Page 5 of The Front Runner
Present
My breath comesout in puffs, white against the night sky, as I trudge down the steep stairs from my apartment. I had been warm. I had been dead to the world, blissfully floating through a deep, dreamless sort of sleep.
Until the alarm went off.
It only took one glance at the webcam set up beside my bed to tell me there was about to be another new arrival at Gold Rush Ranch.
The last one for the season—thank God.
This has happened every night this week. It’s the end of February. Foaling season—at least for racehorses who need to be born early in the year. And it seems as if every single mare at Gold Rush Ranch has gotten together over a bale of hay and discussed syncing up their births just to spite me. I imagine them like women, sitting around sipping a green smoothie, planning out how cute it would be to have their babies at the same time. How they could all play together, go to school together.Haha. Imagine if they dated one day! How precious.
We wanted the foals this year to be born as early as possible to give them every advantage on the track. But back-to-back-to-back? This is just torture.
The night is quiet and wet. Rain mists down continuously, causing a chilly dampness that leaches the heat from your bones and creeps into all the layers you’ve tried to guard yourself with. Spring in Ruby Creek is a different beast from what you’d see in the city. The elevation change assures that, and Canadian winters aren’t known for how mild they are. We butt up against the Cascade Mountains, which means it’s frigid even when there isn’t snow. Cold in the winter and scorching hot in the summer.
My leather gloves wrap around the steel barn door and heave, the wheels screeching as I slide it open. A quiet nicker greets me as I head down to the last stall. It’s lit with warm infrared lights and glows a sort of orange color in the otherwise dark foaling barn.
We have seven mares on the farm who are due this year, six of whom have already foaled out. Four this week alone. In the middle of the night, no less.
Sadly, the mare from last night didn’t make it. Everything seemed fine. Baby was up and nursing—until she collapsed. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And it sucks every goddamn time.
I’ve wanted to be a veterinarian since I can remember, I’m well aware it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it doesn’t stop the bridge of my nose from stinging when I think about it.
Now, we’ve got this beautiful red colt, with flashy white legs and a wide blaze over his face, who doesn’t have a mom. What’s worse is he’s our first—and only—foal sired by the farm’s celebrity stallion and two-time Denman Derby winner, DD.
He’s the special foal we’veallbeen waiting for.
For the past twenty-four hours, we’ve been taking turns bottle feeding him. Every single person on the ranch has put out feelers looking for a mare who may have lost a foal, because what this little orphan needs is a mare who will adopt him. A nurse mare. Without one, his chances of survival aren’t great. Hereallyneeds that colostrum.
I peek into his stall, trying not to tear up at the sight of his tiny sleeping form, before moving on to the next stall.One thing at a time, Mira. You can’t save them all.
“Hey, mama,” I coo at the dark bay mare who is already down on the ground, sweat slicked across her neck. “How we doing, huh?”
I run my fingers through her thick forelock as she gives me a slight head bob, her eyelids closing under the gentle pressure of my hand. This isn’t Flora’s first rodeo. From what I understand, she’s produced several nice foals for the farm and is the great-granddaughter of the first-ever racehorse at Gold Rush Ranch, Lucky Penny.
The interconnectedness of it all is almost saccharine in its sweetness. The two grandsons of the couple who founded this place are running it with their partners and making international headlines. Still breeding racehorses off that very first bloodline.
I’m not an overly sentimental woman, but even I must admit it’s pretty adorable.
I crouch down behind Flora, lifting her thick, black tail while rubbing at her haunch to watch for contractions, checking my watch to time them. The second one comes, but not so fast that I need to stay here and crowd her.
That’s the philosophy I try to carry forward with the animals I treat. How would I want a medical professional to react in this situation? I haven’t had a baby before, but I imagine having a doctor hover and stare at me would be stressful.
So, I extend the same courtesy to Flora and head into the staff lounge attached to the barn. Might as well make some coffee.Again.
I flick the lights on, put a pod in the coffee maker, and then slump down in the cushy armchair, feeling the weight of my exhaustion. It’s like the marrow in my bones has turned to lead. My entire body feels heavy. But I’ve always wanted this career, and I’ve worked too hard and too long to complain now that I’m finally here.People have survived worse, Mira.
Dragging my phone out of my pocket, I fire a text off to Billie as promised, and I wait for the hot water to flow through the pod and create a hot caffeinated drink for me. Billie is the head trainer here at the ranch, as well as the owner’s fiancé, but she’s also become one of my closest friends over the last couple of years. We initially bonded over a close call with her stallion, DD. And then she was like a fly I couldn’t shake off, hugging me and inviting me to girls’ nights. Talking to me like we’d known each other for years. She’s one of those people who just has a way of making you want to be around them. Her energy is as addictive as her language is colorful.
Mira:Ginger is foaling. I’m at the barn.
She’s been sleeping with her ringer on, waiting for this final foal. Billie is usually cool under pressure, but she’s nervous after last night. With a fresh reminder of how wrong it can all go, I can’t blame her for feeling that way.
It only takes a few moments for her to respond, even though it’s just after two a.m.
Billie:You really need to hire someone to help you.
Don’t I know it. The problem is, I’m kind of a loner. As an only child, I take pleasure in my solitude. There are very few people in the world I can spend extended periods of time around without eventually feeling agitated by them.
