Livy nods solemnly. “That finger thing was scary…but fair.”
Inside the barn, Ranger is down in the aisle.
A big chestnut gelding, slick with sweat, sides heaving, legs tucked awkwardly beneath him as he tries to roll.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I drop beside his head but keep clear of his legs. “No, no, no. We are not doing that.”
Denise sobs behind me. “He keeps trying.”
“We need him up.”
“What do I do?”
“Get the halter. Stefano, I need help.”
Stefano is already beside me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking very much like a man who has no idea what he’s doing but will do it anyway.
“Tell me where to stand,” he says.
The next several minutes are chaos.
Controlled chaos, but chaos all the same.
Stefano and one of Denise’s farmhands help get Ranger to his feet while I check his gums, listen to his gut, feel along his belly, and ask Denise every question I can think of.
Feed changes?
No.
Water?
Normal.
Manure?
Not since morning.
Rolling?
Twice before we got there.
His heart rate is too high.
His belly is tight.
He’s hurting badly, but not too far gone.
Not yet.
“Keep him walking,” I order. “Slow circles. Don’t let him drop if you can safely stop it.”
“I have Banamine,” Denise says, wiping her face. “But I didn’t know if I should administer.”
“Get it.”
“I don’t know how much.”
“I’ll calculate it.”
