"Don't forget luck." Harry pressed the heavy rubber stamp in the maroon postal ink.
"There sure is that," the tall blond man agreed. "Miranda, if breeding were just a matter of study, we'd all be winning the Triple Crown. So much can happen. If you get a live foal-"
"What do you mean, a live foal?" The older woman assumed they'd all be live.
"A mare can slip or not catch in the first place." Noticing the puzzled look he explained, "A mare can not get pregnant even though you've done everything by the book. Or she can get pregnant yet abort early in the pregnancy. Strange as it may sound, it isn't that easy to get mares pregnant. A conception rate of sixty percent by a vet specializing in breeding is respectable. There's a vet in Pennsylvania who averages in the ninety percent range, but he's extraordinary. Let's say your mare gives birth. A mare can have a breech delivery the same as a woman but it's much worse for a mare. If those long legs with hooves get twisted up or tear her womb you can imagine the crisis. Foals can strangle on the umbilical cord or be starved for oxygen and never be quite right. They can be born dead."
"It sounds awful."
"Most times it isn't but sometimes it really is and your heart sinks to your toes. You know how much the owner has put into the breeding both financially and emotionally. Around here people are attached to their mares. We don't have huge breeding establishments so just about everything I see is a homebred. Lots of emotion."
"Yes, I can see that. Why, if Mrs. Murphy had kittens I think I'd be so concerned for her."
"Thank you." Murphy, half asleep in the mail cart, yawned.
Pewter, curled up next to her, giggled. "Some mother you'd be."
"Look who's talking. You selfish thing, you'd starve your own children if there weren't enough food. I can see the headlines now. 'Cat starves kittens. Is fat as a tick.'"
"Shut up."
"You started it."
"Did not," Pewter hissed.
"Did too."
"Not."
"Too." Murphy swatted Pewter right on the head.
"Bully!" Pewter rolled over to grapple with the thinner cat.
A great hissing, growling, and flailing was heard from the mail cart. Harry and Miranda tiptoed over to view the excitement. Fair watched from the other side of the counter.
Tucker, on her side, lifted her head, then dropped it. "Cats."
"Fatty, fatty, two by four," Murphy sang out.
"Mean. Hateful and mean!" Pewter was holding her own.
The mail cart rolled a bit. Harry, devilish, gave it a shove.
"Hey!" Murphy clambered over the side, dropped to the ground, put her ears back, and stomped right by her mother.
"Whee!" Pewter crouched down for the ride.
Harry trotted over, grabbed the end of the mail cart. "Okey dokey, smoky. Here we go." She pushed the mail cart all around the back of the post office as Pewter rose up to put her paws on the front. The cat loved it. Murphy sulked, finally going over to Tucker to sit next to the dog, who wanted no part of a cat fight.
"It's a three-ring circus around here." Miranda laughed.
"You look good in hunter green. I meant to tell you that when I walked in." Fair complimented her dress.
"Why, thank you, Fair. Now where were we before Mrs. Murphy and Pewter interrupted us?"
"Mares. Actually once you deliver a healthy foal life begins to shine a little. There are always worries. The mare's milk could be lacking in proper nutrition. The foal's legs could be crooked although usually they straighten out and if not then I go to work. Nothing intrusive. I believe less is more and let nature do her work. But short of a foal running through a board fence in a thunderstorm, once you've got a healthy baby on the ground, you're doing great."
"What about diseases?"
"Usually protection comes in the mother's milk. In that sense it's like kittens or puppies. They receive immunity from the mother. In time that immunity wears off and then you need to be vigilant. But nature truly is amazing and a foal arrives much more prepared to negotiate the world than a human baby. With both babies, the more they're handled the better they become. I think, anyway."
"You're the doctor." Mrs. H. smiled.
"Here, why don't you take these back?" He shoved bills across the counter.
"Happy to." She playfully grabbed them.
"Want mine, too?" Harry usually got to her own mail last.
"We could burn them," Fair suggested.
"They'd just come back," Harry ruefully observed.
"Somewhere in this vast nation exists a person with an incredible mind, a person who can crack computer codes. I pray that person will wipe out everyone's IRS files and save our country. I dream about it at night. I believe in a national sales tax. Then everyone knows what they're paying. No hidden taxes. If the government can't run itself on those monies then the government can cut back. If I have to cut back as a private citizen I can expect my government to do the same. That's exactly what I think."
"Bravo." Harry finished canceling the metered mail. "Run for office."
"Little Mim has beat me to it." He shuffled his mail, organizing it into a pile according to letter size.
"That rebellion has taken second place to the mess around here. Maybe that's a good thing. Little Mim doesn't seem to know what she's searching for but young people worry more these days than we did."
"I don't know," said Harry. "Maybe after a long time you forget. You know, you forget the pain but hold on to the good part of the memory."
"Could be. Could be." Miranda smiled at Fair, who smiled back, as both were hoping Harry had done this with memories of her marriage.
"Tucker, why don't we sneak out tonight and go to the hospital? I bet those pumps get brought in as well as cleaned at night."
Pewter called out from the mail cart. "That's a seven-mile hike and it's cold at night, real cold." Her voice lowered.
"I don't mean from the farm, dimwit. I mean just before Harry leaves work we run off."
"Oh, I don't know. She'll catch us." Pewter wanted to go home after work. Supper beckoned.
"Not if we run under Mrs. Hogendobber's porch."
"Murphy, we could head straight to the hospital. All we have to do is go through yards. One road crossing but we can handle that." Tucker was thinking out loud.
"If we do that, she'll follow us. If we get close enough to the hospital I know she'll go in. She'll forget her promises and just go right in. Can't have that." Mrs. Murphy knew her human to the bone.
"It will be cold," came the mournful whine from the mail cart.
"That's why you have fur," Murphy tartly replied.
"Fine."
Murphy and Tucker looked at one another and shrugged.
At closing the tiger and corgi blasted out the back animal door. Pewter stuck close to Harry as she chased her bad pets. Although curious, the gray cat wanted to snuggle up on the sofa in front of the fire after her tuna supper. She wasn't that curious.
Harry and Miranda tried to cut off the cat and dog but the animals easily eluded them.
"Every now and then." Harry shook her head.
"I'll keep my eyes open for them."
"Thanks, Miranda. I'll leave the animal door unlocked, too. I don't know what it is. They get a notion." She glanced up at the sky. "At least it looks like it will be a clear night. No storms rolling in."
Defeated, Harry bundled Pewter into the cab of the old truck to head home.
"They're very naughty." Pewter sat right next to Harry.
"You're a good kitty." Harry rubbed her head.
"I'd like fresh tuna, please," Pewter purred, half closing her eyes, which gave her a sweet countenance.
Murphy and Tucker reached the hospital just as the loading dock was shutting down. They scooted in, hearing the big rolling doors lock behind them.
"Going to be a long night," Murphy observed.
"Yeah but someone might open the back door later. We'll get out."
"No matter what, we know we can escape in the morning. I bet if we scrounge around we'll find something to eat."
They could hear the elevator doors open and close. The shift was changing. Day workers were going home and the night crew, much smaller in number, was coming to work. Then silence. Not even a footfall.