Page 6 of Back in the Saddle

“Be there soon.”

Acting strange in what way? Dior was our Group Two winning mare. It was only the end of June, so she shouldn’t be in labour yet. The first foals wouldn’t be on the ground until August. I checked the Repro App on my phone to confirm her due date. She wasn’t due until 20 August.

Maybe she had colic. Should I join Ciaron to see what was wrong? She was an important horse for the farm and so was herfoal. No. One of the things he’d said to me during that fight was that I didn’t trust him. I did trust him. I needed to prove that by letting him handle this himself. He was Broodmare Manager for a reason. He was good at his job, smart and would be able to handle just about any situation without me.

I stood at the window and watched Ciaron drive to the River Paddock, dust trailing behind him until he was out of view. Then I waited in the silence that ensued.

I couldn’t see all 2000 acres of our property from the office. What I could see were the foaling unit to the left, the hospital barn to the right and paddocks which stretched all the way to the river with post and rail fencing. Housing was interspersed among that space. Usually four houses or units together, except for our house and Mum’s house, we had our own space and privacy.

Silence always made the thoughts lonelier. Or me lonelier. I don’t know when I started undermining Ciaron and I don’t know why. I trusted this man with my heart, yet I didn’t trust him to make decisions in the business? He’d even been right about hiring night watch staff. We couldn’t stretch our limited staff to cover the night watch as well. Mares gave birth mostly at night and having reduced staff would put them and the foals in danger.

“Taylor,” Ciaron said over the two-way. “I need you down here.”

Shit. This wasn’t good. I spun away from the window, rushed through the office and jumped in my car.

3

Ciaron

Rachel and I stood by the gate. Dior was fifty metres away, laying on the ground kicking her belly and rolling. She looked like she was colicking. Or maybe the foal was sitting in the wrong spot, making her uncomfortable.

“I’ll get the kit out of my car,” I said to Rachel.

I hurried to the car and grabbed my first aid box. We’d need to check her respiration, heartbeat and temperature. That would give us some indication of what we were dealing with. The best outcome would be the foal making her uncomfortable and Dior moving it back into a better spot. Colic could be complicated, especially at her stage of pregnancy.

Rachel and I approached the mare slowly. We didn’t want to startle her or stress her out. Before we reached her, she stood up and pawed at something on the ground. My heart sank as an unmoving foal, encased in a white bag, came into view. Dior stood over it, her head down, nudging it with her nose.

We stood next to her and stared down at the deceased foal. We couldn’t see the aborted foal clearly through the translucentwhite bag. It was brown like Dior. Quite large, probably 30 kilograms, which would be normal at this stage of her pregnancy. I crouched to get a better look. The foal appeared to be fully formed. There was a head and four legs, and it didn’t look abnormal.

A car stopped outside the paddock. I stood and turned as Taylor approached the gate and looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head. “Stay there. She’s aborted.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I’ll call the vet.” She walked back up to the road, her head hanging low, to make the call.

I took a deep breath and turned to Rachel. She’d been on the farm a few years now, but even so, an aborted foal could still be traumatic. It was for me.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

She nodded. “There’s nothing we could have done. Mares abort for a reason.”

Her pragmatism reminded me of Taylor.

“I know, but I feel sad for her,” I said.

“Me too.”

I gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Ciaron,” Taylor called. She dropped two body bags inside the gate for the foetus. It would need to be double bagged to prevent leakage before it went to the vet for a necropsy. “Dan is on his way.”

When I reached her side, I said, “From what I can see, the foetus is fully formed.”

“Anything could have caused it. Placentitis, equine herpesvirus, some sort of deformity.”

EHV was an infectious and notifiable disease. Precautions needed to be taken; we couldn’t have it spreading.

I glanced at the other horses in the paddock. “We need to isolate the paddock. Can you remind everyone of the protocol at the afternoon meeting?”

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