Page 9 of Falling for the Veterinarian

“Yup, that was him. No problem though, I’ll whip another one up right now,” she says.

That’s twice this week some guy has stolen my coffee.I feel anger growing again. I have had a rough week, my parking spot was stolen, and now my coffee isn’t ready. I will myself to be kind; it’s not the barista’s fault.

“Here you go, Hun,” she says. “I’m going to have to talk to that doctor tomorrow about his behavior.”

I smile appreciatively. “Thanks! Could you point me in the right direction towards Lisa’s realty office?”

“Why yes, dear!” she says. “I haven’t seen you around her before. You looking to buy a place here?”

“Maybe, my Aunt Michelle said Lisa might have a job for me,” I reply. Why am I explaining myself to her? The people here are just so friendly. They draw it out of me.

“Oh golly, you’re Michelle’s niece. I’ve heard so much about you. I moved up here from Alabama, and she has become an amazing friend. I just love her.”

“Me too.”

“ Lisa’s shop is four or five doors down on the left side of the town square.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“Oh, and grab one of them flyers on your way out. It’s the annual Maple Days Street Fair and Festival. There are all kinds of events and competitions. You can’t miss the pie competition. Cookie, your aunt’s chef, makes the best crumble maple apple pie this side of the Mississippi. You just gotta have a slice.”

“I keep hearing that. Will do, Miss Darleen. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you. Can’t live without my coffee.” I smile and walk up the path towards the realty office. I take a sip of my freshly crafted macchiato. Ahhh, heaven.

Seven

Zach

Myphonevibratesviolentlyin my back pocket.

Ugh, what now? It’s Jen. It’s early—that can’t be a good sign.

“What’s going on, Jen?”

“Sorry to call so early, boss. Henri called; his main goat, Miriam, isn’t doing well. She has another case of the bloat,” Jen’s voice quivers slightly. She was there the last time this happened.

“Ok. Call Henri back and tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can. And meet me there. I might need an extra set of hands this time. I’m headed out now.” Miriam is Henri’s favorite goat and his number-one milk producer.

I jump in my blue Ford truck and drive down the highway toward his goat farm. I mentally catalog the contents of my go bag that may help treat the issue. It must be bad this time if Henri’s calling. He’s had lots of experience with these animals over the years. He must’ve tried the vegetable oil trick and maybe even the mineral oils. Gosh, if he’s calling, the esophageal tube to decompress the stomach didn’t work either. I took a deep breath. I won’t know until I get there.

Henri is waiting for me outside the barn. Looks like he took her to a pen inside and made sure she was alone. Good.

“Henri!” I wave at him and grab my bag, taking a quick peek inside. Scalpel, surgical gloves, clothes cover-up, lidocaine, sedative. Great, everything’s here.

“Thank God, Doc!” he says. “My Miriam is in worse shape. She’s bloated on both sides of her belly, she’s sticking out her tongue, and outstretching her neck. I’ve never seen her do that before.” His voice quavers as we rush towards her.

I assess my patient; she’s already too tired to care that I’m touching her belly. “Have you been adding the chaff to the feed?”

“Yes sir.”

“And I’m assuming you tried the vegetable oil paint on her side?”

“Yup. She’s licked at it a little, but not like last time. I also tried the mineral oil like you suggested the other time. Tried the tube too, but that didn’t work either.” His worry and anxiety are palpable. Shoot—Frothy Bloat and the most severe case that I have seen. Jen runs in, ready to assist.

“Henri.” I stand up and look him straight in the eye. “This doesn’t look good. I can try to treat it but Miriam might not make it. I need to vent her rumen and I have to leave it open. That means she is going to have an open wound that needs cleaning and antibiotics for a minimum of three days. It’s going to take a lot of care from you once it’s done. And she still might not make it. Do you want me to proceed or do you want to say your goodbyes and I can give her something to help?” The sudden terror in Henri’s eyes clenches my heart. Jen puts her hand on Henri’s arm.

“Do it, Doc. She’s my best goat. I gotta try,” he pleads like he’s asking for permission.

“Ok. Jen, prep the patient on the left side. We have to work quickly, but even then, there’s no guarantee.”

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