Dressed in Pink
Page 6
Other options are fruit flavors like raspberry, melon, and citrus. Then there are herbal scents like peppermint, spearmint, and oregano. Finally, the flower scents like honeysuckle, rose, lavender, and so on.
“Your choices are what you’d taste in a grape,” she plucks a little red grape off the plate and takes a bite, “I taste a hint of raspberry and violet in this one,” she passes the plate around so we can sample and try to identify the same flavors she has.
I think I have this. It comes down to three aromatic categories: fruit flavors, herbal flavors, and flower flavors.
I’m trying to cram this into my head, so I when I need it I can sound reasonably intelligent. To me, a grape tastes like a grape. I pull another grape from its stem and try to think deeper more complex thoughts to make it taste like raspberry and violet. This class seems to be moving faster than my palate can learn.
“Everyone is doing so well, I’ll move to the bouquet.” She pours a generous amount in our glasses. “Let’s have a taste, but first swirl and aerate it in your mouth.” She makes a slurping sound I’ve been taught is rude. “This will give you more answers...”
“The scents and flavors come from fermentation and could be yeast, sourdough and sometimes Band-Aid. Yes, you heard it right, it’s an acknowledged flavor.” Looking at our expressions she shrugs, “But aging also brings in what we all love, such as vanilla, brown sugar and several nut flavors.”
We swirl and taste our way through the whites and reds. I like both and for different reasons. The reds seem more complex and interesting to me.
The spice options I like are vanilla and roasted nuts. It cracks me up to hear other flavors such as burned wood, tobacco, saddle-leather, wet stone, and graphite. I can’t identify most of them, it’s all a wild guess. She says you’d want to eat a steak to pair with the strong flavors of the wine. I won’t be dining on steak anytime soon, so how about an earthy mushroom ravioli in wine sauce?
Most of the girls are better than me at figuring out which fruit they taste: blackberry vs cherry vs blueberry. I find that I like a ‘mouthfeel’ that’s thicker, rather than thin and watery. Lisa supplies us with peppery crackers as well as some mild ones to dip into bowls of tapenade.
After a while, my taste buds stop working, and I know I need real food. The wines end up tasting the same, without any subtlety. I like wine, but now I see why it needs to be paired with food.
The tasting wraps up with a couple of varieties of Port and a Muscat. We learn that these Ports aren’t from Portugal, so they have to be called fortified wine or Port-like. Some late harvest wines are so late that the grapes become raisins. I like the dessert wines because they’re thick and have luscious flavors. We also have pieces of chocolate to pair with the heartier ones.
I’m feeling pretty happy and somewhat under the influence of all this wine. I slide into a conversation with a retired woman who knows what she wants. At 76 years, she’s healthy and spry. She and her husband moved here a few months ago because they wanted to live in a ‘lively place.’ Their idea is to hang out at wineries and have all their out-of-town friends come to visit. She says everyone wants to absorb the California lifestyle.
I guess I’m absorbing the California lifestyle. I have nothing to complain about.
The five of us stand around talking about ourselves, about what we find interesting in the area, where we’ve been, and what we’ve discovered.
A while later my phone vibrates with a text from Veronica. She did the final night check on the horses and is heading to bed with a bad headache. It looks like there may be a problem. “Bunny isn’t feeling well. I wanted to give you time to enjoy the class, but have a look at her when you get home.”
“I can leave now. Class is over, I’m just chatting.”
At least the evening has wound down, so I say my goodbyes and head for home. Bunny is my horse and my responsibility. She may have a slight tummy ache, or it could be a lot worse. I’m not driving fast, this way it will give her time to get better or to make me certain she needs a vet. I generally wait to see if it generates into a full-blown colic, or if it’s just a gas bubble that works its way out.
10
Charlie Simon DVM
It’s nearly 11 p.m. and Bunny is still looking depressed. She has the symptoms of colic; unhappy ears, nostrils curled back, she keeps looking at her stomach and has a light gloss of sweat on her coat in the cool of the night. I’ve been walking her a little, but it’s time to call the vet. There’s no reason to leave it till the wee hours, it will only become more exhausting.
Dr. Simon is new in town. He is taking over for the retiring vet who has been here since time began. His number is written on the whiteboard in the tack room, along with the horseshoer and other important contacts.
I leave a concise message and I’m relieved when he calls back within ten minutes. I explain her condition and the details a doctor needs to know. He says he’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. That sounds good!
There is a theory about pulling a horse's ears. Ears have meridians, something like we have in our feet. Supposedly you can fix different parts of the body. I don’t know which point influences which organ, so I’m pulling her entire ear. I’m using my thumb to stroke the insides, hopefully giving her a little relief from the pain. I don’t know if it works, but I may as well do it, as not. I stop walking her so she doesn’t get worn out. Now we’re standing at the barn, waiting.
Oh good, here he comes now. The gray Chevy pickup vet mobile pulls up to the barn. The doctor slowly gets out and stumbles. He looks haggard, and his clothes are rumpled and grubby like he hasn’t been to bed yet. I’m sorry to call him out at this hour of the night. The man will age fast at this rate.
“Hi, I’m sorry to call you out of bed so late.” I show my concern.
“Thanks, but I haven’t been to bed yet, this my second colic tonight.” He rubs his palms across his eyes. “I guess I can sleep when I’m dead.” It looks like he will be there soon if he doesn’t get some rest.
“Well, then we should get this going. I’m Jess and this is Bunny,” I lay my hand on my mare’s sleek, dark neck, and stroke it.
Usually there’s time spent getting introduced to each other. We haven’t met before, and I’m a new client. Generally, you let the vet assimilate the scene and filter out some of the crazy ideas that most horse owners have. I think my ideas are brilliant, but I’m keeping my mouth closed except for the minimum essential information. Especially at this hour, without sleep, when I’m sure his sense of humor has been turned off. I want him to look at my horse with compassion and knowledge.
“How is she feeling now?” He gives her a concerned look as he reaches back into the compartment to get a stethoscope and thermometer.
“The same—uncomfortable.”
“Hello Bunny, you aren’t feeling well? Let’s see what we can do for you,” he tells her as he stands there for a few moments while getting a temperature reading. It’s 102° and it should be 99°.
I’ve heard that Dr. Simon is a fantastic vet. He doesn’t immediately go for the sedatives and restraints. He gives the horses time to settle down before he messes with them. Having a vet walk up and stick a needle in a horse’s neck is likely to cause anything from hurt feelings to an emotional reaction, also known as panic, kicking, or 1500 pounds pulling away from my grasp.
He strokes the mare’s neck, then checks her capillary refill time when he presses her gums. There’s enough light coming from the barn to see that her refill is slow. At least her gums are a normal color. To check for dehydration, the doctor lightly pinches up the skin on her neck, to which she takes exception. Poor thing.
“She doesn’t like being poked. I can’t even pick off her chestnuts without getting a nasty look.”
He nods. “Good to know I’ll be dealing with a difficult horse.”
“Well, she isn’t really difficult.” I make excuses for her. “I don’t like shots and being poked either.” I bet he hears owners
explain away a lot of bad behavior.
He doesn’t reply. I guess the doc’s in work-mode now.
He unfolds the stethoscope from his jacket pocket, and places it on her side to listen for gurgles that indicate digestion in the intestinal quadrants. He checks her heart and respiration. “She doesn’t have any gut sounds. I’ll give her a rectal exam to feel what’s going on inside,” he heads back to his truck for the KY Jelly and a shoulder-length clear plastic glove.
He returns with a syringe in his hand. “I’ll give her this, to keep her in a good mood.” he injects a sedative into the jugular vein in her neck. We wait a few minutes for it to take effect. The exhausted doctor rubs his own eyes a few more times as we wait.
After palpating Bunny’s intestines via her rectum, he tells me, “I’d say she has an impaction, her manure is dry. I don’t think she is in enough pain for it to be a twisted intestine. From what I can feel, everything is in its place, but nothing is moving.”
Dr. Simon asks me fill his pail with water from the hose. I don’t know how much he needs, so I fill it half way; he can pour out what he doesn’t want. I return to the back of the truck and place it on the ground at his feet. He pours in almost a gallon of mineral oil from a clear jug. He pulls out the nasogastric tube and a little hand pump.
With the pail and the archaic looking implements, he approaches Bunny. It’s a good thing she is sedated, because even still, she doesn’t like the plastic tube run up her nose. She sneezes and tries to pull away. He makes sure he’s running the clear tube down her esophagus (not the trachea which is right next to it) into her stomach. Next, he sniffs the end he’s holding in his hand. He’s checking the stomach contents for an off-smell that would mean it would be dangerous to add more liquid, because the stomach is blocked. He says it’s okay to pump in the gallon from his pail. Afterward, he gently pulls out the stomach tube, and the waiting period begins.
He returns his tools to the truck, “I’ll stay for a few minutes to make sure she looks stable.”
“Thanks, doc. I’ll be up for a while tonight.” I could do with a snack. “Would you like a chocolate from Monica’s?” I offer, as I walk a few feet away and dig into my stash on the shelf.
“Sure, I’d love one. Is Monica’s that bakery in town?”
“Yes, and she is a great chocolatier. Here, I only have a few left.” I pass him the little bag. “It’s hard not to gobble them all at once.”
He reaches in, takes only one, and gives it a nibble. “I like chocolate, so I try to savor it.” His eyebrows rise and his eyes light up. “Hey, this is great!”
“I met Monica about a week ago. She makes delicious liqueur-filled chocolates and pastries. If you need something tomorrow to wake you up, drop by,” I suggest. “She’s on Grand Ave, you can’t miss her sign.”
“Sure, I think I’ve seen it.” He finishes the morsel. “I may have to stock up on these.” He gives his finger a lick.
I laugh, “I see you’re a real horseman, you’re not too worried about dirt and germs.”
“I’ve been playing with horses since I was four. My body is used to everything.”
We both lean against the truck and chat about the locals and the area. It’s amazing what a little chocolate can do to open a conversation. No wonder he is awake at all hours, he’s a really nice guy and a good conversationalist.
The topic moves to ESP and telepathic communication with animals. It becomes even more interesting when he mentions that Jack Courtland took his sick gelding to the vortex.
With all my recent drama, I’d forgotten about the vortex he has on his property.
He nods and raises his eyebrows, “At first I was skeptical, but there was a big difference between the horse that he had to coax up there, and the one who pranced out with bright eyes.” Taking a deep breath he says, “They called me out to put him to sleep, but we tried this weird last resort, and it worked.”
“Really?”
“Both Jack and I think it saved his life,” he admits.
“I’ve heard you’re a vet who goes for alternative medicine, but this more than acupuncture,” I laugh.
“You’re not kidding,” he agrees. “This isn’t public information, so try to keep it under wraps.”
“Got it, I’ll keep it quiet,” I zip my fingers across my lips. “What does the vortex do?”
“It’s a magnetic field in the earth’s crust. But it seems to go beyond logic. I know this sounds very woo-woo, but I think it’s like the energy and chakras we have in our body.” He looks at me, testing my reaction, then continues, “The earth’s energy probably enhances our own energy and produces a strong compounding effect. That’s a simplified version, and it’s also just a guess. It’s possibly what helped his horse.”
“Huh, that’s neat.” I pause and chew on my lip. “It healed him?”
“Yes, maybe, but there are questions; such as how long it lasts, if it works for everyone, if there are side effects, and how long to stay in there.” Looking up at the stars. “I don’t think it’s extra-terrestrial or anything weird. It’s just energy, which we Westerners have a hard time understanding.”
“Did you feel anything?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “When I saw the horse become more alert with each passing minute, I knew something was happening. I was worried about the placebo effect, but I didn’t feel anything. I wish I had.”
“Maybe you didn’t have anything that needed healing. You could take your sick horses there and do a clinical trial,” I eagerly suggest.
“It’s an odd thing to propose to some people, and it’s on Jack’s land. With lawsuits and all that, I doubt I could do it.”
“Well thanks for telling me, I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe I can go there and rejuvenate my body,” I laugh, but I’m serious.
“Maybe it’s the cure for life.” He smiles.
“Thanks very much for coming out. I’ll let you know if I get anything from the vortex.”
“You’re very welcome, and welcome to the neighborhood. Your mare should pass the oil in about 48 hours. Keep an eye on her, but don’t feed her,” he advises as he gets in the driver’s seat.
The truck rumbles off leaving me to think about the vortex, and how to wrangle another invitation to Spanish Hills.
11
A Day in Town
As usual, the horses are rattling their feed bins anticipating breakfast. Out the window I can see Bunny looking relaxed, she’s standing in the shade. The sun is already baking down on the dry ground. The air is still and dusty. I’d better drag out of my sleeping bag and get my chores done before it gets even hotter. Yes, I’m still sleeping in the dressing room of my trailer. I’d rather be safe than sorry.
Here comes Veronica now, she greets me with a slight smile. “I’m glad you took care of Bunny last night, I had a terrible headache, and Marc had to stay overnight in Santa Barbara.” She glances at Bun with concern. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing her favorite thing, relaxing,” I joke. “She seems okay, but we’re waiting for the oil to pass.”
“I got a migraine and couldn’t do anything but go to bed,” putting her hand to her brow. “I’m okay now, sort of.”
“You poor thing; between you and Bunny this place is like a hospital farm.”
“No kidding,” she agrees.
“Dr. Simon is really down-to-earth. He’s a neat guy, he’s kind of like a hairdresser… each time you go, you catch up on all the barn gossip and intrigue. He stayed after he oiled her. We got into a conversation about the vortex.”
“I haven’t spoken with him, he’s new in town, but he already has a good reputation,” she admits. “What does he think about the vortex? I see you’re intrigued.”
“He thinks it’s real, but he has concerns about it.”
“We don’t have any riders signed up for today, what do you have planned?” she changes the subject. The vortex isn’t high on her list of importance.
“I don’t know,
I’d like to do something creative.”
“If you’re going into town will you pick up some things at the feed store?” She looks guilty. “I’m sorry to keep sending you there.”
“No problem, it’ll give me an excuse to get some more goodies from Monica’s.”
“Oh.” She rubs her hands together with a mischievous smile. “If you’re going there, will you get me an apple strudel? Hers are so much better than those in Solvang. Make sure you only give me half at a time.”
“Why? Oh, I know… so you don’t eat it all at once.” I give her a look of mock disapproval. “Perhaps I should get extra in case there’s a disaster, and we only have strudel to eat,” I suggest with a grin.
“Good idea, get me two… in case of emergency.”
“What about your diet? Do you know how many calories are in each one?!” There’s no way that I’ll get her two. What kind of friend would that make me?
She sighs, “Fine, kill-joy,” she’s trying to keep from laughing.
“Will you keep an eye on Bunny? She should be okay, but it’s a long wait before we see the oil come out.”
As I turn away she tells me, “As far as the vortex is concerned… it’s not like it will change your life or anything.”
I motor down our driveway through the dusty stone pillars and replay Veronica’s words in my head. Has anyone in the past hundred years even tried to see if it works? Jack tried, and it worked. I wonder if his horse is still alive.
As I swing into the yard at the feed store, there’s Joe on the top of a haystack. He’s dropping bales into the bed of a pickup truck. He gives a wave. “Be down in a few,” he yells.
“Take your time, I’ll look at your new chicks,” I shout back as I head inside to peek at this week’s new arrivals. From what I hear, he only bought the store a few months ago and has already turned it around. He’s one of the good guys. I’ve come in several times and we’ve had nice conversations.