Page 2 of Saddles and Snowstorms
“Almost there,” I said, my voice hoarse from the strain.
Finally, with a sudden rush, the calf slid into the world with a gush of fluid. I stumbled back, my arm finally free, pins and needles shooting through it as blood rushed back into my fingers.
“It’s a heifer!” the farmer announced, his leathery face breakinginto a wide smile. He knelt beside the blanket where the wet, trembling calf lay. “Look at that, a little girl for Lulabelle.”
I shook out my arm, wincing at the sensation, then grabbed a clean towel and joined him. The calf was beautiful. Mostly black with a white star on her forehead, her eyes large and bewildered as she took her first breaths.
“She’s not moving much,” the farmer observed, his voice edged with concern.
“Give her a minute,” I said, rubbing the calf vigorously with the towel. “Come on, little one. Take a good breath for me.”
I cleared mucus from her nostrils and mouth, then rubbed harder along her ribcage. The calf suddenly jerked, coughed, and let out a weak “maa” that echoed through the barn.
“There she is,” I said, relief flooding through me. “Good girl.”
Behind us, Lulabelle let out a low, plaintive moo. She was struggling to her feet, maternal instinct overriding her exhaustion. I moved aside as she approached her calf, sniffing and licking the newborn with surprising gentleness for such a large animal.
“Should probably check for a twin,” I said, rolling up my sleeve again. “Sometimes with difficult births like this...”
“You think there’s another?” The farmer’s eyebrows shot up.
I shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
This time, the examination was quicker and less dramatic. “We’re clear,” I announced, stepping back and peeling off my long glove with a wet snap. “Just the one.”
The farmer nodded, watching mother and calf with obvious pride. “What do you think of her chances?”
“Good,” I said, washing my arms in a bucket of clean water he’d provided. “She’s breathing well, good color. Mom’s taking to her. Just make sure she nurses within the next hour.”
The calf was already trying to stand on wobbly legs, knees buckling as she struggled to find her balance. I watched with quiet satisfaction as she toppled over, only to try again with stubborn determination.
“Look at that,” the farmer chuckled. “Got her mama’s spirit already.”
I dried my hands and arms on a clean towel, wincing at the soreness. Tomorrow I’d have bruises from wrist to shoulder, but it wasworth it. The calf finally managed to stay upright, swaying slightly as she took her first tentative steps toward Lulabelle.
“What’ll you name her?” I asked, packing my supplies back into my medical bag.
The farmer tilted his head, considering the wobbly newborn. “Been thinking ‘Midnight’ on account of when she came, but seeing that star on her head... maybe ‘Starlight’ instead.”
“Starlight,” I repeated, watching as the calf found her mother’s udder and began to nurse. “It suits her.”
We stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, only the sounds of the soft huffing of cattle and the occasional creak of the old barn settling. The cold prairie wind whistled through the cracks in the barn walls, carrying the scent of dry grass and coming rain.
“Starlight it is, then,” the farmer nodded decisively. “First calf of the new year in Sagebrush, delivered by our new vet.”
I smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the past hour. “I’ll check back tomorrow, make sure she’s still doing well.”
“You hungry, Doc? My Ellie always keeps a pot of something on the stove. Nothing fancy, but it’s hot.”
My stomach growled at the mention of food. I hadn’t eaten since a hurried sandwich at noon.
“That’s very kind, but I should get home. Still have boxes to unpack.” I glanced at my watch—nearly midnight. “And I need to be at the clinic by seven.”
The farmer nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Well, the offer stands anytime. Bringing Starlight into the world... that means something around here.”
As we walked out of the barn, the Texas night spread above us, a tapestry of stars brighter than I’d ever seen in Austin. The rolling hills of Sagebrush stretched out in all directions, dark silhouettes against the night sky. I took a deep breath of the crisp air, letting it clear my head after the close, humid atmosphere of the barn.
“Beautiful night,” the farmer remarked, following my gaze upward. “One thing about Sagebrush—we’ve got the best stars in Texas.”
