Keeping Barney

by Jessie Haas

  When he was wedged in securely, they blanketed him, and rigged a bulky, makeshift bandage. “We’ll see,” said Mr. Jones, looking sceptical. They got into the cab and began the rough ride down the mountain. At each bump, the sound of scrambling hooves tore at Sarah’s heart. She kept seeing Barney down, bleeding, trampled. Mr. Jones drove grimly on, trying to get the ordeal over as quickly as possible. On the other side of her, Albert sniffled, and she heard his teeth chatter. He’d ridden off with his jacket unzipped and nothing underneath.

  “Oh, Bert, I hope you don’t get a cold,” Sarah wailed, breaking a long silence. Albert looked startled and said nothing, but in a moment his shoulder shoved comfortingly against hers.

  When they reached the main road they stopped to check. Barney was still on his feet, but the bandage had slipped and the wound was bleeding again. Mr. Jones packed it, and drove swiftly to Sarah’s house.

  Mom and Dad were waiting in the yard, grim and worried, and together they persuaded Barney to come out of the truck. He would move only after Herky had been unloaded. Then they eased him, step by step, into the barn and his stall, bedded deep in sawdust. Turned loose, he looked to see if Herky was near. Then his head dropped, and he stood by the door, motionless.

  “Heard from the vet?” asked Mr. Jones.

  “Your wife said he was out when she called, but they’ll send him to us right away.”

  Mr. Jones peeked under the bandage, and pressed it back quickly. “It better be right away.”

  (13)Dr. Raymond

  The vet arrived twenty minutes later, a large, red-faced man smelling of cows and antiseptic. “Hi, I’m Doc Raymond. Sorry I took so long.” He came into the stall with Sarah and Barney, and pulled away the latest bandage. “Whew! That’s a mess. Too bad, he’s a darned good little horse. My daughter’s ridden against him in shows. Remember me, Barney? I’m the guy who sticks needles in you every once in a while … and you’re going to get some more today, poor fellow.”

  He turned to everybody clustered around the stall door. “Could you get me a bucket of warm water, and maybe a drop cord? Light’s kind of poor in here.” While Mom and Dad were gone, he swabbed a place on Barney’s neck with alcohol and gave him a shot. “General antibiotic. Hmm, better go with a tetanus, too. God, I hate this time of year!” His broad, genial face hardened. “I have more animals come in shot by hunters … I know you hunt, Art,” to Mr. Jones, “and I don’t mean all hunters—but God, the fools they let into the woods with a gun!”

  Dad came back with a steaming pail of water, and Dr. Raymond splashed a pungent liquid into it. Then he brought out a huge, gleaming stainless steel syringe, filled it with water, and gently squirted it over the wound, washing it. Now that the first shock was over, Sarah found that she was able to watch. The small seepage of blood turned pink, and washed thinly down Barney’s chest.

  “There.” Dr. Raymond put the syringe back in the pail, and patted the wound dry with gauze. This worried Barney a little, but Sarah’s fingers, gently rubbing the base of his ears, reassured him.

  Mom finally brought the drop cord, and the dark stall was flooded with yellow light. Dr. Raymond now injected a local anesthetic into Barney’s chest, and threaded a needle. Mom turned abruptly away, and even Dad looked a little distressed. Sarah stood stroking Barney’s neck and watching, fascinated, as Dr. Raymond began putting together the puzzle of torn skin and flesh. It took a long time, and the very center of the wound could not be closed. As Sarah watched, the world narrowed to the haze of yellow light, Barney’s marred chest, and the vet’s sure hands. Nothing else had ever existed, or would exist.

  “There,” said Dr. Raymond, straightening finally, blinking his eyes hard. “Want to hand me that bottle of sulfonamide dressing, Art?” He puffed the yellow powder on the open patch. “There, that’ll help with the formulation of new tissue.” He washed his hands and began putting things away.

  Now that the stitching was done, Mom came back to the stall door. She asked the question Sarah didn’t dare to. “How do things look?”

  Dr. Raymond closed his bag and stood up, stiffly. “It’s early to tell. If all goes right, he could heal perfectly. If he gets infected, or feverish … well, anything could happen.” He turned to Sarah.

  “Keep him on bran mashes for the first three or four days, that and a little hay—oh, and plenty of water, warm, so he doesn’t get colic. And he’ll need exercise, too, or the muscles will heal short and he’ll be permanently lame. Start late tomorrow, maybe five minutes of walking, and gradually work up from there. That’s very important.

  “Now, I’ll leave a bottle of wound dressing, and some of this antiseptic. Wash the wound twice a day, dry it, and then puff this dressing all over it. That’s about all; I’ll drop by sometime tomorrow and see how he’s doing.” He rubbed Barney’s nose gently with his knuckles, and refastened the blanket. “There, old horse. We’ll get you feeling better in no time. It’s probably a good idea to keep him covered for a while, and I’ll give you a collar so he can’t bite out his stitches.” He picked up his bag and left the stall, looking at his watch. “Darn, I’m due in surgery five minutes ago.”

  Mom went with him, and brought back the collar. It was made of smooth, rounded sticks, held together by leather straps, and would keep him from bending his neck. It looked dreadfully uncomfortable.

  “Do you think he needs it on tonight?” she asked, as Mr. Jones started to adjust it. “He probably won’t feel up to chewing himself.”

  “Leave it on, or Doc’ll have all that stitching to do over in the morning. You folks got any bran?”

  “No,” said Mom, “I’m afraid we don’t.”

  “I’ll send Mother over with a sack. C’mon, Bert, get your nag in the truck. It’s getting on to chore time.” It didn’t seem possible that that much time had passed, but when Sarah looked at Mom’s watch, it was almost four.

  Albert untied Herky and started to lead him outside. But as soon as he moved away, Barney came to life. With a high-pitched neigh, he turned to lean against the door, staring anxiously after his friend.

  “Bring him back,” Sarah shrieked. “Barney’s pressing his chest on the door!” Hurriedly, Albert turned Herky around and let Barney sniff him. Reassured, Barney drooped again.

  “Looks like you’ll have to leave him,” said Mr. Jones. “Well, get him settled, then.” Now that the crisis was over, he seemed fidgety.

  “OK.” Albert tied Herky beside the stall, adjusted his blanket, and got him a bale of hay from the mow. He paused awkwardly beside Sarah. “Sorry I have to run off like this. I’d like to stay and help.…”

  “You better go get warmed up,” Sarah said dully. “You’ll catch a cold.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Looking very embarrassed, he squeezed her shoulder. “Well, take care, OK? I’d better go, or Dad’ll get jumpy.” He reached over the door to scratch Barney’s ear. “Hope you feel better, Barney. And you be good, Herk. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  Warmed by his concern, Sarah watched him out of sight. Thank heaven for good, fat old Albert—and the next time Danny Trevor called him Fat Albert, she’d punch him in the nose! She turned back to Barney.

  The first thing was to get him some warm water. She got a pail, filled it at the sink, and trudged back, slopping the water into her boot. Barney wasn’t interested. She splashed in it with one hand, to let him know what it was. He paid no attention, and when she took her hand out the cold turned it numb and she had to tuck it quickly into her armpit.

  At last, Barney turned listlessly toward the water, flipped the surface with his bottom lip, and then sucked down the whole pailful. Finally, response! Best not to give him too much all at once, though. She took Herky out to the water tub before bringing Barney another pail, which he drained.

  By that time Mrs. Jones had arrived with the bran. Mom and Sarah mixed up the hot mash, a very messy process. Dad thought it smelled wonderful, but Barney mouthed it dully and ate only half. At last, Sarah gave up trying to c
oax him and went back into the house, moving in a fog of exhaustion.

  To her surprise, she was hungry. Cold air and hard work had sharpened her appetite. She ate slowly and methodically, her head propped on one hand, trying to think of nothing but the food. At last, though, she was stuffed, and there was nothing else to do. “Guess I’ll call Mrs. O’Brien and get Missy’s number.”

  “Good girl,” said Mom.

  Mrs. O’Brien was horrified. At first she could only ask, over and over, “But will he be OK?” When she calmed down, she refused to even consider letting Sarah call Missy. “I’ll call her myself. Such a shock—you’re a good girl, but a mother can handle this better. I will give her your number, so she can talk to you afterward.”

  More waiting. Twenty minutes passed, while Sarah dozed uneasily in the big chair by the fireplace. When the phone finally did ring, she jumped nearly out of her skin.

  “Hello, Sarah?” A terrible tension in the voice. “Mom said … how is he?”

  Sarah had to clear her throat. “Well, it looks awful, but the vet says with good luck and care he should heal fine.”

  “Whew! I was so scared.” Missy’s voice went shaky with relief. “When Mom said he’d been shot … how did it happen?”

  Sarah explained as well as she could. The whole thing was still fragmented in her mind. She couldn’t understand how the hunter could have missed the deer, that close, or how he could have fired in the first place, when he must have seen her and Albert right behind the deer.

  “How does he feel?” Missy asked finally, in a tiny, dreading voice.

  Sarah had to say, “Pretty bad. But he drank, Missy, and he ate half his bran mash. The vet’s coming again tomorrow.…”

  “Doctor Raymond?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God. He’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, and Mom and Mr. Jones—he’s a farmer up the road—will tell me what to do. I’ll take good care of him, Missy.”

  “I know. It’s just … darn, why did I have to go to school so far away? If I could only come see him, and help … darn!” She’d been feeding in coins as the operator demanded them, but, “I’m out of money. I’ll call tomorrow, OK?” Sarah’s reply was cut off.

  She hung up and went out to the kitchen. “I’m going to take another pail of water to Barney and go to bed.”

  “I’ll do that for you,” said Dad. “You’re too tired.”

  “No, I’ll get it.”

  She was surprised to find it snowing out, fat, puffy, endless flakes drifting through the flashlight beam. Already there was a coating on the path deep enough to make tracks in. It seemed years since morning, when she’d rejoiced that the snow hadn’t come.

  Herky nickered sleepily as she came in. He’d finished his hay and was standing close to Barney’s door. Sarah fondled his big head a moment before daring to look into the stall.

  Barney was still in the same place, his ears back in a strained expression. He looked at her with brief interest, then dismissed her, ignoring the water. The wound hadn’t changed since she’d last looked. If only it doesn’t get infected, she thought. But there was nothing more she could do tonight. She left the water beside him and went back inside. There she ran a deep tubful of warm water, got in, and, half an hour later, Mom was tucking Sarah in bed. “You’ve done well today, dear,” she said. “We’re very proud of you.” Giving her a quick, tight hug, she left. Sarah fell asleep immediately.

  (14)The Gift

  The sky was still dusky when she got up the next morning. Dressing quickly, she ran a pail of warm water and hurried out to the barn. She was greeted with a nicker from Herky and, wonder of wonders, a high-pitched little neigh from Barney. He was looking cautiously over the stall door, not daring to raise his head high because of the stiffness, but very eager. He almost knocked her over to get to the water.

  Hugely relieved, Sarah went back inside to make the bran mash. Barney still wasn’t very hungry, though, and kept looking back hopefully at the empty water pail. Sarah got him some more, letting Herky finish the mash.

  Now she had to wash the wound. She tied him up short and began gingerly, wincing every time he did. When Dr. Raymond had done this, he’d had a syringe, and the wound was fresh. Now it was crusted with dressing, and Sarah had to work with wet, chilled fingers.

  Finally, though, the wound was clean, and she puffed dressing over it. Then she watered Herky, got more water for Barney, and hayed them. Barney wanted his hay enough to stumble across the stall for it. Sarah’s heart soared. She never thought she’d ever get so much satisfaction out of a horse’s greed. She picked out his stall and put down fresh sawdust, and just when she was pausing to lean on the stall door and feel self-approving, Mom called.

  “Sarah, breakfast.”

  “Oops, see you two this afternoon.” She ran to the house, kicking in the knee-deep, fluffy snow. Under a clear, brilliant sky, the yard sparkled like a Christmas card. Star, delighted, was bouncing through the drifts and rolling ecstatically on her back, inviting Sarah to play. “Sorry, baby, no time.” She gulped her breakfast, and hurried down to the bus stop.

  At school, she and Albert were overnight celebrities. Everyone crowded around them, clamoring for details. Sarah was furious at their macabre interest: they didn’t care about Barney at all! Or her and Albert, for that matter. Fortunately, Jill was there. Sarah lost herself in the flow of chatter and pretended not to hear anyone else.

  Today was the day she was finally supposed to go to Jill’s house. Jill had always put it off, but last week she’d finally said yes. “’Cause the boys have basketball and Marie’s got a party, so there’ll only be two kids at home instead of seven.” Now Sarah couldn’t go. Jill’s bright string of chatter broke for a minute when she realized this, and a fleeting look of disappointment crossed her face.

  “Maybe I can come Saturday,” she said, and Jill nodded, though she still didn’t look happy.

  School blurred by, and she jumped off the bus, to hurry up the crunchy, snow-packed road. She heard Star barking from the bottom of the hill, and when she came into the yard, there was Dr. Raymond’s pickup. She rushed in to find him in the stall, examining Barney.

  “How is he?”

  “Oh, hullo. Much better; no fever, and the wound looks good and clean. You’ve done a good job.” He glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows jumped. “By George, I’ve got fifteen whole minutes before I have to be anywhere! Good, let’s see if we can get him walking.”

  While Sarah got Barney’s rope, Dr. Raymond led Herky away from the door, and stood holding him by the opposite wall. Sarah liked the picture they made together, the big red horse and the large man with the weatherbeaten red face.

  She haltered Barney and led him out. He shuffled on his front feet, tossing his nose impatiently, doubtless annoyed with the collar as well as with his injury. Sarah let him hobble across to rub noses with Herky.

  “He’s good and stiff,” said Dr. Raymond. “Just lead him up and down here for me a few times.”

  “Just leading” Barney was more difficult than it sounded, since he didn’t particularly want to move. Sarah had to speak very sternly and keep flicking his ribs with the rope end. Dr. Raymond leaned against Herky, talking to him and watching. At last he nodded.

  “Good enough. Make sure he gets that twice a day, starting tomorrow. By next week you should be able to take him outside when it’s not too slippery, but wait till I come again before you do that. And now I do have to go. I’ll be seeing you.”

  While she was helping Barney back into his stall, Albert arrived leading Ginger. His voice sounded croaky, but otherwise he seemed well.

  “Hi, how is he?”

  “Better.” Sarah told him all about Dr. Raymond’s visit, and he looked satisfied. Then he got Herky’s bridle out of the tack room.

  “Hi, Herk, you big lunkhead. Yes, I’m taking you home, but you gotta leave your pal Ginger here.” Ginger had already shouldered her way to Herky’s hay pile.

 
“Thanks for doing this, Albert. He really does need a companion right now.”

  “Get him and Star used to each other.”

  “Hah! I’d like to keep my baby dog all in one piece, thanks.” Chasing Star was one of Barney’s favorite occupations when healthy.

  “You could get him a goat, like they do for nervous race horses.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea! I love goats.” But her mind quickly skipped back to the newspaper ads. “They cost fifty or sixty dollars, though. Mom just barely got a job, and we’re still living on macaroni and cheese. I couldn’t.”

  “That’s too …” Suddenly, Albert’s eyes sparkled, and his mouth curved in a smile that usually meant he’d moved one of your checkers while your back was turned, and was waiting to see if you’d notice. Catching her eye, he ducked his head, and when he came up the smile was gone. He bridled Herky, and Sarah gave him a leg up.

  As he was leaving, he paused to say, “Y’know, Sarahs, you really should get up to Jill’s Saturday if you can. She doesn’t invite people much—it’s kind of important, I think.”

  “That’s what I thought. I’ll make sure to go.”

  “All right. Bye, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The week settled into a new, far busier routine. Sarah got up early to make Barney’s breakfast, to clean and dress the wound, to lead him up and down the front of the barn for a few minutes, and to water him and Ginger. Then, after school, the whole process was repeated.

  The wound began showing a little healthy pink in the unstitched patch, and it didn’t bleed anymore. Barney’s mood improved, too. He was grouchy about exercise, and nipped if he felt she was pushing too hard, but at rest he seemed his old self again. Each evening Sarah wrote a report to Missy, and on Friday a big package of carrots arrived in the mail. Sarah took one out to Barney.

  “Missy sent these—she didn’t come herself, though. Wonder why not. I would. Maybe she’s found someone to be in love with. But don’t worry, Bear, I want you even if she doesn’t.” She walked back to the house, her head filled with graceful speeches of thanks for the gift of the unwanted Barney.