Page 1 of High Density

Chapter One

Janey

There isnothing as pretty as a spring sunset in these mountains.

Golds and purples streak the sky and reflect off the peaks; almost too much abundance for the eye to take in.

The first few months after taking over Doc Evans’s clinic last year, any time I’d get called out around sunset, I would stop to take pictures. I must have hundreds of them eating up memory in my phone, but none of them even come close to reflecting the depth of colors nature provides.

Tonight, however, I can’t afford to slow down.

I just got home and was looking forward to the leftover lasagna in my fridge, after driving all around the county to administer spring vaccinations, when I got an urgent call from Lucy at Hart Horse Rescue. One of their horses is in distress with what appears to be colic.

It’s not an uncommon ailment, but it’s painful for the animal, and can be dangerous if it involves a twist in the bowel. That’s why proper diagnosis is key. If the horse is simply impacted, thetreatment is pain control, mild exercise, and hydration, but if we’re dealing with an intestinal torsion, surgery will be needed. Of course, that would require transporting the horse to the nearest equine hospital, which would be Ponderosa in Kalispell, since I don’t have the facility or the equipment.

When I turn onto the property, I can see the lights are already on at the barn. I don’t bother stopping at the house first and drive straight through, parking my truck right by the barn doors. I have everything I need, including my portable ultrasound, in the back. My truck has a cover on the bed, so I can keep my stuff dry and secure back there.

Bo, Lucy’s husband, is already opening the barn door for me.

“Need me to grab anything?” he asks.

I hold up my field bag. “For now, this is all I need.”

I follow him to a stall that is bathed in light from a flood lamp clamped to a post. Inside, Lucy is trying to coax a dark bay mare to get up on all fours. She’s currently sitting on her hind end like a dog would and looks to be in obvious distress, her eyes wild and nipping at her own side.

“Okay, let’s get her to her feet first,” I order, dropping my bag in a corner before turning to Bo. “We’ll need a long strap or a rope.”

While he goes in search, I find my stethoscope and try to get a heart rate, which isn’t an easy feat with the horse crazy with pain and sitting in this position.

“How long has she been like this?”

Lucy blows a long strand of blond hair out of her eyes.

“She didn’t eat today, and she looked restless this afternoon, so I came back to check on her after dinner and she was in obvious pain, which is when I called you. I tried to get her to drink, walked her around a bit in the meantime, and was just about to try some water again when she plopped down like this.”

I do a quick check for dehydration by pressing on her gums to see how long it takes for the small capillaries to refill.

“She’s definitely dehydrated,” I confirm, just as Bo walks into the stall with a long cargo strap. “That’s perfect. Let’s double it up and slide it under her hips.”

It takes a bit of doing, but we manage.

“Lucy, if you grab both sides of her halter and pull at the same time. On three. One, two…”

On three, I put all of my one hundred and ninety-two pounds into the effort. This is one of those rare times where I’m grateful to be of a heftier variety. I’m not short at five foot eight, and the pounds are distributed well on my body, but I’m more than aware there are quite a few too many of them.

Luckily, because of the work I do, I am fit and strong, and I eat pretty healthy most of the time. Still, whenever I’m weighed at my doctor’s office, I am sternly reminded that at my age it wouldn’t take much to slip from simply overweight into obese territory.

God, how I dread that stupid BMI scale. How can you use one single standard for the endless variety of human beings there are? It’s numbers, and they don’t take into account genetics, metabolic speed, health issues, mobility, and I could list an endless number of individual circumstances that should be taken into account when looking at what constitutes a healthy weight for a particular individual.

That’s not even the worst part; any health complaints you might have are so readily linked to that number on the scale. We’re supposed to believe that losing weight is the be-all end-all of every conceivable ailment.

I call bullshit. I’ve never been a small girl, I grew up on a ranch, was put to work from the time I was seven- or eight-years-old, and am generally fit as a fiddle. I’ve always been comfortable in my skin, and I’m not about to let somearbitrary number on a scale invented by some random Belgian mathematician make me feel bad. The man wasn’t even a physician, for Pete’s sake.

“Good girl, Starla. Good girl,” Lucy soothes the horse when we have her standing on trembling legs.

Now that she’s upright, it’s easier for me to listen to her gut sounds. There appears to be some increased activity.

“I’m going to do a quick rectal exam, and after that I’ll probably use a nasogastric tube to see if there is a buildup of fluids in her stomach. Are you okay with me giving a sedative now? Spare her any more discomfort?”

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