{"id":1404,"date":"2016-09-09T13:04:27","date_gmt":"2016-09-09T20:04:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/?p=1404"},"modified":"2024-07-02T18:37:57","modified_gmt":"2024-07-03T01:37:57","slug":"hounded-for-the-next-one","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/professional-life\/hounded-for-the-next-one\/","title":{"rendered":"Hounded for the Next One"},"content":{"rendered":"

My \u00a0 friend, Kathy, is the latest. Only the latest. She wants the next Dr. Warren Jeffreys book that follows Old Hickory Lane<\/em>. So do a bunch of other folks. But I’m not sure I want to go on producing novels. I’ve been completely petulant about finalizing any manuscript since I discovered how most of those readers who got the OHL eBook were people who chose to download copies from scammer sites, rather than paying for a legitimate copy…rather than paying me. If stories are worth nothing, then why should authors bother to write them, much less pay in time, effort, and money for ISBNs and all the rest of what goes into producing a novel? Why should authors, in essence, work, even pay, for others to read our novels, which is what it amounts to? So, yes, I’m sitting on manuscripts, drafts, and outlines of novels because, honestly, what’s the point?<\/p>\n

Anyway, for those who do want to know if there’s more, here are the first two chapters of Come-Back Road<\/em>, the next book in the Dr. Warren Jeffreys’ tale.<\/p>\n

\"drwarrenjeffreys_web\"<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\n

Come-Back Road<\/h2>\n

by D. L. Keur writing as E. J. Ruek<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

1<\/h3>\n

The Cold<\/h3>\n

The howl of a dog or, maybe, a wolf drifted in the eerie stillness.\u00a0 It was just after 2:00 A.M. with a late moon still visible through the trees.<\/p>\n

Dr. Warren Jeffreys started his assigned clinic truck, Lewis and Clark\u2019s newest RAM 3500, then headed back inside for his parka.\u00a0 Though the temperature on Marti\u2019s outdoor thermometer read 30\u00b0 F., he had a bad feeling niggling at the back of his brain.\u00a0 And a touch of the start of a migraine.<\/p>\n

Mares always chose the most inconvenient times to foal, and early morning was one of their favorites. \u00a0It took him half-an-hour to reach the Menlows\u2019, but, by the time he got there, the foal, a beautiful little Morgan colt, had suffocated.<\/p>\n

The owners were hysterical, then grief-stricken.\u00a0 Warren did what he had to and took the body with him for cremation.\u00a0 He was on his way to the clinic when he got the second call, this one at Annie Lane\u2019s.<\/p>\n

Dread filled him.\u00a0 The last foaling there had been a nightmare, the old woman refusing Caesarian on a bad presentation.\u00a0 Then there was the problem of Elise.<\/p>\n

But when he got there, Elise\u2019s truck wasn\u2019t parked in the drive, and the mare didn\u2019t need a c-section, just a little help getting one of the fetus\u2019s legs repositioned.\u00a0 After that, a shot of oxytocin got things moving again.<\/p>\n

A spry filly, the animal would be a light dun, the faint stripes and spots of Annie Lane\u2019s mysterious blood stock already suggesting themselves on the still wet hide.\u00a0 \u201cNice,\u201d was Warren\u2019s comment.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe is,\u201d Annie agreed.\u00a0 \u201cCould have come a day earlier when we weren\u2019t heading into a storm.\u00a0 \u2026Or, maybe better, a week from now.\u201d<\/p>\n

So it wasn\u2019t just him.\u00a0 Old Annie felt it, too.\u00a0 He watched her rub the filly down with a soft piece of flannel, marvelling still at the woman’s agility and strength.\u00a0 Annie was, at last count, in her late eighties, though she looked sixty and moved like she was two decades less than that.\u00a0 \u201cWeather Channel isn\u2019t predicting one,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cI checked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever do, even with that fancy satellite tracking.\u00a0 They\u2019ll be a storm come roaring by daylight.\u00a0 Mark my words.\u201d<\/p>\n

Annie turned to look at him.\u00a0 \u201cGlad you\u2019re back, Jeffreys.\u00a0 This country needs you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Warren felt himself flush.\u00a0 It was the first time Annie Lane had ever said a welcoming word or made him feel more than some second class citizen, though she still had yet to call him \u2018doctor\u2019, at least to his face.\u00a0 \u201cThanks.\u00a0 I\u2019m glad to be<\/em> back.\u201d \u00a0\u2026I think.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cCoffee at the house?\u201d<\/p>\n

This was also a first.\u00a0 Annie had never invited him in, not even into her barn office.<\/p>\n

\u201cEl\u2019 isn\u2019t here, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re worried about,\u201d the old woman muttered.<\/p>\n

El\u2019\u2014the reason he\u2019d left Lewis and Clark\u2019s and what had actually looked, until last September, like the fulfillment of his dreams.\u00a0 El\u2019\u2014Elliot who\u2019d turned himself into Elise\u2014a\u2026person Warren had courted and planned to marry.\u00a0 Until the man had come clean in a nightmare confession, a confession forced by Annie\u2019s threat to expose the truth herself.<\/p>\n

Uncomfortable, Warren hesitated, then, with a glance toward the old woman who watched him, said, \u201cI\u2019d love some.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

ANNIE GAVE HIM HOMEMADE coffee cake and steaming brew, Ed, her pet, one-winged bantam rooster, joining them at the kitchen table to his own bowl of crumbs from the same coffee cake.\u00a0 \u201cEl\u2019 is teaching down in Baker City, Oregon, so you don\u2019t need frettin\u2019 running into her here or in town.\u201d<\/p>\n

Always forthright, Annie Lane could tear you down with a single word.\u00a0 This side of her\u2014civil, almost charitable\u2014was new to Warren.\u00a0 \u201cThank you,\u201d was all he could think to say.<\/p>\n

A long pause, Annie serving him up another hunk of cake, then getting up to grab the pot and refill their cups.\u00a0 Then, \u201cIt isn\u2019t as if I didn\u2019t try to warn you off.\u201d<\/p>\n

He grimaced into his mug.\u00a0 Annie Lane had worked very<\/em> hard to do just that.\u00a0 Caustically so. \u00a0He\u2019d assumed it was him<\/em> she\u2019d objected to.\u00a0 He said that to her, now, and watched her nod.\u00a0 \u201cYou would<\/em> think that, I guess, you bein\u2019 so damned sure the world\u2019s out to get you just cuz you’re Injun.\u201d<\/p>\n

Warren swallowed hard.\u00a0 He\u2019d probably never get used to Annie\u2019s bluntness.\u00a0 \u201cHalf,\u201d he said softly.\u00a0 \u201cHalf Cree.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave it your way\u2014half Cree, then.\u00a0 \u2026You look full blood.\u00a0 Especially with that long, black hair.\u00a0 Mine used to be long,\u201d she said wistfully.\u00a0 Then, \u201cWhere you livin\u2019?\u201d\u00a0 She swung her head toward the door.\u00a0 \u201cNot out back, I hope.\u201d<\/p>\n

So, she\u2019d known he\u2019d been camping out by the creek last summer.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m staying at Marti Ryan\u2019s place in her spare room until I can find a rental.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded.\u00a0 \u201cThat workin\u2019 out?\u201d<\/p>\n

He chuckled.\u00a0 \u201cSort of.\u00a0 I just feel like I\u2019m\u2026well, in her space.\u00a0 She\u2019s putting me up in what\u2019s supposed to be her work-out room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMarti was always big on fitness, even as a kid.\u00a0 Well, if you need a place to roost, I\u2019ve got a shack over on Come-Back Road you can let.\u201d<\/p>\n

He thanked her, and, after a moment\u2019s pause, asked after the terms and if he could see it.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter the comin\u2019 storm, sure.\u00a0 It ain\u2019t much, but it\u2019s warm and sound.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

5:45 A.M., AND THE SKY wasn\u2019t even hinting at dawn, though sunrise was technically only three-quarters of an hour away.\u00a0 There should have been some morning twilight by now.<\/p>\n

The truck\u2019s road temperature indicator still hovered at thirty, so maybe the storm both he and Annie felt coming had stalled, or maybe the weather service was right\u2014there was no incoming storm, at all.<\/p>\n

Warren got to the highway and turned south, pushing his speed up to just over legal.\u00a0 He\u2019d be late for his first breakfast as a full working partner of Lewis and Clark\u2019s Veterinary Service, but, if his luck held, he wouldn\u2019t be that<\/em> late\u2014five minutes, maybe\u2014just enough to give Doctors Jim Clark and Bill Lewis the ammunition they needed to rib him.\u00a0 He looked forward to it, memories of their animated discussions over hot eggs and bacon, their camaraderie, warm in his mind.<\/p>\n

When he got there, though, the partners abruptly stopped talking, stood up, each of them formally shaking his hand.\u00a0 When they sat back down, they were stiff-faced and silent.<\/p>\n

The waitress came, and they ordered.\u00a0 Jim\u2014the man Warren considered \u201cfirst boss\u201d\u2014handed him an envelope with a company card and another with his health insurance paperwork.<\/p>\n

Warren tried breaking the ice with a report of his first two days on the job over the weekend\u2014of Dr. Haber\u2019s difficulty with a lambing case, the dogs and cats that had come in after hours on Saturday and the loss of the Menlow\u2019s Morgan foal.\u00a0 He mentioned Annie Lane\u2019s filly, expecting Bill\u2014Warren\u2019s idea of \u201csecond boss\u201d\u2014to utter some happy, better-thee-than-me comeback, especially considering last year\u2019s near disaster.<\/p>\n

None of that happened.\u00a0 Nothing happened.\u00a0 Even the FedEx man noticed the difference.\u00a0 His usual chattiness stalled.\u00a0 Silently, he handed over the parcels, got Jim\u2019s signature, then beat a hasty retreat.<\/p>\n

\u201cTime to go,\u201d Bill muttered, rising.\u00a0 Jim nodded and stood, got his coat on, then led out.\u00a0 Trailing behind them, Warren left the caf\u00e9 completely confused.<\/p>\n

Back in the truck, he figured it out, though.\u00a0 They were setting him up.\u00a0 He\u2019d get to the clinic, and there\u2019d be some surprise staff party waiting.\u00a0 He grinned, shook his head, happy to finally be back where he really belonged.<\/p>\n

But, when he got there, there wasn\u2019t a party, not even doughnuts.\u00a0 There wasn\u2019t even the cordial \u201cgood morning, Dr. Jeffreys\u201d he\u2019d gotten so used to in the months prior to his decision to take a job back east.\u00a0 It was \u201cDr. Jeffreys\u201d with a curt nod\u2026from Marcia in reception to the attendants and groomers\u2014two groomers, now, and both new to him.<\/p>\n

Even the techs were reserved, especially Head Tech, Denise.\u00a0 \u201cYour first call is at the Faulkner\u2019s,\u201d she said, handing him a hardcopy printout after they’d finished morning rounds.\u00a0 \u201cPreg checks on three mares, removal of wolf teeth in a yearling colt, a handful of Coggins, and a sperm check on their premier stallion.\u00a0 Call when you\u2019re done, so I can meet you over at Bergen\u2019s for the brucellosis vaccinations.\u201d<\/p>\n

For Warren, Denise had been the biggest surprise.\u00a0 In the few months he\u2019d been gone, she\u2019d dropped weight\u2014a lot of it\u2014fifty pounds, at least.\u00a0 And she\u2019d had her brown, curly hair styled.\u00a0 She was beginning to look like a girl instead of a frumpy blimp.<\/p>\n

\u00a0Done with the run-down, she walked off with not so much as a by-your-leave.\u00a0 Not even a nod.\u00a0 Warren watched her disappear through the walk-through to the clinic\u2019s small animal side, confusion and hurt turning to anger by the time he\u2019d grabbed his gear and shrugged himself into his coat.<\/p>\n

Outside, a sudden wind hit him.\u00a0 It was bitter cold.\u00a0 Annie\u2019s prediction and that of his migraine had proven themselves.\u00a0 The barameter had to be plummeting.<\/p>\n

Reaching the truck, he didn\u2019t stop to check the vet box, just jumped in and slammed the door against fresh swirling gusts that were blowing up ice crystals.\u00a0 His breath was a fog in his face.\u00a0 Any residual warmth in the cab from his drive over from Panner\u2019s Caf\u00e9 was gone.\u00a0 He turned the key.<\/p>\n

Nothing happened.<\/p>\n

Cussing, his fingers tingling in the frigid air, he tried again with the same result.\u00a0 Opening the door, he noticed the dome light didn\u2019t come on; the irritating ding, ding, ding<\/em> that always accompanied door-open, butt-in-seat-without-belt was silent.\u00a0 He should have spotted those clues immediately.<\/p>\n

Pulling gloves from his pocket, he headed for the utility shed that stored, among other things, a jump starter for just this problem.\u00a0 He slid his ID card through the slot\u2014nothing.\u00a0 The security light stayed red.<\/p>\n

He groaned and started back to the clinic, then thought better of it.\u00a0 He had jumper cables in his Outlander.\u00a0 That would be quick and a lot less painfull than dealing with Jim trying to troubleshoot the security system.<\/p>\n

Fifteen frozen minutes later, his nose burning off his face, he was heading down the highway to Faulkner\u2019s, the truck\u2019s road temp indicator reading ten degrees, ambient.\u00a0 With the wind, it had to be twenty degrees colder than that.\u00a0 Happy April Fool\u2019s Day.<\/p>\n

*\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0*<\/p>\n

2<\/h3>\n

Killweather<\/h3>\n

FAULKNERS BRED, RAISED, RACED, and showed Thoroughbreds.\u00a0 Those horses that failed on the track as two-year-olds were destined for a life as sport horses\u2014dressage or jumping, maybe both.\u00a0 The farm\u2019s premier herd sire was a grandson of Northern Dancer.\u00a0 Old\u2014twenty-six\u2014his sperm count and viability didn\u2019t show the normal drop that occurred in aging stallions.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s like his grandsire\u2014hot and horny to the end,\u201d Mr. Faulkner chuckled, patting the relatively small, fifteen-three-hand animal.<\/p>\n

The horse reached his head around, teeth snapping in a play at savaging.<\/p>\n

\u201cQuit, you old gun,\u201d was the man\u2019s grinning response, a pop of hand on the horse\u2019s shoulder accompanying the words.\u00a0 \u201cOnto the mares, then.\u00a0 The missus thinks that Sherry didn\u2019t take.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sure enough, an ultrasound showed Mrs. Faulkner right about the mare they called Sherry.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s not the stallion\u2019s fault,\u201d Warren said.\u00a0 \u201cShe\u2019s got a cystic ovary.\u201d\u00a0 Warren pointed to the image on the screen.<\/p>\n

He turned and saw stricken looks on the faces of the owners.\u00a0 \u201cChances are it\u2019s benign,\u201d he assured.\u00a0 \u201cIf we remove it, the remaining ovary will resume fertility in about six to eight months.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s a relief,\u201d Mrs. Faulkner muttered.\u00a0 A mannish woman with a hawk nose and pointed chin, she was tall, emaciated, and pale to the point of looking anemic, strong contrast to her portly, robust husband.<\/p>\n

\u201cHas she been showing any stallion behavior?\u201d Warren asked.<\/p>\n

The woman shook her head.\u00a0 \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Warren nodded, but frowned.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019d like to draw some blood before we schedule her for surgery.\u201d<\/p>\n

The mare objected, but Warren got his blood sample once they got a twitch on her.\u00a0 \u201cShe\u2019s never been easy,\u201d Mrs. Faulkner said with a hiss of disgust.\u00a0 \u201cJust like her mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

After pulling blood from a handful of horses headed for the track or the spring shows, it was time for the yearling\u2019s wolf teeth removal.\u00a0 That wound up being the easiest job, the Faulkners\u2019 confinement stocks, the use of a speculum, and expert help from both Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner making it so.\u00a0 It was rare for both partners in a family-owned operation to be equally skilled.\u00a0 The Faulkners were the exception.\u00a0 Warren sedated the colt and, within minutes, the offending teeth were removed.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s destined for the track next year, and he seemed really bothered when we tried bitting him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d let his mouth heal for a couple weeks before trying again,\u201d Warren advised.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, definitely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s it, then,\u201d Mr. Faulkner said, handing off care of the still woozy animal to an employee.\u00a0 \u201cCoffee or cocoa at the house?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, but no.\u00a0 I\u2019ve got to meet a tech over at a dairy, and I don\u2019t want to keep her waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, just so you know, we\u2019re very glad you\u2019re back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll open the doors for you,\u201d Mrs. Faulkner said, pointing a remote she took from her jean pocket.\u00a0 The big barn doors behind where Warren had been invited to park in the heated barn\u2019s broad central aisle slid open.\u00a0 Cold came roaring in.\u00a0 The wind was worse.\u00a0 And it was snowing.<\/p>\n

NORTH IDAHO IN SPRING could be balmy one day, then plunge fifty degrees to turn into arctic hell the next.\u00a0 Unfortunately, the arctic blasts usually lasted at least three days.\u00a0 A check on his Smartphone showed the weather service now predicting that this one would last the week.\u00a0 They had no estimate of expected snow accumulation, yet.\u00a0 Warren groaned.\u00a0 \u201cDay late, dollar short, NOAA.\u201d<\/p>\n

A week was a scary thought, considering the number of calvings and lambings common this time of year, and Warren would likely be handling most of them, despite the fact that he was a board certified equine specialist, top in his field, with a Ph.D. on top of his D.V.M. to prove it.\u00a0 He dialed the clinic.<\/p>\n

And got the answering service.<\/p>\n

\u201cPower is out,\u201d the woman said.\u00a0 \u201cThe phones have switched over to us.\u201d<\/p>\n

The wind buffeted the truck, making it tilt side-to-side with each gust.\u00a0 Visibility was bad\u2014very.<\/p>\n

Warren accepted the woman\u2019s offer to call Denise.\u00a0 \u201cTell her I\u2019ve left Faulkner\u2019s and am headed to Bergen\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

A twenty minute drive later found Bergen\u2019s dairy starting to drift in.\u00a0 They were running back-up generators to finish a morning milking that should have been done hours ago.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019ll have to start on your own,\u201d Parker Bergen snapped.\u00a0 \u201cThe heifers are in the loafing shed next door.\u201d<\/p>\n

Warren waited fifteen minutes, then another ten, but Denise\u2019s truck didn\u2019t appear.\u00a0 Reluctantly, he pulled on insulated coveralls, then disposable whites over that and trudged into a black hole of a barn.<\/p>\n

Rustling and the occasional bawls of young bovines greeted him.\u00a0 At least it was warmer in here, but how the hell was he supposed to vaccinate heifer calves if he couldn\u2019t even see them?<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll get set up,\u201d Denise\u2019s voice said behind him, making him jump.\u00a0 A light came on\u2014a portable floodlight she\u2019d brought with her.\u00a0 \u201cAs soon as the Bergens are done with milking, they\u2019ll switch the generators over to run the lights in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat would be nice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSarcasm won\u2019t make this any easier, Dr. Jeffreys.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eye roll got lost on her back as she headed back outside.\u00a0 At least, she\u2019d left the light.<\/p>\n

Two miserable hours later, his fingers, feet, and knees stiff with the cold, he was headed for his next call.\u00a0 There, the drifts in the drive were already two feet deep at their crest.\u00a0 They defeated the big four-wheel-drive with its all-season radials, and Warren didn\u2019t want to chain up.\u00a0 He wound up walking in, carrying his kit.<\/p>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t expect you with the power out, or I\u2019d have cleared the driveway,\u201d a late thirties, sandy-haired man called Rob Littlefield drawled.\u00a0 Affectations of \u2018Texan\u2019 were on proud display in his fake accent, the block of his Stetson, and his too fancy cowboy boots.\u00a0 \u201cStallion\u2019s in the barn.\u00a0 So are the mares.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another set of preg checks showed all but one mare bred.\u00a0 A look at Rob\u2019s over-muscled, palomino Quarter Horse stud showed him tender on both forelegs.\u00a0 Warren knew the cause\u2014the start of navicular disease, despite the fact the horse was only three years old.\u00a0 It was common now in Quarter Horses like Littlefield\u2019s who carried an obscene amount of muscle tissue and large bone on delicate, even puny, lower legs and feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you fix it?\u201d Littlefield asked, his drawl suddenly gone, when, after another trip back to the truck, X-rays confirmed Warren\u2019s initial diagnosis.<\/p>\n

Warren shook his head.\u00a0 \u201cI can try some interarticular injections, but the long term prognosis isn\u2019t good.\u00a0 I\u2019m going to x-ray his hind feet and check them, too, if that\u2019s alright?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man eyed him.\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019s not showing lame in the back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI still think we should check.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re the vet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two more X-rays showed what Warren already knew from his hands-on assessment.\u00a0 The hind feet were also compromised.\u00a0 Warren gave the owner instructions on the corrective shoeing the horse would need.\u00a0 \u201cSheldon Murphy is who I suggest,\u201d Warren said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll call him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the horse needs to lose weight.\u00a0 As much as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man stared at him.\u00a0 Finally, he said, \u201cYou mean starve him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u00a0 Just get him down to a nice, healthy lean\u2026take some weight off those small feet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh\u2026I\u2019ve got halter classes coming up, and he starts reining trials in May.\u00a0 He\u2019s in training, plus he needs that weight to look good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny kind of athletic training and trials are completely out of the question.\u00a0 Sorry.\u201d\u00a0 Warren didn\u2019t address the \u2018look good\u2019 comment.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t we bute him up?\u201d<\/p>\n

Fighting to school his tone, Warren said, \u201cNo.\u201d\u00a0 Normal treatment included pain inhibitors and steroids, but Warren wasn\u2019t about to administer them.\u00a0 Short, young, and cocky, Rob Littlefield had a mercenary reputation when it came to his horses.\u00a0 There were notes all over his client file\u2014both Jim\u2019s and Bill\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow the hell am I supposed to get him to cover that last mare, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

Warren felt like saying, \u201cYou don\u2019t.\u00a0 He should be gelded and his get sterilized,\u201d but didn\u2019t.\u00a0 He also didn\u2019t offer artificial insemination.\u00a0 He just said, \u201cSorry,\u201d again, and handed over a hand-written copy of the charges.\u00a0 \u201cMarsha will invoice you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man stalked off, and Warren let himself out of the barn to struggle back down the drive, juggling his kit, his tablet, and the portable X-ray, no help from Rob.\u00a0 It was after one, and he still had five calls left on his day list.\u00a0 The lot of a country vet, and to think he\u2019d signed up for a lifetime of this misery when he could have accepted the better offer and been warm, welcomed, and worshipped at WSU.\u00a0 What was he thinking?!\u00a0 His third day back in, and he was regretting his choice.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got a horse here with a nasty-looking, abscessed wound on the hip.\u00a0 When can you be here?\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the message left on his voicemail by Denise.\u00a0 He groaned as he hit the speed dial for the clinic.\u00a0 He\u2019d left his phone in the truck.\u00a0 Again.\u00a0 Marcia would be furious.<\/p>\n

But she wasn\u2019t.\u00a0 Surprised, he assured her he\u2019d stop by on his way south.\u00a0 She acknowledged\u2014barely\u2014and rang off.<\/p>\n

He had to chain up to get the truck free from where it was stuck.\u00a0 He left it chained up till he got to the highway, more and growing drifts beginning to bury the county road.\u00a0 Ambient temperature now down to minus six, with the wind chill it had to be nigh on thirty below.\u00a0 \u201cKill weather\u201d his father called it.\u00a0 Warren pitied the stock stranded in the fields without any shed or shelter of trees.\u00a0 He pitied the dogs stuck on chains.\u00a0 If this wind kept up, the mortality rate was going to be high.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE DRONE OF GENERATORS greeted him back at Lewis and Clark\u2019s.\u00a0 \u201cPower\u2019s going to be out for awhile, they say,\u201d Tech Sonya Meyers told him.\u00a0 \u201cDr. Clark thinks you\u2019d better hunker down here tonight.\u00a0 He\u2019s going to, too.\u00a0 Expects a rash of late night emergencies.\u00a0 Always happens during these storms.\u00a0 Oh, and Dr. Haber is stuck over on Corduroy Road.\u00a0 She\u2019s got at least a four hour wait for a tow truck.\u00a0 The horse Denise called about is in stall four.\u201d<\/p>\n

Denise was with the mare.\u00a0 She\u2019d put a battery-run warming blanket on her and was taking her temperature.<\/p>\n

Warren took a breath and stepped in\u2026touched the animal\u2019s shoulder.\u00a0 Immediately, his body began shaking, savage pain in his hip almost buckling him.\u00a0 He let go.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d\u2014Denise.<\/p>\n

Hands on his knees for support, three huge breaths later, he nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cLooks like she\u2019s been shot.\u00a0 Months ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

He knew that.<\/p>\n

\u201cSheriff\u2019s Office brought her down this morning.\u00a0 Snowshoers found her tied to a tree up on the High Drive yesterday.\u00a0 She\u2019d eaten all the bark off as high as she could reach on all the trees she could get to.\u00a0 The S.O. wants to know when you think she was shot, and they want the bullet that\u2019s in her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Unable to stop himself, he retched, vomiting bile.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not<\/em> okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.\u00a0 Then, with another huge breath, he forced himself upright and stepped up to the mare, again.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ll be fine,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n

Denise looked skeptical.<\/p>\n

Ignoring her, he ran his hands over the mare\u2019s emaciated body, a body so lacking fat of any kind that it was a wonder she was alive.\u00a0 He approached the horror on her near-side quarter.\u00a0 A tentative touch told him that, though ugly and painful, this wasn\u2019t the critical need.<\/p>\n

He went to her head.\u00a0 There, dull eyes stared through him\u2014no hope.\u00a0 Luckily, she was tame.<\/p>\n

“Increase the temperature of the warming blanket to maximum.\u00a0 Get me five liters of Ringer\u2019s, also warm, and an I.V. set-up.\u00a0 \u2026And a couple of thin slices of apple from my lunch box.\u00a0 It\u2019s in the break room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re going to try to save her?\u201d<\/p>\n

Warren turned to look at the girl\u2026woman.\u00a0 \u201c\u2026And five milliliters of molasses.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir,\u201d she said, and trotted off.<\/p>\n

Alone with the mare, now, he started crooning to her, gently running his hands along her neck till he reached her withers.\u00a0 Plying stethoscope, he was surprised to find that the lungs were clear, the heartbeat very slow, but steady.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019ve been through hell, but you\u2019re body\u2019s not giving up, is it?\u201d he whispered.\u00a0 Her spirit was dead, though\u2014no hope.\u00a0 She was maybe six years old.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you can save her?\u201d came the question.<\/p>\n

Warren turned to see Jim standing there.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019d like to try.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe S.O. thinks she belongs to Old Man Reeves.\u00a0 He disappeared up on the High Drive day after Thanksgiving.\u00a0 Hunting.\u00a0 He was never found.\u201d<\/p>\n

Denise had returned and stood just beside and a little behind.\u00a0 Her face was stone.\u00a0 Her blue eye matched it.\u00a0 Her brown one betrayed her sympathies, though.\u00a0 \u201cSo, do I try?\u201d Warren asked.<\/p>\n

Jim nodded.\u00a0 \u201cDenise, note on the file that Dr. Jeffreys has assumed her care and has full responsibility.\u00a0 You\u2019re her assigned tech.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Dr. Clark.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet on with it, then, people.\u00a0 I\u2019ll help with the surgery if\u2026when the time comes.\u201d<\/p>\n

So Jim believed he could<\/em> save her and was willing to help.<\/p>\n

Warren looked to Denise.\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s get her out of the cold.\u201d<\/p>\n

*\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0*<\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My \u00a0 friend, Kathy, is the latest. Only the latest. She wants the next Dr. Warren Jeffreys book that follows Old Hickory Lane. So do a bunch of other folks. But I’m not sure I want to go on producing novels. I’ve been completely petulant about finalizing any manuscript since I discovered how most of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1415,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[123,8],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1404"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1404"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1404\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3737,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1404\/revisions\/3737"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1404"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1404"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dlkeur.com\/dlkeur-blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1404"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}