed too nervous to tie, so I left him alone.”

“That’s fine. That’s what I typically recommend. He’s sweating more than I would expect. How long has he been like this?”

“Since a little before eight o’clock this morning.”

Cole still suspected this was an acute episode of exertional rhabdomyolysis, commonly known as “tying up,” but it was worse than any case he’d seen before. He ran a hand down the horse’s back, over his rump, and down the hind leg near the stifle—hard as stone beneath the skin, no body fat. This thoroughbred was in peak racing condition, so a lack of body fat didn’t come as a big surprise. Unfortunately the hardness in the large muscles of the back, rump, and hind leg didn’t either. It indicated spasm and confirmed his suspicions.

Cole used his stethoscope to listen to the stallion’s heartbeat—eighty-eight per minute, indicating severe pain.

“Will he let me get a temp while you hold him?” he asked.

“Yes. He’s usually hard to work with, but today he seems too sick to care.”

Diablo—not the type of name you give a gentle horse. Nevertheless, the stallion stood in place, muscles quivering, while Cole temped him. Not elevated. Usually there was a slightly elevated temp with rhabdomyolysis.

A loud crash from down the alleyway echoed through the building. From the same direction, a horse snorted and kicked the wall in his stall. Diablo jumped and pulled back on the
rope, dragging Carmen with him. Cole sidestepped to move out of the way and then reached to help Carmen, but she was already bringing the huge stallion under control.

Carmen frowned, obviously displeased. “One minute. I’ll be right back,” she said, handing Cole the lead rope.

Although Cole stayed with Diablo, he could hear Carmen’s voice from farther down the alley, reaming someone out in Spanish. He didn’t understand what she was saying, but her tone made it clear that someone was getting a reprimand, and he was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that tongue-lashing.

While she was gone, Cole pulled open Diablo’s lips and pressed the gum above his teeth to check capillary refill time—several seconds, prolonged. Again, not quite what he’d expected. Typically the gums were reddened and capillary refill was quick. But with this much sweating, Diablo was probably becoming dehydrated or toxic.

Carmen quietly slipped back inside the box stall.

“I’m going to need to set up an IV and give him some fluids,” Cole told her. He looked around the stall, choosing the best place to set things up. “We’ll tie him here by his hay after I get it established, and I can hang the bag up above. I’ll go get my supplies out of the truck and be right back.”

Cole found the supplies he needed, carried them back to the stall in a stainless steel bucket, and let himself back in. “There’ll be a needle stick to put in the IV,” he told Carmen. “Just let him circle around us if he won’t stand still. I’ll stay with him.”

Carmen murmured to the horse in Spanish while Cole approached. He blocked the jugular vein in Diablo’s neck with one hand while he inserted the needle. Leaving the flexible catheter in place, he withdrew the sharp needle and secured
the external part with tape. The stallion tolerated the procedure well, not moving after the first flinch. “I need to draw some blood before I set up the fluids.”

“What are you testing for?”

“I want to measure some enzymes and minerals in his blood. This amount of sweating might throw something off.”

Cole drew the blood sample from the IV and then administered sedation. He squeezed a dose of anti-inflammatory medication through a tube placed into Diablo’s mouth. The stallion thrust his tongue against it and bobbed his head but swallowed the paste anyway. Cole hooked up a bag of fluid and held it high. “This will take a few minutes,” he said. “Go ahead and tie him now, and I’ll hang this up above.”

After hooking the bag on top of the feed bunk, Cole stepped back to observe the horse. “Let’s give him a few minutes.”

Still uncomfortable, Diablo shifted his weight as he stood with his back slightly hunched, the typical stance expected from rhabdomyolysis.

“Does this horse get grain or sweet feed?” Cole asked.

“Yes.”

“I need you to put a hold on that, but keep some grass hay in front of him. We’ll try to make him feel better so that he’ll keep eating. You’ll have to keep him as quiet as possible.”

“Shall we keep him tied up?”

“No, let him move around on his own. But hold off on any other form of exercise. I’ll let you know what the lab results are tomorrow.”

With a frown of concern creasing her brow, she studied Diablo. “This horse means a lot to me. I can do whatever treatment you recommend. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“I’ll leave medications and show you how to give them and what to watch for. Keep an eye on him and call me with an
update around four this afternoon. Call sooner if he gets worse or if you have a question.” Cole picked up his stethoscope. “I’ll want you to count his heartbeats per minute.”

“I have my own stethoscope. I’m used to what a normal heartbeat sounds like.”

Cole thought Carmen appeared experienced enough to leave the stallion in her care; he was too sick to transport to the clinic anyway. Diablo’s heart still raced, but there was nothing more Cole could do for him now. He outlined a treatment plan with Carmen while the IV fluid finished dripping. Then he disconnected the tubing, recapped the end, and prepared to leave. Carmen accompanied him as he left the barn. The Doberman rushed to the end of the chain, coming to a hard stop and barking a fierce warning.

Cold wind blasted, and Cole pulled his jacket close. Gray storm clouds filled the sky. At the truck, he put away his supplies and moved to get into the driver’s side where he took a moment to jot down a list of instructions for Diablo. He gave it to her along with a business card. “I should come back tomorrow or Sunday to check on him, unless he’s had a sudden turnaround for the better.”