CHAPTER SEVEN #2
She beamed, but only for a moment, then her gaze turned sad. “I hate that I can see her ribs.”
“Si. Me too.”
“Why isn’t she eating? Can we try apples? Or something else special? Maybe she doesn’t like the straw.”
I shook my head. “Hay is for eating; straw is for bedding. But no, piccola, the carrots were just to get her out of the trailer. She could get sick if we introduce her to special food or treats while she is this frail. I have good hay and good alfalfa for her to eat. A calming salt lick and plenty of water.”
Sam’s gaze roamed the stall until she found the hay cage on the wall. She went to it and pulled a bunch out, returning to Angel and holding it to her nose. “Come on, bella mia. You need to eat. For you and your baby.” She went back to stroking the long bridge of her nose.
I smiled at the little girl’s continued use of Italian and how easily it flowed off her tongue, not to mention the gentle accent she added, unlike some Anglophones who butchered my language when they tried to say words in Italian.
A tickle at the back of my neck prompted me to glance behind us at Danica, who stood there on the other side of the stall door, patiently, quietly watching us. The will for Angel to eat was as clear in her eyes as it was in her daughter’s.
“Please,” Sam almost whimpered, leaning forward to press a kiss to Angel’s velvety nose. “You need to get strong.”
Angel’s lips twitched, and I held my breath in hope that she was going to go for it.
But she didn’t. She jerked her head away and snorted loudly, her neck muscles going rigid again. She stomped the stall floor, and her ears pointed forward again. At the same time her head carriage lifted high again.
“What’s happening?” Sam asked.
“She’s … I don’t know, piccola. Best to go back out with your mama.” I opened the door of the stall again and quickly ushered her out, while holding onto the reins of Angel’s bridle to help settle her.
She snorted and chewed, licked the air, and the whites of her eyes practically glowed.
I vaguely noticed Sam bury her face in her mother’s shoulder as I stepped into the mare’s space and pressed my forehead to her cheek, whispering the same things I did before.
“What’s … what’s that coming out of her butt?” Sam asked. “Is she pooping?”
“That … that doesn’t look like poop,” Danica murmured, though it was impossible not to detect the alarm in her voice.
I released my grip on the reins a little and gently ran my hand across Angel’s body until I was at her rear. Her tail was lifted and a red, bubbly-like protrusion bulged out from her vagina. “Merda!” I exclaimed, facing Danica and her daughter in panic. “She is in labor, and it is not good.”
Their eyes both flew open wide, and I could practically feel the fear take hold of Sam’s body the way she gripped her mother’s arm, digging her nails into the fabric of Danica’s jacket
Danica wrapped her arm around her daughter. “What do you mean?”
“That bag should be white. The foal is without oxygen. We need to get it out now!” I rushed out of the stall and over to the bench where all my equipment was stored in an orderly and organized fashion.
While I’d only ever assisted one other mare with a delivery, I had all the equipment to do so again, and had read articles and watched videos to keep myself informed.
I delivered my son in the back seat of our car on the side of the road when Erin told me she had to push and we were still ten minutes from the hospital.
It was terrifying, but Guiseppe was born healthy and happy, and Erin said she’d never felt safer because she knew I’d never fail her.
Unfortunately, Angel didn’t know me well enough to have such unyielding faith, but I didn’t have time to earn her trust. She just needed to accept that I wasn’t there to hurt her.
I grabbed the long gloves that went up to the armpit, medical tape, scissors, a scalpel, clean towels, and straps that I might need to wrap around the foal’s ankles to help pull it out.
“Let us help,” Danica said. “What can we do?”
I wasn’t used to having people here to help. I was used to doing it all on my own, but more hands would be beneficial because who knew what kind of state the foal would be in when it was born, or whether it would even survive.
I nearly tripped over Portia as she trotted beside back to the stall. I handed Danica my phone. “Call Morty. He’ll know which chopper company to call. He needs to get here ASAP.”
She nodded, then paused. “Uh … password?”
“Oh! 2-8-81.” That was Erin’s birthday. August 2nd, 1981.
She punched it in, then got to work finding Morty’s number. A moment later, the phone was to her ear, and she took a step away.
“What can I do?” Sam asked as I opened the stall door again.
“This baby may be dead, or may die, piccola. Are you prepared for that?”
She lifted her chin a little higher, but it was impossible not to see the uncertainty in her eyes. “I want to be a vet. You can’t save every animal, but you can try.”
Damn, she was a brave little thing.
Nodding, I welcomed her back into the stall where Angel was lying down, her nostrils flaring. I checked her rear again. The bright red bag was a disturbing sight.
“We need to get the foal out now.”
As if she knew what I needed from her, Angel stood up, and with that movement, a gush of liquid fled her body around the bag. Her water had broken.
“Did she just pee?” Sam asked.
“That was her water breaking.”
“Okay. What do we do now?”
I handed her the medical tape. “Tape her tail onto her back so it’s not in the way.”
She didn’t even hesitate. She got right in there, snagging Angel’s swishing tail, gathering it together and taping it to the mare’s back. Sam wasn’t particularly tall, so she had to stand on her tiptoes, but she managed without a fuss.
“I see hooves!” she exclaimed.
“Si, piccola.”
Just then, Danica returned. “Morty will do his best, but in this weather, he’s not sure he’ll be able to get over here.”
Merda.
I was afraid of that.
Nodding, I put a glove on and went behind Angel, wrapping my hand around the foal’s ankles and pulling in a downward motion. It hardly budged.
“Here,” Danica said, entering the stall. She put on the other glove, and together we pulled in the downward arc toward the mare’s hocks.
Not bothering with gloves, Sam joined in, and even though it felt like forever, but was probably no more than a couple of minutes, the three of us managed to successfully pull the foal free. It flopped onto the straw at its mother’s feet—not moving.
“Oh no!” Sam mewled, falling to her knees. Her hands shook as she briefly reached them toward the foal, but then immediately snatched them back, wrapping them around herself in a hug. “No … no, no. This … this isn’t right. This isn’t fair.” She started to rock back and forth on her knees a little.
I knew the signs of an anxiety attack and while I empathized with the child, now was not the time. I couldn’t help her and the foal.
I glanced at Danica and she seemed just as torn as I was.
“Sam, baby, you need to pull it together. Remember what you said, 'you can’t save them all, but you can try.' We need to let Tom try. If you can’t be here, if it’s too much, step out of the stall.”
That seemed to snap Sam out of her fugue and she glanced up at her mother, her green eyes brimming with tears. But after a second, her gaze turned fierce, she nodded her head once and stood up.
“I want to help.” She used her sleeve to wipe the tears from her eyes, then she and her mother both glanced at me, waiting for instruction.
Right.
“My bag,” I said, jumping back into action.
I reached for the foaling bag I had bought years ago.
Inside it was a foal resurrection kit that I hoped never to need.
I’d watched videos on how to use it, but had never actually practiced.
I did the best I could as Danica and Sam covered the little colt in towels and began to rub him vigorously.
Grabbing a piece of straw from the floor, I swirled it around each of his plugged nostrils.
He appeared utterly lifeless. Normal foals start breathing almost as soon as their chest leaves the mare. He was not.
Checking his gums, I saw that they were still blue.
Ditching my glove, I continued with the resuscitation pump, watching as the faint pulse in his neck got slower and slower.
I barely registered that Angel had sunk down to the straw again in exhaustion until Sam gasped. “There’s blood all over the ground!”
At the same moment, the colt finally took a breath on his own.
“Here,” Danica said, sitting beside me and accepting the foal into her lap, where she continued to rub his body with the towels as his motionless body took noisy, labored breaths.
I went over to check on Angel.
I didn’t think mares were supposed to bleed like that during birth. Something was seriously wrong.
“Is she going to be okay?” Sam asked. “Is that normal?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, we have to help her too. What can we do?”
This was beyond my expertise. I was already out of my wheelhouse delivering the foal this way, but a hemorrhaging mare was well beyond my scope.
Angel’s nostrils flared, and she exhaled heavily.
I got up and went to gather more towels, returning to put them under the mare to absorb the blood. When I returned, the foal—as black as coal, but with a white star shape on his forehead—was trying to lift its head.
“I feel so helpless,” Danica whispered as the foal tried to stand. His legs were too weak and uncoordinated, and even with Danica’s help he couldn’t put any weight on his legs.
Laying down a towel next to Angel, we moved the colt there so he could perhaps suckle if she had any colostrum. He rooted a little, but struggled to keep his head up for very long.
“There’s nothing else to do,” I said solemnly. “We wait for fate now.”
“We what?” Sam asked, staring at me with wide eyes. “They could die.”
“The storm prevents the vet from coming. I am only one man. We are only three people with very little knowledge of horses. And no supplies. Trust me, piccola, I am sad too.”
Danica stood up and helped her daughter to her feet as well. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s getting late. We should head home.”
“But … what if they die?” Sam’s gaze swiveled between her mother and me. She focused on me, though, as if I had more sway than her own mother did. Her eyes took on a pleading look.
Danica wrapped a protective arm around her child, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “You said so yourself; you can’t save all the animals. Sometimes you just have to let nature take its course.”
Sam shrugged out of her mother’s embrace, frustration on her face as she stepped back and shook her head, tears brimming in her green-hazel eyes.
“I also said, but we could try. And we’re not trying anything.
” Anger flashed across her features as she dropped her focus to the foal and Angel.
Her chin trembled and she swallowed, unable to take her eyes off the foal.
“It needs a name before it dies at least. It can’t die without a name. ”
“It is a little boy. A colt,” I said, my throat tight as I spoke. “And you should name him. Please.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She swallowed hard as Danica went to her again and wrapped her up in a hug. This time, she didn’t step away; instead, she clung to her mother for support. “Midnight. Name him Midnight.”
I nodded. “It’s a strong name. Maybe he will pull through.”
She regarded her mother with a pleading look. “Why can’t we stay?”
I could tell Danica was torn about staying too. But there really wasn’t anything else they could do at this point. It was nature’s turn.
“What … what if you called one of the doctors here on the island? Justine or Grayson? Or the new nurse practitioner, Brynn? Maybe they have something that horses can take too. Like IV. They could talk on the phone with your vet to know the dosage to give them.” Danica shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”
She was right. It was worth a shot. Nodding, I reached into my pocket for my phone, only to realize she still had it.
Smiling, she punched in a number and handed it back to me. “I have Justine’s personal number.”
“Grazie.”
“I, um … I need to get Sam home, but … um … I put my number in your phone and texted myself. So please message me with an update.”
Heat wormed its way into my cheeks at the thought of this woman putting her number into my phone. Was there more to it than just wanting an update on these horses? It’d been so long since I’d dated or even been interested in a woman that I wasn’t sure how things were done anymore.
I put the phone to my ear as it rang, then stopped.
“Hello?” came an unfamiliar voice.
Oh merda! “Si. Hello. Justine?”
“We’re going to go,” Danica mouthed, ushering her frustrated child out of the barn.
I watched her go as I reiterated my dilemma to Justine, and she agreed to come take a look as well as give Morty a call.
After hanging up with Justine, I went back into the stall where little Midnight continued to root at his mother’s udder, searching for colostrum.
There wasn’t any to be had.
I had nothing to feed the little guy either.
Even if Justine and Morty could figure out a way to help the foal, without his mother’s milk, there was a very good chance I could lose both of them.
And I had no idea how I was going to tell Sam.