Chapter 15 Cora
Chapter fifteen
Cora
For a moment, I consider just heading to dinner.
The mare can wait for tomorrow. But something in the back of my mind tells me I should check on her.
I’d been down to the barn earlier in the day, and while her vitals all seemed good, the mare had just been acting fidgety, uncomfortable.
I know I’ll sleep better tonight if I just double check on her before heading home.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and set off for the horse barn.
We don’t typically have as many horse births on Thatcher Ranch.
Maybe one or two per year depending on if the ranch needs more or if Tate wants to sell them to nearby farms or friends.
Cows are much more common, cattle being the ranch’s main source of income.
The walk only takes about five minutes, and a number of horses whinny in greeting as I enter the barn, probably hoping for a second dinner.
“Sorry, no snacks,” I call out as I make my way down the aisle to the very last stall. It’s a big one, filled with hay and straw since Mabel is due to give birth any time now. She neighs when she sees me, stomping her hooves and swishing her tail.
“Hey, honey,” I coo, reaching over the fence to gently pat her neck. She takes the petting but then quickly flickers her neck back over the railing to pace around her giant stall. I frown, watching her. She’s uncomfortable. Stressed. And that can’t mean anything good.
Damn.
I consider calling Dr. Ramirez. But she’d checked Mabel out today as well. And it’s not like there’s anything obviously wrong. We could end up waiting around all night for nothing. Besides, she’s already home with her family. It’s not like I’ve got kids to entertain waiting for me.
As Mabel continues to puff and pace, I realize I probably should have brought down the mobile ultrasound machine.
It’s the only thing besides looking at her that will give me any information on her status.
A decision made, I trudge back up to the clinic, grab the mobile ultrasound—a laptop-shaped machine with a small ultrasound wand attached by a cord—and make my way back to the horse barn.
I set up the machine, entering Mabel’s stall and trying to calm her down and keep her still while I run the wand along the underside of her belly.
At first, everything seems normal. I can see the foal’s heartbeat, and while it looks a bit elevated, it’s still in normal range.
But as I dig deeper, I frown. The foal is definitely descended, definitely ready to be born.
It could happen at any time. The only problem?
It isn’t in the correct position. Foals are born front feet first, as if diving.
But this foal is flipped fully around, facing the wrong way.
I bite my lip, continuing to move the ultrasound wand around. Maybe I’m wrong and the foal isn’t as close to being born as I’d thought. I certainly hope so.
But that hope is immediately dashed as Mabel jerks away from me, paces a few times, then lies down.
I watch her, jaw set. “Shit, shit, shit,” I mumble under my breath.
Horses don’t sit often. They don’t sleep lying down, they don’t rest that way. They really only do it for fun, when trying to clean themselves, and when giving birth.
And when Mabel starts rolling, that cinches it for me.
She’s in labor, and her foal isn’t ready at all.
Suddenly my phone buzzes in my back pocket, startling me from my panic. I reach for it, seeing Theo’s name light up the screen. I glance at the time. It’s nearly 7 p.m. He’s probably wondering where I am. After all, we rode in to work together today.
I answer it with a stiff, “Hey.”
“Hey, where are you? I saved you a sandwich for dinner.”
My heart tugs momentarily at the sweet gesture. “Down at the horse barn,” I say. “One of the mares is in labor, and …” I trail off. I consider telling him to just go home without me. I don’t think anyone has moved into my cabin yet, so I can always crash there for the night.
“You seem stressed,” Theo gleans. “Everything okay?”
I sigh. “It’s not going well. The foal doesn’t look like it’s positioned correctly.”
“Shit,” Theo says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Shit.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“No,” I start, “you don’t have to—”
But the line is dead before I can finish my sentence.
I watch as Mabel continues rolling, kicking her legs in the air to give herself momentum.
Horses will often do this to help position their foals for birth, so I’m slightly encouraged by it.
I lean back against the far wall of the stall, keeping an eye on her.
Most animal births surprisingly don’t require a lot of action on a vet’s part.
You watch, keep an eye out for problems, and jump in if necessary.
The key part is knowing when something is going wrong.
It doesn’t take long for Theo to show up, and when he does, I feel a bit of my anxiety lessen. It’s strange—it’s not like Theo can do much, he has no training in this. But somehow, his presence calms me just a bit.
We haven’t really spoken about what happened this weekend. Waking up in each other’s arms, then being interrupted by his mom. I think actually talking about it would admit it happened, and admitting it happened would mean … well, things I can’t really think about at the moment, honestly.
“Hey,” he says with a smile, approaching the stall.
“Hey,” I greet.
He looks over the railing at Mabel, who is alternating between standing, lying down, and rolling. His eyebrows knit together slightly. “So what’s going on?”
I take a deep breath. “The foal isn’t positioned correctly for birth, but she’s in labor.”
He nods slowly.
“I’m gonna check its position soon to see if she’s managed to turn it on her own.”
Theo raises an eyebrow. “They can do that?”
I nod. “That’s what the rolling around is for.”
Just then, Mabel stands again, and I take it as my cue to dive in for another ultrasound. I grab her halter, gently holding her still as I power the machine back up.
“You need help?” Theo offers, opening the door and stepping inside.
“Yeah, actually,” I say. “Can you hold her still?”
He takes my place, holding Mabel’s halter while I move down her body, running the ultrasound wand over her belly. To my disappointment, the foal doesn’t seem to have moved at all.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Not any better?” Theo guesses.
I shake my head.
Mabel whinnies, yanking her halter out of Theo’s grasp and resuming her pacing. We both step back to the side of the pen, watching her. She sits down, rolls again, and then lets out a loud neigh. I step to the side, angling my head for a better look.
And sure enough, she’s dilated, and that foal is coming down the birth canal. Only it’s not coming feet first like it’s supposed to.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, running my fingers through my hair. My mind flashes through all the possibilities. I could call Dr. Ramirez, but I honestly don’t think she’d make it here in time. Mabel is in full-on labor, and I’m the only one here who can help her.
Theo’s panicked eyes meet mine. “Do we need to call someone?” he asks.
I shake my head. I try to quell the panic rising inside of me, walking myself through all the options. “I’m going to need to reach in and turn the foal,” I state calmly, more to myself than to Theo, although him being here is actually going to help quite a bit.
“You’re … what?” Theo stammers, his blue eyes widening.
“I’m going to reach in and turn the foal,” I repeat.
He looks a bit pale but nods along with me.
“And I’m gonna need your help.”
Uncertainty crosses his face, but he nods again.
“I need you to keep a tight hold on Mabel’s halter. What I’m about to do is dangerous for both of us—if she gets me with a kick, that’s … bad.”
He nods tightly. And while Theo might not have experience with the medical side of horses, he does work with them every day. He knows how to keep them calm, handle them, wrestle them around if needed.
“Help me position her so her back legs are curled underneath her,” I instruct, and we go to work pushing Mable until she’s sitting with her legs mostly underneath her rather than splayed out. This should help avoid her kicking me. Hopefully.
Mabel whinnies again, flicking her tail in what I’m assuming is pain. It’s now or never, and stalling won’t help anything. I look to Theo. “I need you to do your best to keep her still and calm. And watch her legs and let me know if I’m in danger.”
His jaw is set, and he nods, positioning himself in a squat near Mabel’s head, gripping her halter for dear life. He honestly looks ready to spring himself between me and Mabel’s back legs if needed, although it honestly wouldn’t help much. The thought seems sweet, though.
I move toward her back, situating myself so that if she manages to kick, I’m not in the line of fire. There are gloves in the vet bag that I’d brought down with the ultrasound, so I slip them on, close my eyes, and take a deep, steadying breath.
And then I do what I was trained for, even though it never gets less scary. I get to work delivering this baby foal. I move slowly, trying not to startle Mabel. With one hand on her rump to steady myself, I manage to reach one hand inside. She fidgets and whinnies, but Theo keeps her calm.
And this right here is the part that vet school can never quite prepare you for.
I’ve only had to physically reach in to reposition an animal a handful of times, and they were all cows.
And in times like this, you’re going in blind—literally.
I can tell the foal is obviously not in the right position.
But from what I remember from the ultrasound, as well as the hands-on experience I’m currently having, I manage to deduce the baby’s position and … maybe find an easy way to flip it?
“How’s it going?”