Page 61 of Home Hearts Hooves

“Yeah, it’s a yes.”

“Rightio then.” What the fuck, rightio, who says rightio? I was so close to being almost normal.

“Rightio,” he replies, and I smile the rest of the way to Fletcher’s farm.

Chapter twenty

PRESTON

LIKE I NEEDED ANOTHER REASON TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN

“Mr.Fletcher,goodtosee you,” I say, shaking his hand. I can’t help but notice how much older he looks. Back when I was a boy visiting this farm, he was a tall strapping man with a full head of black hair. Like those rustic men, they’d put on magazine covers. Now, his hair is almost entirely white, barely a fleck of black left to it, and the lines on his face are deep set. He moves a lot slower now, too. Surely he’ll have to start giving up the manual labor of the farm soon enough, hand it down to his sons or sell up.

“Nice to see you, Dr. Knight. Thanks so much for coming out so quickly. Dean, I wasn’t expecting you. Sorry to hear about the leg. How’s that going?”

“It’s a pain in the ass. I’m helping the doc out while I heal up. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You’re always welcome out here. Be sure to stop in and see Mother before you head home. She’d love to see you, too.”

“I will. So, what can you tell us about your sheep? The doc said you lost fourteen last night?” Dean asks.

Mr. Fletcher heads towards the old truck.

“Up to sixteen now. Jump in, I’ll take you to them.”

The old truck is a crew cab, and I help Dean into the back before jumping into the front. He brushes off any help with his leg, but I know it’s got to be hard getting in and out with that boot thing.

Mr. Fletcher drives us past the usual paddocks, barely a scrap of green grass left, and heads towards the far acres.

“You’ve moved them?” I ask, and he nods.

“We were short on feed, so we had to.”

It’s not unusual for farmers to clear unused areas of their land to repurpose and find alternative feed options for their livestock, but when we pull up on the area he’s using, I immediately suspect I know what’s happened.

“Are those olive trees?” I ask, and he nods.

“Yeah, a few years back we planted, but it never produced the way we wanted, so it was just left to its own devices.”

I grab my bag and follow him over to where the dead sheep are laid out in a row at the edge of the new paddock.

Mr. Fletcher and Dean stand to the side with one of his farm hands while I make a start on the first one. On-site post-mortems are a vital part of this job in preventing the spread of disease and providing farmers with immediate advice on how to best treat their livestock.

I pull on gloves, grab the tape recorder and flick it on to start recording the findings as I go.

“Hooves are clear, normal appearance, and unremarkable,” I say before moving on to examine the sheep’s eyes and nose. So far nothing stands out to confirm a contagious disease. “I’ll be opening her up now,” I say and make the first incision. As soon as I get to her insides, I confirm my suspicions.

“The rumen are full of what appears to be olive seeds,” I say.

“It’s the feed?” Mr. Fletcher asks.

“I expect so. I’ll have to open up the rest to be sure, but this girl’s cause of death is definitely the olive branches she’s been eating.”

“Get the boys, have them move the herd out to the front pasture, set aside any that are not looking right for Dr. Knight to look in on,” he yells at the farm hand and the kid is off like a shot across the field towards the bulk of the herd we can see in the distance.

Dean staggers around the second sheep I’m starting on.

“I thought olive leaves were good for the animals?”

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