by Toni Mari
“Gladstone. It is an equestrian show grounds. The vet will know what it means.” Just write it down, lady. We both knew he was going to call and talk directly to me anyway. Windsong’s hooves beat a tattoo just under the iron bars. My stomach turned over.
“Okaaay. And what’s the medical emergency?” she asked slowly.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the brilliant flashes of lightning, but I could still hear Windsong’s rasping breath and the splash of water as he slammed the bucket. “My horse is nervous due to the storm.” How did I explain that he was in mortal danger because of his heart condition? “A heart attack—he could have a heart attack.”
“He could, or he is?” she asked, her tone hardening. “This is an emergency line. I won’t disturb the doctor if it’s not an emergency.”
“It is. It is. I’m telling you. He’s very frightened, he could die if he doesn’t see a doctor soon. He has a heart condition.”
“I’ll put down heart condition, but I’m warning you, young lady, if this is a trumped-up call, the doctor will bill for a call fee even if he doesn’t come out.”
“That’s fine! Just give him the message. Hurry!” I slid down the wall onto my butt and held the phone tightly so there would be no chance of missing the return call from the doctor.
Chapter 36
I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of crashing thunder and Windsong’s accompanying thuds. I pressed send the instant my phone rang.
In a superfast deluge of words, I explained the situation, including details of Windsong’s damaged heart valve, his elevated numbers all afternoon, and his extreme agitation at the storm. There was silence on the other end.
“Doctor, I assure you, this is an emergency. His heart could fail under all the stress. I need you here,” I said, doing my best to control the tremble in my voice.
“It is going to take me awhile. Electricity is out all over the area. The rain is coming down so hard, I can barely see the road.”
“I understand, but please hurry.”
I put my head in my hands, wishing Cory was with me. I thought about calling him, but it was four in the morning, and he still wasn’t talking to me.
Horrific images flashed in my mind with every bolt of lightning, each worse than the last. Over the years, I had read occasional stories of a racehorse or event horse dying during competition. My response was always outrage that an owner could let that happen to their animal, disgust that a rider would push their mount until the animal keeled over.
But, now, after having experienced the confusing and nonspecific symptoms of Windsong’s condition—a condition we discovered by accident—it was easy to imagine those riders not even knowing their horses were at risk. Windsong’s energy and drive never let up when I was riding him. He was strong and fit. He couldn’t scare himself to death, could he? He wasn’t galloping at full speed; he was safe in his stall.
I looked up when a faint light floated toward me in the darkness.
“Hi.” It was the night groom. “You’re still here.” Her head whipped around when Windsong’s body-slammed the wall. “What was that?”
“My horse. He’s a mess.”
I stood, and we both peered in the stall. Windsong’s eyes glowed back at us, the pink of his nostrils showing, his neck shiny with sweat. I strained my eyes, looking for blood on his dark coat.
“Crud. He’s going to kill himself,” I moaned. “I called the vet. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Cathy spoke loudly over the clatter of the heavy rain on the barn roof. “Let’s put his halter on. Maybe holding him still and keeping him company will help. My name is Cathy, by the way.”
Cathy held her lantern light up so I could see, and I carefully entered the stall. Singing his name and cooing gently, I got the halter over his head and buckled it. I stroked his neck, and my hand came away clammy. I peered at the moisture, relieved that it was not red and that it smelled salty. “Can you get my stethoscope? I left it on the chair.”
When the light moved, Windsong snorted and paced a tight, frantic circle around me. He practically disappeared into the dark, his snorting louder than the rain.
Adrenaline made my hands shaky. I carefully placed the earpieces in and put the bell on his side while Cathy held the lead rope. I looked at my phone and had to follow Windsong around a few circles before I got a decent count. I repeated it twice, my nausea increasing with each count. It was higher than I had ever recorded.
His coat was stiff with dried sweat where I stroked his neck. My heart was beating furiously, making me wonder at the stress his poor heart was withstanding.
Cathy held him as still as she could, trying to prevent any wall climbing. Windsong quieted slightly, enough to make me wonder whether I had called the vet unnecessarily.
I threw a cotton cooler over his back to absorb some of the sweat and keep him from feeling chilled. I offered him a fresh flake of hay, but he didn’t even look at it or the treat in my hand. That worried me more than anything else.
Windsong loved treats, and I was back to feeling impatient for the vet to arrive.
Finally, the veterinarian’s pickup truck rolled to a stop at the end of the barn, and he left the headlights pointing down the aisle. A balding, bespectacled man approached us with a reassuring smile. “Ladies, let’s take a look.”
I led Windsong into the aisle, and he stood in the light.
I told the doctor the current numbers and explained Windsong’s history and heart condition. He listened intently. He placed his own stethoscope behind Windsong’s leg and listened to the horse’s heart himself, commenting that he heard the murmur. He lifted Windsong’s lip and pressed a finger against the gums. His hands were gentle as he ran them over Windsong’s body, and his voice was soothing to me, so I hoped it helped Windsong.
“His heart rate is elevated and his breathing … Whoa!” The agile man scooted back against the wall. Windsong whirled at another clap of thunder, metal shoes scrabbling on the cement floor, tiny sparks flying from his feet.
“Sorry. Are you okay?” I asked the doctor as I straightened Windsong.
“He is quite jumpy, huh? Anyway, I can hear the irregular heartbeat, and he is highly agitated. I don’t really know what that could mean. You say he is a nervous horse. Maybe we give him some time, and then check again. If his heart rate doesn’t come down, that may be a sign of something unusual happening with his valve, which could explain the extra agitation he is displaying. Maybe he feels sick or unusual in some way.”
I swallowed, raising a shaky hand to my mouth, and sucked in a worried breath. “You think he’s having a heart attack?” A stiff wind blew up the aisle. Windsong’s tail billowed to the side and he jerked my arm as he scooted past me. I gripped the lead tighter, and turned him around. Cathy flattened herself against the wall to avoid being sideswiped by his rump.
“Not an attack, but something is not right. The increased heart rate, if it continues, may cause that bad valve in the horse’s heart to malfunction or may damage it further. He must be calmed. I suggest a sedative.” His furry eyebrows shot up in warning. “But there aren’t any that are legal in a show after administration.”
Chewing a fingernail, I swallowed bile. “How long does the sedative last?”
“It won’t clear his system for forty-eight to seventy-two hours, but I usually advise my clients not to administer anything for a whole week before a show.”
My class was in less than twenty-four hours. The most important ride of my life. The ride that was going to prove to Robert, to my parents, to Cory—to everyone—that Windsong and I belonged here, that I had what it took to ride at this level, that they should take me seriously as a national contender.
I took a shuddering breath around the lump in my throat, acid burning in my gut. “And if I don’t let you give it to him?” I rasped hopelessly.
“It may be hours before the storm is over and he calms down. There is no way of knowing what that valve can handle. L
ike I said, we can take the risk and give him time to calm down on his own.”
An image of Windsong’s heart bursting, blood spewing all over the stall, his body sinking to the shavings, eyes rolling back in his head, flashed in my mind. Windsong lying motionless, not breathing. My stomach lurched.
My eyes met the doctor’s, his shining with sympathy. He was stroking Windsong’s rigid neck, but the horse wouldn’t stand still. Windsong turned and looked behind him, and then whipped around to look in another direction. “You think I should give it to him?”
He shrugged. “Your call, but sedating him will practically eliminate the risk of an actual heart attack.”
He would live then, but his career would be over. To survive, he obviously needed a quieter life than that of a competition horse. Tears stung my eyes, and I scrunched them shut. What would I tell Michelle? I had signed a contract with EMA that had Windsong’s name on it. I would be fired before I could do any good.
And how would I pay for his care if I lost my job? I couldn’t sell him or lease him to anyone as a show horse. I couldn’t sell him as a trail horse; he was too spooky. Who would buy such an expensive, high-maintenance animal as a pasture pet? No one. That’s who. He would wind up at the killer auctions or in some other horrible situation that would kill him dead anyway.
I couldn’t let that happen. I had to show in that class. I had to keep my job. I had to be the EMA spokesperson.
I had to tell the doctor no. That was the only way to save Windsong’s life. We needed to ride one last class to establish my reputation so that I would have a job and be able to pay for Windsong’s care for the rest of his life.
There was a silent flash of lightning, and it was a couple of seconds before thunder rumbled, much quieter now. Windsong lifted his head, scenting the ozone-tainted air, trembling. The headlights backlit his rock-hard, tense stance, head high, nostrils flared, and the whites of his eyes glowing eerily. His legs were splayed and he was ready to escape from the oncoming threat of the storm.
I held up my hand. “Let me call my sponsor.” Cathy took the lead rope from my hand, her mouth a grim line.
Quickly, I dialed the number. “Michelle, we have a problem.” I told her everything, my voice as shaky as my knees.
“No. You can’t drug him. They will eliminate you from the competition. You won’t even get to ride him on the grounds again if you do that. Don’t do it. Wait for me. I’ll get dressed and be there in half an hour.” She hung up.
Without looking up, I scrolled through my recent calls. I pressed Kate’s name, but she didn’t answer. Right, she was already on the plane. It would be hours before I could speak with her.
Hesitantly, I poked at Cory’s name, almost canceling the call before his name flashed on the screen. I curled my fingers and let it go through. Please, let him answer. Our disagreement aside, I knew he would understand exactly how I felt and give me good advice.
His recorded voice asked me to leave a message. My lungs deflated with a loud hiss. I leaned my forehead on the stall door. “I need you,” I whispered. “It’s an emergency. Windsong is really, really upset because of the storm. His heart is under stress and I have to decide to medicate him or not. Cory, please call me right back. Tell me what to do.” I hung up with a sob.
Holding a tiny hope that he would call back, I took a breath and straightened. I would tell the vet we would wait for Windsong to calm down. Cathy and I would stay with him, soothe him, and he would be fine.
“Jane, what do you want to do?” the kind veterinarian asked, his sleepy, red-rimmed eyes sympathetic.
Windsong’s head was high above mine. He twisted his neck to stare into the headlights. Cathy held the rope loosely, letting him look around, instead of fighting him to stand still and adding to his stress.
The strong breeze lifted his forelock, and his nostrils flared, sucking in the crisp smell of ozone. At a loud crack of thunder, he whipped his hind end to the side and yanked Cathy off her feet. She bounced against his shoulder, tightening her grip and using his momentum to regain her footing. His hooves smacked the wall, and he snorted loudly and then scrambled backward away from the misty headlights of the truck.
I ran to his head to take the lead from Cathy. “Windsong, easy, boy.” I stroked his neck but blanched as I felt his whole body quiver. His knees were bent and his head cocked sideways. “Easy now, calm yourself.”
His ears strained forward and never even flicked in my direction. His eyes were vacant, staring at a distant threat that only he perceived. How long could I watch him suffer this mental anguish? If I didn’t sedate him, would there be another, more horrible end to his suffering?
“Windsong, buddy, want a treat?” I wiped my wet cheeks with my sleeve and dug around my pocket. “Please, calm down, buddy.”
His head bobbed down, bumping my palm without taking the nugget. An ear splitting crack of thunder snapped through the barn and he flinched, a shudder running through his limbs. I looked at his liquid brown eyes encircled by bloodshot white and his hard, tense muscles. I lightly ran my hand up and down his neck with no response.
Where was Michelle? Why didn’t Cory call me? Windsong’s metal shoes clipped on the floor as he jigged, his neurosis not abating even a little bit. He was ready to run.
I reached up to stroke that velvety part of his nose, but he didn’t even notice.
My parents would say “I told you so.” My father, he would shrug with that smug smile. “You should have given up that horse and stayed in school like I said.” I wanted to prove him wrong so badly and this show was supposed to do that.
Swiping at my eyes again, I pressed my nose into Windsong’s damp neck and breathed in the heady scent of horse sweat and raw fear. Shaking my head, I reminded myself this wasn’t about me. Windsong could die.
I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stand here and watch him suffer another second when relief was so readily available. The sedative would make him feel better within moments.
Patting Windsong gently, I signaled the doctor. “Give him the sedative.”
Chapter 37
The doctor injected him, and I walked Windsong back in the stall.
I stroked my poor black dragon, my forehead against his neck. Cathy’s and the vet’s voices droned, a dull hum in my ears. Gradually, Windsong’s neck softened under my forehead. He ignored his hay, standing still. His ears swiveled at the sounds of the storm, but his head began to droop. I gently slid the halter off, and left my boy resting, with one hip cocked and his lower lip hanging. He didn’t notice me leave the stall.
“You’re safe now, go to sleep, buddy.” It was over.
I slumped into the chair, willing my muscles to relax. It was over. Without the results of this show, it would be a long time before I was in this position again. It could be years before I was able to afford a horse of Windsong’s talent—no one would be handing a kid like me a great horse without my earning it.
Well, I supposed I could concentrate on school now, and my father would be happy. But he was the only one. I bit my lip thinking of how I would explain what happened to everyone.
Cathy patted my back, the aisle darkening as the vet backed his truck around before pulling away. “I better go make my rounds.”
Just as she turned away another set of headlights lit up the aisle and Michelle jumped out of her car. She skidded to a stop in front of Windsong’s stall and shined a flashlight at him. “Oh, good, he settled down. See, I told you to just wait.”
“No, the vet just left. He’s sedated. I won’t be showing today.”
“What! I told you to wait for me!” She shook her finger at me. “You were like this at Erica’s, too, always making a big deal out of everything. Do you know what you just did?”
She started pacing. “I really thought you had matured. I thought that you understood what was at stake. EMA is on the rocks, and if I don’t increase revenue, it will shut down because Mark has no interest in it. I have sent him invitations to the meetings, and th
en the minutes, hoping that he would respond, but nothing.” She turned toward me, and I was glad I couldn’t see her expression in the dark. “You didn’t just end this show, you ended your career with EMA. You may have ended EMA itself. We were counting on you. The board is not going to stand for this. Especially when I tell them I told you not to do it. You ruined everything!”
My arms were wrapped around my chest and I was squeezing my biceps hard. I bowed my head and tears dripped from my cheeks. “I’m sorry. But you didn’t see him. Michelle, he was off-the-charts ballistic. He was literally climbing the walls. The vet agreed with me. Even Cathy, the night check girl, agreed with me. I had no choice—I had to do it.”
“You made the wrong choice. You should have waited for me! If you weren’t standing in front of his stall like a neurotic ninny, you probably would have come down in the morning and would never have known how he was acting.”
I squeezed my eyes tight against the image of Windsong flat out on the stall floor. “He probably would have been dead or near to it! I had to, please understand. I know I ruined everything. But I couldn’t let him die.” Windsong was going to survive, but Michelle’s stony expression clearly indicated my dream was dead. My national riding career was over.
Michelle turned back to her car. She said softly, “You’re nothing but a drama-loving hypochondriac.” The edges of her form blurred as I watched her climb into her little car.
I sank into the chair and pressed my eyes into my already-dampened sleeve.
The rain tapered off and finally ceased as the sun crept up the sky. Windsong stayed quiet, nearly sleeping, the whole time. The screen of my phone was black. The battery had died long ago.
I cleaned out Windsong’s trashed stall, gingerly working around the groggy horse. The muck felt like it was full of bricks to my tired muscles. I eased Windsong to the side to reach the other half of the stall. His legs lurched sluggishly. I spread new shavings out and stroked his neck. “You really blew things this time, hot shot. You get out of showing today . . . and maybe forever.” One droopy ear flopped toward my voice.