An Inconvenient Elephant (16 page)

Diamond hooted loudly. “Wouldn't be my first time,” she said. “Now let's get your boy home.”

SHE HAD A TATTOO, THE DARK BAY MARE, WHICH
meant she was a thoroughbred, an ex-race horse, bred to run, bred for better things, but there was nothing sleek or shiny about her now. We had saved her life, though there wasn't much of it left. She had to come off the trailer first, because she had been the last to load, and it took four of us—Diamond, me, Ignacio, and Richie—to help walk her down the ramp. She had tufts of dull brown hair that grew between the open sores of her skin. Thickened white scaly patches made an unsightly mosaic across her skeletal frame. One front leg angled sideways, obviously broken; her head hung low; and her sunken, dispirited eyes spoke of unremitting agony. I had never seen a horse look that bad, and I thought I was going to vomit.

“How is she even standing?” I said, and turned my face away. Diamond gave me a sharp jab of elbow.

“That won't help her,” she said brusquely. “Let's get her into the barn.”

We inched the horse along, encouraging each shaky step with gentle praise. She shuffled past Mrs. Wycliff, who had put on her pith helmet and come from the house to watch. “Get her settled in the isolation barn,” she called to us, pointing to a small five-stall barn behind the main house. “Margo”—Mrs. Wycliff nodded her head at me—“get a hot bran mash going. And, Harry,” she called over to Richie, “blanket her right away.”

“There's a kitchen in the barn,” I said to Diamond as we helped the horse into a stall. “It has a microwave and medications and an overnight cot and everything else we'll need.”

“I'll call Dr. Harry,” Mrs. Wycliff yelled after us. “He's a new vet, but he's good with these rescues. And, Jackie,” she called after Diamond, “put extra shavings in the stall. I want it bedded deeply. Have Margo help you.”

I was relieved when Mrs. W. mentioned a new vet. Her old vet had been my ex-husband, Matt, and he was the last man in the world I wanted to see.

“Poor Mrs. Wycliff,” Diamond muttered as she filled a bucket of water for the horse. “We've all turned into Jackies and Harrys.”

“Except for me,” I corrected her. “I seem to have become an elephant.”

 

The choreography of chores had everyone working. We got the rest of the horses off the trailer and into the barn, where they were put two to a stall, except for Mousi, who was given the foals for companions. Ignacio had unlocked the
dressing room to the trailer and was almost knocked over by the foals, eager for freedom. Volunteers brought buckets of water, hay was thrown, and Mrs. Wycliff called the vet.

I was mixing buckets of warm bran mash for our new guests when the vet arrived. He was an intense, wiry man with dark hair and darker eyes set in a keen face with a thin, high-bridged nose that gave him the look of a raptor.

“This is Dr. Harry.” Mrs. Wycliff introduced everyone as he entered the barn. She summoned Diamond-Rose for a handshake. “Harry meet Jackie.” Diamond smiled as they shook hands, and he smiled back, his angular face relieved by a pleasant grin.

“And this—” Mrs. Wycliff pointed to me, then grew flustered. “And this is—well, now, you can't both be Jackie, can you?”

“No, ma'am,” I said. “I'm Nee—”

“Oh, I remember!” Mrs. Wycliff interrupted. “You're Margo Sterling.”

“Margo's the elephant,” I said. “I'm—”

But Mrs. Wycliff was impatient. “Oh, you all know who you are, so just sort it out among yourselves.” She toddled off toward the entrance to the barn. “I'm going up to the house for my special medicine,” she said. “I'll have those horses cured in no time.”

 

Dr. Harry decided that the bay mare was the worst off and immediately began treating her. We helped him sling her up to take the weight off her leg before he could examine her. Everyone stood in a little group outside her stall as he lifted her lip to expose anemic white gums, listened to her heaving
chest, examined her eyes and ears, and took a skin scraping. Within minutes, he had drawn several vials of blood, administered antibiotics, and hooked her up to an IV for her severe dehydration. Then he kneeled down and began gently palpating her twisted front leg.

He deftly ran his hands across the deformed limb. “Must have been broken some time ago and never treated,” he pronounced softly. “It feels healed over.” His face registered disgust as he stood up again. “I won't bother x-raying it until we're sure she's going to survive. Save Elisabeth some money. Besides, I don't think I can fix it anyway.”

“Will she live?” Diamond asked, moving next to him. “I've seen horses die in Kenya all the time because we couldn't get them to a vet.”

“Well, this one's as bad as they come,” Dr. Harry said. “There's not much more we can do except give her supportive therapy and hope she starts healing. But I wouldn't be surprised if she loses her battle before tomorrow morning.”

Diamond threw her arms around the mare's bony head. “You leave it to me,” she declared. “We're not going to let her die.” She looked up at Dr. Harry, her face full of determination.

He smiled at her. “I appreciate your dedication, Jackie. But you have to know the odds are against her.”

Diamond laughed and gave her red hair a little toss. “Actually, I'm Diamond-Rose.”

“Oh.” He looked confused and turned to me. “Then you must be Jackie.”

“No, I'm Neelie Sterling.”

“I thought I heard a Jackie,” he said.

“Jackie's in Alabama,” I said.

“I thought Elisabeth mentioned over the phone that
Margo
was in Alabama,” he said.

“Margo is supposed to go to Alabama, but we want her to stay here,” I tried to explain.

The confusion in his face cleared. “Right,” he said. “Margo is going to stay and help run things.”

“Margo's the elephant,” I said. “Diamond and I are going to run things.”

Dr. Harry gave up. “Well, I'm glad to meet you all again.” He bent over to pack up his equipment. “I'll drop in tomorrow, but let me know right away if she worsens.”

“And what should we call you?” Diamond asked.

“Oh, you can still call me Harry.” He smiled back at her. “I'm Dr. Harry Maybern.”

 

“The new horse's name is Black Silk Undies,” I read, staring at the computer screen. It was late in the afternoon, and Richie, Diamond, and I were sitting in Elisabeth's office, where I had logged onto a Web site for racehorses to research the bay mare's tattoo. The computer was old, and it practically creaked as it downloaded the information. “And she's still a baby. She's only four years old.”

I had gently opened the mare's mouth after Dr. Harry left and copied down the numbers tattooed inside her upper lip. The numbers meant she was a registered racehorse. I tapped a few keys to hunt through the site for more information. A race record came on the screen. “She's a daughter of War Dress out of a Black Kite mare,” I read. “Very well bred. She's won more than seventy thousand dollars.”

“Seventy thousand dollars!” Diamond gasped behind me. “How could someone let her wind up like this? She's more than paid for her retirement.”

Richie leaned forward to study the information. “This happens a lot,” he commented. “Some trainers run them until they break down and then just throw them away.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “She's going to need her IV changed soon and some more hand feeding.”

“Do you mind feeding her, Neelie?” Diamond asked. “I want to pop off to the store and get a camera. We're going to need pictures of this girl.”

I looked up, puzzled. “What good are pictures going to do?”

“For the fund-raiser,” Diamond replied. “Tusker's going to be our poster boy, and now we've got ourselves a mascot.”

 

Silky was trembling under her blanket, even though the afternoon was fairly temperate. I took a fresh bag of Ringer's lactate solution and microwaved it in the barn kitchen before hooking it up to her IV. Though she was still shivering, I didn't want to load her up with too many blankets because I was afraid they might irritate her thin, hypersensitive skin and break it down even more. It was probably better to warm her up from the inside out with the most tempting mash I could put together, with grated carrots and a large dollop of honey. After I brought it to her, I held a handful against her lips, but she only dropped her head and looked away. I'd never seen horses refuse food like this before, so starved that they were beyond thirst or hunger, so shut down that they were beyond self-preservation.

“You have to eat,” I urged her. “Please.” The mare's eyes fluttered closed. I ran my finger inside her bottom lip and made a pocket where the bars of her jaws made a natural space, then pressed the mash in and pushed it onto her tongue. She let it stay there, too indifferent to even swallow. I reached in with two fingers and worked the food back toward her throat, but she didn't swallow. I tried to figure out what to do next.

What was the point, I wondered, to force her to eat like this? She was crippled. A racehorse bred for running, every muscle, every bone bred for the purpose of galloping along the ground in great, driving strides. She had given it all away, the gift of her speed and her hot blood and her generous, honest horse heart, all given over for her owner's pleasure and profit, and in return, he had peremptorily discarded her without a shred of regard. If she did survive, what kind of future could we give her? Would her heart break over and over again with each painful, shattered step she took? Would she end up able only to stand and stare across the green fields, knowing that she would never, could never run them again? What would she think about, realizing that her very essence of being a horse had been taken from her? I wiped away my tears with dried-mash fingers.

Suddenly the mare's throat and lips moved, and she swallowed. Joyfully, I pressed in another small mound, and she swallowed again. After a few feeding attempts the animal was exhausted.

“You're such a good girl,” I murmured, pressing my face against her bony frame, but I had to look away from the blank eyes and wonder if I was doing her any favors.

 

“Bollocks! That old gal needs a lot of supervision,” Diamond-Rose declared as she came into the barn. I was still in front of Silky's stall, talking softly to her and stroking her muzzle.

“I know,” I agreed. “Feeding her takes forever, and Dr. Harry said she could even colic just from finally getting food.”

“I mean Mum. You know—Elisabeth,” Diamond said. “I would have come out sooner, but she set a small fire in the living room. Wanted to cook up some special mixture. I stopped her, but she insisted I bring this out with me.” She held up a bottle of expensive brandy.

“No snifters?” I asked, amused. “Are we supposed to take turns swigging from it?”

“Not for us. This is her special horse medicine,” Diamond explained. “She was going to mix it in a mash. Mum said she never lost an animal after pouring in a bottle of good brandy.”

“‘
Mum
'? I've known her ten years, and I never got past Mrs. Wycliff.”

Diamond threw her head back and laughed. “I think after you spend an hour fighting a couch fire in someone's living room while getting drunk on alcohol fumes with her, you deserve to be on a more intimate basis. I'm sort of her surrogate daughter now, so you can have your mum back. She'll probably be relieved to get rid of me.”

“I think she was getting very fond of you,” I protested.

“Thank you,” Diamond said, “but I have a new mum. It would get too confusing.” She opened the brandy and inhaled its aroma.

“Wonderful! Saint-Rémy Napoleon! Top drawer!” she exclaimed, then looked thoughtful. “Listen, would you mind taking the first shift with the mare tonight? I want to get working on that poster.”

I shrugged. “I suppose not,” I said. “I want to stay with Mousi anyway. He and I have a lot to talk about. I'll sleep on the cot in the barn kitchen. Just bring me food.”

“I'll ask Richie to pick up some pizza,” Diamond agreed. “And we'll have a go at this brandy. I'm not about to waste it on a horse.”

 

It was a long, sleepless night. I changed Silky's IV, fed her every two hours, tossed restlessly on the canvas cot, only to jump up again to check on all the rescue horses. Mousi was eating well, but it would take some time to put weight back on him. The others gratefully ate the mash and hay put in front of them. I went from horse to horse, checking water buckets, fluffing hay, and watching for signs of colic.

The barn doors rolled open with the first light of dawn, and Diamond carried in a mug of hot cowboy coffee for me.

“Why don't you take a break?” she said. “I can handle things from here.” She picked up the bucket of mash and began feeding tiny amounts to the mare.

“Thanks,” I said, stretching my arms and arching my back to get the kinks out. “I just refilled her IV and mixed a new mash.”

A car pulled up outside.

“Dr. Harry,” we said together.

“She's still alive?” Dr. Harry called out as he strode through the barn doors a moment later.

“Yes, she is,” Diamond said. “She ate a little, got her IV changed. She's really trying.” She stepped away so that he could examine the horse.

“You did a good job,” he said.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and gave me a meaningful look. I got the hint.

“I have some work to do,” I said. “I want to look through Mrs. Wycliff's files to see what kind of records she kept on the horses.”

“Great idea,” said Diamond. “There's probably enough stuff to keep you busy all morning.” I gave her a grin and left them alone in the barn, wondering if Diamond was ready to take her heart to a crossroad again.

 

The sun felt warm against my face, although there was an insistent breeze that came up from the fields and penetrated my jacket. Winter would soon be taking its bitter turn, a hostile season that brought its own harvest. I thought with sadness of the weakened, starving animals that wouldn't survive the cold weather, and of Tusker, whose life was shortening with each passing day.