The man shrugged. “No speak Engless.”
“That’s all right,” Dusty said. “I speak rather good Spanish.” He started to ask the question again, but the man held up his hand.
“He sore.”
“Thank you.” Dusty patted the horse on the neck. “Tell Hannity I was by.”
The groom nodded.
Dusty walked on to the next barn, and the one after that, and then walked up to the HBPA office. So much had been going on lately, he’d all but forgotten about the Annual Banquet this Saturday. Irene, the head volunteer opened the office religiously Monday through Friday from 2:00 – 5:00 in the afternoon.
“How’s everything?”
“Well, I’d wish we had more signed up by now.”
“How many do you have?”
“Oh.” She reached for a chart. “Fifty-three.”
“Ouch,” Dusty said.
“Twenty bucks is cheap, but twenty bucks a head is still twenty bucks a head.”
Dusty chuckled. “Maybe it’s the price on their head part that’s keeping them away.”
Irene laughed. “Well, we’re still going to have it either way, a bunch or a little.”
“Maybe we need a theme.”
“We tried that. It didn’t work. Remember?”
Dusty paused. “Oh, yeah. Mardi Gras. That was a bust.” He scratched his head and stared off. “How about a ‘Come as You Are’?”
“Are you kidding me?” Irene said. “Do you have any idea how people might show up?”
“Well, if it helps sales….”
“No,” Irene said, and then, “Let me think about it.”
“I can spread the word for you. Just give me the nod.”
Irene hesitated. “All right. What do we have to lose?”
“Good. I might as well get started now.” He glanced back from the door. “You’re not planning on wearing that, are you?”
She threw a pen at him and laughed. “I like this mumu! It’s comfortable. Get outta here!”
“Thank you.” Dusty picked up the pen and put it in his pocket. From there he walked over to the Secretary’s office, picked up registration papers for the two horses shipping out of the Rehab and ReHome barn today and stopped to talk to Wendy for a few minutes.
“Have you heard from Linda?”
“Yes, they arrived safe and sound.”
“What about Ben?”
“Oh, you won’t believe. They’re just leaving the doctor’s now. He’s fine, but now he’s saying he’s not having the other eye done. He says he’s going to stage a protest on the front steps of the hospital in support of old people everywhere. He says he’s tired of just being a number and he’s not going to stand for it anymore.”
Dusty smiled.
“Where are they going?” Wendy asked, motioning to the registration papers.
“Well, this one,” Dusty said, “is going to be a hunter-jumper prospect. And actually the new owner is going to donate money to the program.”
“That’s good.”
“The other one is going to be a pasture buddy for one of Randy’s warmblood customers. Randy says he’s going to have the ‘Life of Riley.’”
“What do you think of the other vet? That Mark guy?”
“He seems nice. He sure got indoctrinated yesterday between Randy running him ragged and then dinner last night at the farm. Where’s Joe?”
“He left right after entries. Between you and me, I am not missing him. He’s been like a cat on a hot tin roof lately.”
~ * ~
Ben and Dawn stopped for lunch at a fast food place. “Let’s just eat in the car,” Ben said, still fuming. “Do you know what I need?”
“Yes, you need to calm down,” Dawn said. “Eat.”
“Oh geez, I’m being told when to eat now.”
Dawn smiled.
“Seriously,” Ben said. “I need a pair of sneakers.”
“Sneakers? You mean tennis shoes?”
“Yes. I need a pair of tennis shoes.”
Dawn looked at him. At least he was eating and thinking of something else. “Have you ever owned a pair of sneakers?”
“When I was a kid, yes.”
“Okay.” Dawn slurped her chocolate shake. “Let’s see. There’s a sports store just down the road.” As soon as they finished eating, off they went.
The young woman salesperson was quite amused by Ben. “Seriously, you’ve never owned a pair of tennis shoes?”
“No. I never played tennis either.”
Dawn laughed, fighting the urge to move this along.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“Ten and a half, wide.”
The woman came back with several pairs. “These are all-purpose. These are for jogging. These are for running. These are for walking.”
Ben motioned to the walking ones, white, with bright red, blue, and purple stripes. “Do they come in brown? Those look like something a Martian would wear.”
“A Martian?”
Ben tried the shoes on and laced them up. He walked down the aisle, looked in the mirror, and walked back. “Black maybe?”
“No. Those are in case you walk at night. You’ll glow.”
Ben stared at his feet. “Really?”
“Really.”
“How much are they?”
“$89 plus tax.”
“What? They’d better glow then. Eighty-nine dollars? For sneakers?”
The young woman hesitated. “Do you still want them?”
“I guess.” He looked at Dawn. “If they don’t glow, I’m bringing them back.”
“Just make sure you save your receipt,” the young woman started to say.
“He’s kidding,” Dawn said.
Ben looked at her. “No, I’m not.”
“You’ll be wearing them home?”
“Yes.” Ben put his old shoes in the box, tucked it under his arm, and rocked back and forth on his new walking sneakers. “Where do I pay?”
~ * ~
Tom was at the barn picking out stalls when Randy came by with Mark to change the bandage on B-Bo’s injured leg. He leaned over their shoulders to take a look. “Holy shit, Batman!”
“Actually it’s a little better today,” Randy said.
“I’m glad I didn’t look at it yesterday then.”
While the two veterinarians dressed the wound, Tom finished picking stalls and then topped off all the water buckets. He had the feed already mixed. As soon as Randy finished up, he’d give the horses their dinner. Bo-T bucked and squealed in his stall, not one to wait.
“When’s he going home?” Randy asked, ducking out of Bo-T’s way as he walked past his stall. “Watch out,” he said. Mark ducked.
“Tomorrow.”
“I might send B-Bo home too, maybe for a week or ten days. We can turn him out in the paddock and keep him moving that way. Where’s dinner tonight?”
“Your house. Promptly at seven.”
“We’ll be there. We’re on a roll.”
“Dr. Iredell to barn eleven,” the stable guard announced. “Dr. Iredell to barn eleven.”
“I’ll see you at the farm,” Randy said, and got into his truck.
“Which house is his?” Mark asked Tom.
“The big colonial in the back. Where’s your truck?”
Mark motioned that it was parked up by the stable gate. “How far are we from Brigadoon Road?”
Tom looked at him and smiled. “Buffert’s place?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, aren’t you gonna have fun. It’s not far, about twenty-five minutes.”
Mark pulled into Brigadoon Farm ten minutes early and parked by the main entrance of the rather grandiose two-story, ten-stall barn, white with hunter-green trim and shutters. It looked more like a house, a mansion. Mark stood admiring it for a moment and walked inside. The aisle way between the stalls was brick-paved laid in a herringbone pattern. The lighting was a row of chandeliers, and judging from their bright glow, LED bul
bs.
A man dressed in English riding attire walked down the aisle to greet him. “Hello, you must be Dr. Simmons.
Mark shook the man’s gloved hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Buffert.”
“Please, just call me Buffert. Everyone does.”
“All right,” Mark said. The name “Buffert” didn’t seem to fit the man. He looked more like a Rockefeller or a Kennedy, chiseled profile and all. “Well, where is the horse in question?”
“Follow me.”
As Mark walked along, he couldn’t help but notice the empty stalls; all bed two feet deep in wood shavings, the stall walls lined in thick rubber sheeting. “The horse in question” was in the last stall and not exactly what Mark had expected, given the phone conversation with the man and the appearance of this barn. It was a big non-descript-looking bay gelding standing about 16 hands, rubbed shiny clean, short mane, squared-off tail, no forelock, and feet that looked as if they were at least six inches in height. His feet gave him the appearance of being on his tip-toes.
“See,” Buffert said, standing with his arms crossed and supporting his chin. “He just looks funny.”
“Has he ever had trouble with his feet?” Mark asked.
Buffert stared and was still suffering shock from that question when Mark added another. “Has he always been shod that way?”
“Precisely what do you mean? Besides, what would his feet have to do with him just looking funny?”
Mark studied the horse and without realizing it, had taken on the exact same posture of Buffert. Arms crossed and supporting his chin. “And you say he’s sound?”
“Oh yes!”
“And eating good and uh ‘peeing and pooping’?” He remembered the note.
“Yes. That’s what’s so puzzling.”
Mark nodded. “Can you get him out of the stall and let me see him walk.”
“Sure.” Buffert took the horse’s halter and lead-shank off a brass hook hung outside the stall and slid the horse’s door open. The gelding stepped forward obediently and lowered his head. Buffert gave the horse a stiff pat on the neck. Mark couldn’t determine if that was affection or a command. Buffert walked the horse out into the aisle way. Mark listened to the sound of the horse’s hooves clunking on the herringbone brick. Each sounded the same. He watched the way the horse put each foot down. Watched the way his shoulder lifted and relaxed, lifted and relaxed. He studied his stifles, his hocks.
“Can we go outside and jog him?” When Buffert looked hesitant, Mark glanced over his shoulder, confused. “Are there other horses out back?”
“Well, no. He’s the only horse here, but…it’s….uh, can I just jog him in here?”
“No,” Mark said. He pictured Randy hiding somewhere, laughing, and saying I warned you. “I need to see him outside, uh, on the uh, the earth.”
“Oh, okay,” Buffert said. “Watch out.”
Mark stepped back and followed them. The horse stopped just outside the barn and gazed out at the lush green pastures. Mark stood marveling as well. They looked as if they’d just been mowed. It was a beautiful sight, all fenced in white. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the horse starting to quiver.
“I’d better take him back in,” Buffert said. “He’s not used to being out this time of day. Maybe you can come back in the morning.”
“Why don’t you just turn him out?” Mark suggested.
Surprisingly, Buffert handed him the horse’s lead-shank. “I’ll get the gate.”
Mark followed, leading the horse, who by now resembled a 747 jet revving up for takeoff. “Easy now,” Mark said. “Easy now.”
“Oh dear, “Buffert said. “This is why I don’t put him out this time of day.” He unlatched the gate, pushed it open hard and hurried over to grab it from the outside and keep it from closing on the horse.
Mark instinctively grabbed hold of the horse’s ear. “Easy now, easy, easy….” He released the horse’s lead shank, let go of the horse’s ear and for a split second the horse just stood there. Then like an explosion, he turned and took off running. And he ran, and he ran, and he ran.
“How long has it been since he was turned out?” Somewhere around this point, Mark forgot he was a vet and reverted to being just a horseman. Every time the horse came charging up to the gate he just stood enjoying the show.
“I try to get him out a couple of times a week.”
“Why not every day? Work?”
“Oh no, I’m retired.”
The man didn’t appear to be fifty years old. Mark looked at him and then stepped back when the horse made another charge toward the fence and turned at the last minute. It was then Mark noticed something odd about the horse. “Something funny.”
“How often do you ride him?”
“Oh, I don’t. Not anymore.”
Yet, the man was dressed to ride. Mark stood tugging at his ear, thinking, and when the horse came up to the fence the next time, he clapped his hands. The horse took off running again. “He hasn’t bucked once. He hasn’t rolled either.”
“Oh, he never bucks. He’s not allowed.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“What about rolling?”
“Nope. He’s a real clean horse. He was trained well.”
“Okay….” Mark pictured Tom hiding somewhere nearby now and laughing. “And he’s the only horse here?’
“Yes. I don’t want any other horses. I’ll just fall in love with them and when Trojan goes….”
“Trojan?”
Trojan ran up to the fence and took off again. The horse hadn’t grazed yet either. He hadn’t even sniffed the grass. “Well,” Mark said. “I think we need to change that.” Again, as a horseman and not necessarily a veterinarian, Mark climbed the fence and stood on the inside, lead-shank in hand.
“What are you going to do?” Buffert said.
The horse trotted right up to Mark, all obedient like, and stood blowing. “Good boy, good boy,” Mark said. He stroked the horse gently on the neck, snapped the lead shank on him and led him to a real lush spot and proceeded to drop him down gently – horse whisperer style.
Buffert gasped. “Wh...! What!”
“He’s all right,” Mark said, when the horse just lay there. “He’s all right. He’s just in uncharted territory.”
“Get up,” Buffert gasped.
“Seriously,” Mark said, pointing a finger at the man. “Shhhh….” He released the lead shank from the horse’s halter and when the horse continued to just lay there, took the horse’s halter off. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.”
When the horse laid his head down and started moving it back and forth against the grass, Mark stepped away. The horse moved its legs back and forth, eyes closed, and looked like it was sleepwalking, walking and walking. Then it rolled onto its back, up and over, and then back up and over again.
Mark got to the fence just in time. When the horse rose, he shook, bucked, and bucked and bucked and bucked. Mark climbed the fence and sat on the top rail, watching and smiling. The horse reared, pawed the air, circled, and then went down and rolled again.
“It’s a miracle,” Mark said, jokingly.
“I know,” Buffert uttered breathlessly.
Another roll, another fine show of bucking and rearing, and the horse finally put his head down and started nosing the grass and ultimately took to grazing.
“He’s been out all along on the pasture, right?” Mark asked.
Buffert nodded.
The horse was a little sweaty, but not overly. “He’ll be okay,” Mark said.
“What was wrong with him?”
Mark’s chosen profession came to the forefront as he looked at the man. “Uh…” He hesitated. “I think he might have had a little kink in his back. You’ll want to make sure you get him out every day from now on. If you don’t see him rolling and bucking, call me. What’s your e-mail address?”
Buffert rattled it off. Mark recorded it on his cellphone. “I�
��m going to send you some pictures of the correct angle of a horse’s foot. Your blacksmith has him standing up way too straight and way too long. That might have started this whole thing. Have him angle them gradually.”
“But his feet look so pretty.”
“Pretty is as pretty does,” Mark said, imitating Forrest Gump’s voice. “What would you rather have, pretty feet or happy feet?” He pulled up a website on his phone and showed Buffert a photo of a healthy-shaped horse’s hoof. “When we get him right, we’ll pull the shoes all together. For what you’re doing with him and the barn setup, he should be barefoot. You also might want to get him a goat or a companion horse. You’re wasting a lot of really nice grass by mowing all the time.”
Buffert looked at him. “I’ll think about it. Uh, what do I owe you?”
“I have no idea,” Mark said. “Betty’ll send you a bill.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Ben and Dawn approached T-Bone’s Place, most of the new residents were sitting out on the front porch, so Ben had Dawn drop him off. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he said, closing the door and waving.
His new shoes were a hit. “Whoo whoo!” Miguel said, whistling. “You uptown now, Mr. B!”
Ben laughed. “No, but this way I figure if I start walking in my sleep you’ll all see me coming. They glow!”
“No kidding?” Clint said, peering at them with curiosity.
“Nope. I’m going to test them out tonight.” Ben sat down on one of the empty chairs and looked around. “Oh geez, here come the dogs. Nobody move.”
They all laughed. They’d been visited by the pack several times already today. The five yellow Labrador Retrievers and one Black Standard Poodle bounded up the steps and milled all around them.
“What’s this one’s name?” Mim asked, of the tail-wagging wiggle-worm at her side.
“Let’s see.” Ben paused. “That one there’s easy, that’s Gimpy. He’s got a slight limp. All these Labs are from the same litter. Randy saved them and brought them all home one day. We had baby bottles and puppy shit everywhere.”
The old-timers laughed.
“Rotty’s the poodle. He’s pretty much Wendy’s. He took a liking to her. We all did.”
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