Page 47 of High Velocity

Like with the small bay mare, who didn’t look anywhere near to delivering when I last checked, and ended up dropping her foal in the field. I didn’t even notice the small bundle in the grass at first. The mare was on the other side of the makeshift pen and appeared spooked. The foal was still mostly covered in the sack and I had to tear a hole to free its nostrils, but I don’t know how long it had been lying there. The little thing was limp.

In the birthing stalls we have a few tools at hand, like oxygen, so I scooped up the foal and hoofed it to the barn. We were able to perk up the little one, but when we brought the mare into the barn, she wouldn’t have anything to do with her foal. Fortunately, two stalls down from her, another mare had lost hers earlier this morning and with a bit of coaxing, she allowed the little guy to nurse on her.

My current condition is the result of rolling around in birth guck and horse shit all afternoon, but I’m otherwise feeling good. Nothing like the sight of newborn foals, stumbling around on legs too long for their bodies, to put a smile on your face.

It’s already after seven by the time I head for my cabin, I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. When I left Stephanie’s place this morning, I promised I’d bring some bear meat to grill for dinner. I pull out my phone and give her a quick call as I walk past the porch of the main house. Thomas lifts a hand in greeting as I pass.

She answers my call with a soft, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. I’m just calling to let you know I’m running late, I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you sooner, but things have been hectic here.”

“Oh, no worries. We can do this another night.”

Dinner, maybe, but I fully intend on seeing her tonight.

“If you haven’t already, grab yourself something to eat, and I’ll be over, right after I wash this goop off me.”

“Goop?”

“You don’t wanna know. Foaling season started and we’ve had four mares deliver today.”

“I’m so jealous, I love foals, those awkward, gangly legs,” she shares.

I push open the door to my cabin and am greeted with silence. No dog to greet me because I left him with Stephanie.

“Okay, change of plans,” I suddenly announce. “How about you pack an overnight bag, grab the dog, and head over this way? I can scrounge us up some food and show you the new additions.”

I’m surprised how fast she jumps on it. I thought maybe she’d need a little coaxing, but her resounding, “Yes,” comes before I’ve even finished my last sentence.

After ending the call, I quickly tidy up the dirty socks I left on the floor by the couch and clear away the handful of dishes I’ve left in the sink. Then I hop in the shower.

When Stephanie arrives half an hour later, I’m clean and have a small pan of stew staying warm on the stove. Ama had left a large pot simmering at the main house for the stragglers. Dinner is generally a fluid concept at the ranch, and not a rigid time slot.

“Smells good,” she announces after I kiss her right inside the front door.

“Ama’s stew, not mine,” I clarify. “It comes with a chunk of fresh sourdough bread she baked this morning.”

Her stomach rumbles in response.

“That sounds so good. I’m starving.”

No surprise, dinner is a little late. I’m pretty damn hungry myself. I dish us each out a good portion of stew and set the half loaf of bread on a board in the middle of my small table.

“Come sit. Beer?”

Stephanie shakes her head as she takes a seat. “It doesn’t play nice with my medication. I’ll stick to water.”

“I also have orange juice, and a bottle of some green tea stuff I don’t drink, or I can make you regular tea.”

I can’t remember who left that bottle here. It may have been Ma; she went through a phase where she tried to fix me with all kinds of stuff that was supposed to be good for me. I think the green tea may have been a remnant of that time. I’m surprised it survived in my fridge; I ended up tossing most everything else she brought me.

“I’ll take the green tea.”

We don’t talk much, but I can’t keep my eyes off Stephanie as she scarfs down the bowl of stew I put in front of her. Every so often I catch her eye and she throws me a smile. I like that she doesn’t pick at her food and doesn’t apologize for enjoying it.

“More bread?” I ask her, when she drops her spoon in her empty bowl and sits back.

“Sadly, I’m going to have to pass, I’m already stuffed.”

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