16. PRESTON
Chapter sixteen
PRESTON
TAMING BULLS AND BEAKERS
I watch the Beaker’s truck turn sharply out of their driveway, flicking up stones and dust like out of a movie. You know the kind, the old ones where the bad guy robs the bank and then speeds off on dirt roads, spinning the tires and all that. Only this isn’t a movie. The moment Atlas said there’d been an accident, my heart was in my throat. He didn’t say much, only that Brutus had cut up his leg, so he needed me to come out and check on him. Good thing I was already halfway there.
As the truck gets closer, I see it’s Nial behind the wheel, and then as he zooms past, I spot Dean’s pained face as he’s lying out across the back seat, head resting on the window.
Did Brutus have an episode? Was Dean mauled? Fuck, the nearest hospital is almost an hour away.
I go to turn around, but what good would that do? I’m a vet, and he obviously needs a doctor. My fingers clench around the steering wheel.
“Focus. They called me for Brutus. He’s one of the oldest bulls they have. Dean would want me to check on him.”
That resolve steadies my breathing a little, and I pull the van to a stop on the ranch and jump out. Atlas and Connor are waiting by the milking shed.
“Is Dean okay?” I ask. Connor’s face is pale. Atlas tips his hat.
“He’ll be alright. He definitely has a broken leg, but we won’t know if that’s it until he gets checked out, and an X-ray up at Doctor Green’s clinic.”
I remember when they bought the X-ray machine. It was the old one from the hospital, so they got it cheap, but it still cost enough to need three fundraisers in town to get it. I’ve got a portable one I picked up with the money from a government grant. Seeing that I’m the vet responsible for checking on any concerning diseases in livestock, it made for a good case to improve my facilities.
“Thank the stars, for the look on Connor’s face, I thought he’d been gorged for sure.”
“The bone was sticking out and there was so much blood,” Connor says, his cheeks puffing out as he gags and rushes over to the side of the barn to bring up his lunch.
“Connor’s never been too good with blood,” Atlas offers.
“Right, I remember when Bessie had the ulcer we had to lance, you passed out.”
“Okay, okay,” Connor says, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Don’t you have a bull to wrangle?”
“No wrangling needed. I brought the green stuff,” I say, and I grab the tranq gun from the back of my van. I don’t get a chance to use it much, with most of my patients docile and happy to be getting a helping hand. But with patients like Brutus, it’s a must.
“How good a shot are you, doc?” Atlas asks, and I load two darts. I’ll only need one, but I have two ready, just in case I miss the first shot.
“Let’s go find out,” I say, and we head over to the paddock.
We hear him before we spot him, bellowing and snorting as he tries repeatedly to stomp his injured leg, but it clearly hurts. He’s thankfully not too far away from the fence line, so I line up my shot, take a breath, and fire. The dart hits him perfectly in the hind.
“Great shot,” Atlas cheers.
“Thanks,” I reply, securing the dart gun in the van before making my way back to the paddock with my bag.
“I’ll need you both. He’ll be out in a minute, but no telling how long until it wears off. I’ll need you to keep him under with an iso mask,” I tell Connor, and he nods.
“What do you need me for, Doc?” Atlas asks.
“You’ll be helping with the leg.”
“Glad it’s you and not me.” Connor laughs, and we climb the rail into the paddock. Brutus is unsteady, swaying a little side to side, then he collapses to the ground like he’s fallen asleep on his feet, and we jog the rest of the way over.
I’m quick to set up the iso mask. As long as it’s there, he’ll stay asleep.
“Keep an eye on his breathing, too, if it slows, let me know,” I say, and then I move on to the leg. Thankfully, it’s out and we don’t have to try to roll a one-thousand-pound bull onto the side.
The gashes are deep.
“What did this?” I ask, looking around.
“Wire from a fallen fence. Perry’s out there fixing it up now, but Dean had to cut him loose,” Atlas says.
“How’d he break his leg then?” I ask.
“Oh, that happened before. Buckie came up on Brutus and reared up, threw Dean, and stomped him for good measure before bolting. It was a good thing Nial was out with a group of guests on a walk around the grounds or it could have been an hour before he dragged himself round to the main house.”
“Dragged himself? Wouldn’t he just call you guys?”
“He left his phone with Connor,” Atlas says, and I shake my head. So many farm accidents happen because someone isn’t following the rules. Dean knows how important the rules are.
“I can’t believe he’d be out without a phone,” I say, and Connor nods.
“I should have given him mine when he handed over his to take a booking. Oh, it’s all locked in by the way, three Saturdays from now, four until late. That way they can get some cuddles under the stars.”
I start flushing the wound in saline to start cleaning out bits of grass and dirt he’s picked up since it happened.
“What is locked in now?” I ask.
“Poppy’s birthday party. The booking was for Isabel. Apparently, we were Poppy’s only choice for a party.”
“Oh, umm, nice. I didn’t… She didn’t…” Isabel never said she was going to ask to have Poppy’s party at the ranch. I mean, she doesn’t have to run things past me. I’ve been Poppy’s dad all of two minutes, she doesn’t even call me dad yet. But I guess, I sort of thought that maybe this year I could help plan it, seeing as I missed the first ten of them and all that.
“How’s the leg looking?” Atlas asks, and I shake away the distracting thoughts and focus on Brutus.
“It’ll need stitches for sure. Can you hold his hoof on the ground, and help keep his leg steady? How is his breathing?” I ask, turning to Connor to find him holding the mask on Brutus but looking in the other direction. “Connor, you have to watch his breathing.”
“Sorry, there was just… I saw the blood and didn’t want to throw up again.”
“Just keep your eyes on his chest. Count the breaths, make sure they stay steady and strong.”
“Okay. I got it. Sorry again.”
I nod and get to work on the leg. I saturate the wound with antiseptic, then pat dry with sterile swabs. It’s so deep I use a layer of absorbable stitches on the inside and then move on with a thicker stitch on the outside, before covering the area with a dressing and then a gauze bandage, followed by vet wrap to secure it all in place well. I throw in a few stay stitches through the bandage to help keep it in place and then give the whole thing a good coat of fly repellent.
“We’re done,” I say, wrapping up my tools to be washed and sterilized back at the clinic. “I’ve got some anti-inflammatories in the van you’ll need to give him twice a day, but the antibiotics are at the clinic, I’ll drop them over tomorrow. He’ll need to be on both for a week or two.
“Do I stop this now?” Connor asks, and I shake my head.
“Actually, he’ll wake up pretty quick when that’s done, so as soon as you take the mask away, let’s get out of here,” I say, and Atlas is instantly on his feet.
“Bet I beat you both to the fence line,” he says with a chuckle.
“No fair, I’m the one holding the mask, and Doc’s got his bag,” Connor replies.
“Fine, I’ll give you a three-second head start.”
“Deal,” Connor says, and then, without further warning, he removes the mask and takes off like a shot across the field. Atlas is right behind him, both of them running like their lives depend on it, looking back repeatedly to check that Brutus isn’t chasing them.
“Never gets old,” I say to Brutus, giving his head a soft rub. His nostrils flare a little and he starts to breathe a little faster. “You take your time now, old boy. I’ll come back and check on you tomorrow.”
I start walking towards the fence where Connor and Atlas are waiting on the other side. Connor’s mouth is wide open in disbelief, but Atlas is cackling with laughter.
“Whoever said vets don’t have a sense of humor never met me,” I say, climbing over the fence.
“Dude, seriously? Did you see me trip over. I thought for sure I was a goner, and you’re just strolling on back like it’s a lazy Sunday?”
“Stop,” Atlas cries in laughter. “It hurts.”
“Nice to know my distress is so funny,” Connor says, and Atlas slaps a hand on his shoulder.
“It sure as shit ain’t sad.”
I laugh.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to change it out, but if it comes loose, call me sooner.”
***
NIAL: Dean’s home, leg is fixed, a few plates and screws, and Brutus is good. Vet wrap is holding strong.
I messaged Nial after I left the ranch to ask that he fill me in when he knew anything. He created a group chat and let us all know Dean was being transferred to the main hospital for surgery. He messaged again at about ten that night that he was out. They kept him for two days to make sure he didn’t pick up an infection, so it’s a relief to know he’s home now.
ATLAS: I’ll be up at the house in ten.
SKYE: Yay, did he see the welcome home sign in the dining room?
NIAL: He’s smiling up at it now.
SKYE: I’m getting the goat out of the chicken coop. I think I saw Chewie prancing past a minute ago, so I’ll check the pool, then be up to say hi.
I want to message back how fucking happy and relieved I am he’s okay, but they don’t need to know that, not really. So I keep it simple and hit the mic button on the phone to use the voice-to-text.
PRESTON: Great news. I’ll be out this afternoon to change the dressing on Brutus.
When I get there, I check on Brutus first, not bothering with the iso mask this time, just the dart, but I get Nial to come out and help keep him steady after he goes down. We change out his dressings, give the new ones a good coat of fly repellant, and then are out of there in no time.
“Thanks, Doc,” Nial says, sitting on the fence rail as we watch Brutus climb slowly to his feet again.
“No problem. How’s the other patient?”
“More stubborn than that there bull.” He laughs, but his whole heart isn’t in it.
“They say ranchers make the worst patients.”
“He’s just stressing about getting everything done. Six weeks is a lifetime on a ranch, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But there’s still plenty he can do, right?”
Nial shrugs.
“He’s trying, but I know he’s hurting, and he’s supposed to be resting so that it heals. At this rate, he’ll do more damage and he’ll be out longer.”
“Can’t you get someone else to come in and help out?”
“I suggested that, but he said he’s fine and it’ll just take a few days. It’s been a few days already since he broke the fucking thing, and it’s not fine.”
Nial rubs his hands over his face.
“Sorry. I just don’t know how to get him to agree to just stay home and leave the ranch to us. Could you talk to him?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you’re a doc.”
“I’m a vet.”
“Same difference.”
“Not really.”
“Out here it is. You can tell him how important it is that he’s off his leg. Like scare him into resting. He’ll listen to you.”
“Maybe Sally-May would be better at convincing him.”
Nial shakes his head. “Her sister took ill a few days ago. She’s gone to help care for her. Please?”
I have no idea if Dean will listen to me or not. I do agree that he needs to rest, or it will probably delay healing. That is, as long as Nial is right and vets understand healing the same way as people doctors, and as long as people heal the same way animals do. I guess it’s worth a shot.
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“Awesome, you can talk to him tonight at dinner.”
“If Sally-May’s at her sister’s, who’s cooking dinner?” I ask, and he laughs.
“She cooked up a bunch of stuff and stocked the freezer before she left, Sky’s on reheat duty. Tonight I think it’s beef pie, mashed potatoes, and roast vegetables.”
“I’ll pass on the pie, but the potatoes and vegetables sound great.”
“Right, vegetarian. How’s that working out for ya?”
“Pretty good.” I laugh. “You should try it.”
“I would say that I’d give it a go, but I’d be lying. Come on, Atlas will be waiting with Loki. First, you can tackle the God of mischief, then we take on Dean, the god of stubbornness.”