Page 23 of Branded By the Cowboy

Angus

It’s nearly midnight when the call comes.

“One of the mares is in labor. It’s not going right.” Tom sounds nervous.

I sit up in bed, already reaching for my jeans. “Which one?”

“Sable. She’s sweating hard and straining, but nothing’s happening. Been going at it for a while now.”

I’m halfway into my boots. “You call the vet?”

“Yeah, but he’s stuck on a colic case in Tangle Creek. Said he’s sending a locum, a new guy. He’s over an hour out.”

“Dammit,” I mutter. I think of the last time we had a breach. We lost both the mare and foal. I’m not making the same mistake twice.

“Call the locum back,” I tell him. “Put him on speaker. He can talk us through it. I’m coming.”

By the time I make it to the stable, Tom’s got the phone propped on a hay bale with the speaker turned up. The vet’s tinny voice barely rises over the rustle of hay and shifting hooves.

“…try to keep her calm. Heart rate matters. And keep your gloves on, please.”

The mare’s in bad shape. Sides heaving, nostrils flaring, coat dark with sweat. Her eyes roll white when another contraction hits, but nothing comes of it.

“She’s not progressing,” Tom says. “Not even a little.”

I crouch near her hind legs, watching the ripple of muscles go tight again, then ease without delivery.

“Damn it,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

“She’s stuck, isn’t she?” Luna’s voice cuts through the stall door.

I glance back. She’s standing there, hood half-off, hair damp from the rain. Her face is pale, but her jaw is set.

“She’s trying,” I say. “But the foal’s not moving. Could be a leg caught. Maybe a shoulder.”

“I’ve only done this once. Well, I helped,” Luna says as she steps into the stall. “The vet was there. He let me assist.” Her voice wavers slightly. “But I’ve never done it alone.”

“You don’t have to,” I say, rising to my feet.

But she’s already kneeling. “She needs help. I can try.”

The locum cuts in on the phone. “Okay. You’ll need gloves and lube if you have it. Don’t force anything. Just see what you’re working with.”

I grab the supplies and hand them to Luna. Her hands are shaking, but she gets the gloves on and slides a towel beneath her knees.

“Okay,” the vet says through the speaker, calm and steady. “You’re looking for front legs first. Let me know what you feel.”

Luna slips her arm in slowly. Her breath catches.

“Hooves,” she says. “Two of them. But they’re bent, I think. They’re tucked.”

“Okay,” the vet replies. “That’s a flexed knee presentation. It’s common. You’ll need to gently extend the legs forward if you can. Can you feel the head?”

She nods, eyes wide. “Yeah. But it’s crowded in there.”

“I know,” the vet says. “It’s okay. Let’s go slow. Try to get them forward, one leg at a time.”

Luna bites her lip and adjusts her position, carefully maneuvering the foal’s legs. I kneel beside her, close enough to feel the tension rolling off her body.

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