Even from here
I can tell
This isn’t
Good
Temperature, Pulse, Respiration
Some say you should put a colicky horse in the trailer
Take them for a ride
Let them stomp
Hope the road bounces
The colic out
Others say keep them walking
Even let them lie down
But whatever you do
Make sure they don’t
Roll
Torsion
Rupture
Impaction
Gallop over the top of my diagnostic list
As I fish the lead rope and halter
From behind the driver’s seat
Kept there for
Emergencies
The halter goes on
Over Rocky’s muzzle
Buckles
Behind his ears
I run my hand down his
Neck
Chest
Flanks
Dark with sweat
Nostrils flaring
With breaths
Coming too fast
Too shallow
Surgical versus medical
I wish I knew
How long
He’s been
Like this
I press my ear to his side
Just below his ribs
Needing to hear
Gurgling
Grumbling
Hearing only
Silence
Forefingers slide down
Just below his jawbone
Counting the beats
Thrumming
Ten more
Then there should be
Within the space
Of a minute
Palm to his barrel
Each in and out
Equals one
Breath
Passing the magic number
Fifteen
Before the second hand
Makes it once
Around
Blue jumps off the bed
Knows I need his help
To get Rocky
moving like his feet
are mired in glue
To the barn
A step and then a stop
I give him the cue
Gentle, Blue
Setting off the nipping
At the fetlock joints
That gets Rocky moving
The other horses are interested now
Thinking about the grain
Not the first aid kit
I keep in the barn
As they fall in behind
Rocky
Who is moving
Moving slow
In the Tupperware box
Stashed under my saddle rack
Stocked with vet wrap
Betadine and gauze
There’s Banamine too
In the dust-covered fridge
But I can’t give that
Not yet
Dr. Katy will need to see Rocky first
Symptoms unmasked
Time Stops
A minute becomes
A millennium
After the call is placed
To the vet
Waiting
Watching
For her truck to appear
At the end of the road
As I pull and
Blue pushes
With gentle nips
To keep Rocky
Walking
Up and down the hard-packed path
Alongside
The barn
Ignoring the weight of the phone
In my back pocket
Reminding me of the second call
I haven’t made
To Dad
At least not yet
He’ll be worried
Imagining the worst
Of the 101 things
Rocky’s colic could be
Assuming his cell could even pick up my call
As he drives across the state
Transporting cattle in his semi
To the sale yard
Where they’ll burst out of the belly of the truck
Onto the ramps
Stopped cold
Blinded by the sun
Shocked still by the sight of the other cattle
Bellowing and charging
Up and down the maze of chutes and alleys
Leading into the sale ring
Going once
Going twice
From hoof to rail
Sold to the highest bidder
That’s what I tell myself anyway
Words to cover up the fact
That part of me feels
This is my fault
Getting home
Later than usual
Feeding
Later than usual
Knowing that I switched dewormers
This month
Opting for a new brand
Guaranteed to wipe out
Ascarids to pin worms
Had it been too strong?
Not that it would matter
To a younger horse
But Rocky
Isn’t young
Not anymore
The sickest part of all this
Is that underneath the push
And the pull of my conscience
always eager to assign blame
I don’t mind the walking
Each step I take
Negates the calories
I ingested
Today
Lighter
Leaner
Faster
My goal
Is always
There
Blue Yips
Yanks me from my reverie
He dashes up the drive
Canine chauffeur
For Dr. Katy
As she pulls her truck up to the barn
Pulls on her Dickies
As she steps out
“Well, this guy is looking good,” she says as she leans down and scratches Blue around the ears. “He’s not who I’m here for though, is he? Let’s get Rocky into the stocks.”
Rocky groans as I tug his lead
Coaxing him into the barn
Through the palpation stocks
Stopping him with the gate
That closes across his chest
Dr. Katy is close behind
Swinging the back gate closed
As she moves around to his side
Stethoscope in hand
“How long has he been like this?” she asks.
I’m not sure exactly. I called you right when I found him.
She nods her head
As she puts in the earpiece
Listens
I take my position
Alongside Rocky
Lead rope in hand
Making sure he stays up
As Dr. Katy listens to his GI tract
Before checking
temperature
pulse
respiration
capillary refill
Finally moving toward the back of the chute
For the rectal examination
“Let’s see if we can do this without a twitch.”
I slide to the front of the chute
Kneading Rocky’s ears
It’s going to be all right, I
whisper
Hoping it will
Not knowing if I have the heart
To twirl the loop of rope at the end of the twitch
Around his whiskery nose
Rocky’s head jerks up
He sways
Stomps the rubber mat beneath his hooves
As Dr. Katy’s hand slides in
Rocky stomps again
Hard
My cue to grab the skin
On the right side of his neck
Hard
My hand a fist
Of skin and hair
Creating a diversion
From Dr. Katy
An endorphin rush for him
My fingers start to cramp
But I can’t let go
Not until Dr. Katy is done
I want to ask
What she is finding
knowing which words
I don’t want to hear
But Dr. Katy isn’t one to talk
Not during an exam
Dr. Katy pulls her arm out
Glove off
Gives me a nod
My cue to lead Rocky from the stocks
To follow her outside
Where she grabs a metal bucket
Fills it with water
From her truck
Before grabbing tubing
pump
oil
Dr. Katy drapes the tubing around her neck
Drops a dollop of lube
On her hand
Runs it along the tube
The cotton lead is rough against my palm
Soaked wet with rain
Dried hard by the sun
More than a time or two
I run my hand up to the clip
At the base of the halter
Gentle pressure
A tug not a pull
As I tease his neck round
Rocky breaks at the poll
Creating a smoother path for the tube
Dr. Katy is ready to slide
Up his nasal passage
Down his throat
Her right hand slides over the top of his muzzle
Fingers hook
Around to his nostril
Holding his head still
Still as can be expected
When a tube is being run down a horse’s esophagus
Dr. Katy takes the end of the tube in her mouth and blows
Rocky swallows
I can see the tube moving down
His throat
As she feeds it though his esophagus
Into his stomach
You can smell when it gets there
The gas from his stomach
That can’t push food out
Not like ours can anyway
Throwing up
When something makes us sick
Smells like ingesta
Alfalfa and bile
Dr. Katy reaches down
Takes the metal pump
From the bucket
Primes one
Two
Three
Moving the water through first
As she lavages his stomach
With one bucket
Then two
The mineral oil comes next
Rocky stands through it all
Seeming to know
That this is what it will take
To make him better
Again
Finally, the pump comes off
The tube comes out
Dr. Katy coils it up
Places it in the bucket
Pulls a syringe out of her back pocket
Places her thumb
In the jugular furrow
Occlusion
The vein bulges
The needle slides in
Blood flushes the Banamine red as Dr. Katy pulls the plunger back
Before pushing the medicine in
Holding off the site
Before a bubble of blood blooms
Where she pulls the needle out
“Now, we wait and see,” she says.
As if it’s as simple as that
Don’t be a Hero
It was midnight
Before I pulled my phone
From my pocket
Dad was already on his way home
“You should have called,” he said.
Like I knew
He would
I should have.
I say
Throwing in an excuse
About how fast it had all gone
Finding Rocky
Calling
Waiting for
Helping the vet
Not mentioning
The hours
Between then
And now
When it has just been
Rocky
Blue
And me
Walking
Waiting
For Rocky’s GI tract
To relax
Enough for the manure and gas
That had been tying him up
To pass
“But he’s going to be okay?” Dad asks.
I lean into Rocky
Pressing my forehead
To his
Rocky’s breath is warm
Against my chest
The night air cool
Around my shoulders
He is.
“You need to call me when things like this happen,” Dad says.
“Pick up the phone and I’ll be there. Don’t be a hero.”
I know. I’m sorry, Dad.
His name, Dad,
Tears the sentence
In half
“Hey, Sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
I know, Dad. It’s not you. I’m just tired.
“Of course you are. I want you to put that horse up and get yourself to bed. I’ll be home soon, okay?”
The radio station jumps from station to station in the background
It’s something he does when he’s trying to stay awake
Turns the music up
The air conditioner on
I worry about him driving
This late at night
Okay. I love you, Dad.
“I love you too.”
Dad hangs up
But I keep the phone
Pressed to my ear
And say it again
I’m sorry, Dad.
I lean into Rocky’s chest
Slide down his front legs
Blue comes
To sit on my boots
His nub of a tail wagging
As he smiles up at me
Even with this horse
Who carries a part of my mom
This dog
Who carries a part of my heart
Pressed into me
I can’t turn them off
These tears
Because I know
What a hero
Doesn’t do
A hero doesn’t tally the calories
She’s walking off
As her mom’s horse
Lathers with pain
Who does that?
And when did that person
Become
Me
That is the Question
Today has been hard
Running on almost no sleep
After being up with Rocky
Asia knows that
Which is why
I can’t believe she’s asking me
Now
Fifth block
Fifteen minutes before the final bell
“So you can’t stay?”
She is my ride home
Or was supposed to be
Snide words serpentine
On the back of my tongue
Because why wouldn’t I
Want to sit in front of a computer screen
Between Asia
And Kierra
“She’s going to show us the website she made for their team last year and explain how she put it together. It won’t take long,” Asia says. “Once I see it I’ll have a better idea which pictures to include on ours.”
We’re supposed to be creating found poems
Which usually requires reading
And writing
Asia isn’t even pretending
To do either
Her camera is in her lap
Beneath her desk
As she scans pictures
So much more interesting
Than Hamlet
“Like this one.”
She passes me the camera
On the screen is a picture
Of Micah
His rope looped round
As his horse explodes out of the box
Chasing the black-and-white blur of a steer
Across the arena
Will it be clear enough for the website?
Asia takes the camera back
Rubs her thumb across the screen
“Probably not. See? That’s why I need you!”
I sigh
Wishing I could take it back as soon as I do
Trauma drama isn’t me
At least
It didn’t used
To be
It’s not like I can’t get a ride home from Cody
If I choose not to stay
But still
I wish you would have said something earlier.
Asia puts her camera back in its case
“I know. I’m sorry. Things have just been so crazy today, I forgot.”
Which actually makes sense
Midmorning pep assembly coupled with a precalc exam
Equals an understandable excuse
But still
I shouldn’t. I have to take care of some things this afternoon.
It’s my vague excuse
That clues her in
“It’s because it’s her, isn’t it?”
No. I just have things to do.
Asia raises an eyebrow
“Okay.”
Assuming I’ll stay late
Acting put out if I don’t
The words on the page of my textbook pitch and roll
I pin them down with my eyes
Because I am not angry
jealous
betrayed
“Seriously, Rae. We aren’t going to be that long.”
Asia shoves her camera into her backpack
“Please? You know I’ll need your opinion.”
Which is true