“A few bites of hay per day. We give him more than that, but he doesn’t want it.”
Cole took a thermometer from his pocket and took Diablo’s temperature. The horse didn’t budge. He appeared to have reached a level of discomfort that couldn’t be surpassed; he would allow this human to do whatever he wanted. Even though it made it much easier to work on these high-strung thoroughbreds, Cole hated to see a horse reach this point. It was usually just one step away from the animal giving up altogether. And once a horse gave up, death often followed.
“His temp is elevated slightly today. Probably a result of the laminitis,” Cole said.
“What can we do to help him?” Her distress was evident.
Cole rocked back on his heels and studied Diablo. What the hell is wrong with this horse? Well . . . in lieu of a diagnosis, support the horse and treat the symptoms.
“Do you have a set of easy boots?” he asked, referring to padded hoof covers that could be placed on a horse’s hooves if its feet were sore.
“I do.”
“Let’s put those on him and see if we can get him to stand up and move around. His blood work from yesterday still shows the elevated blood sugar, but that was before we started the insulin. We need to take another blood sample today to see if we’ve improved any on that. Otherwise, we’re still getting the elevated readings that show liver and muscle damage. This isn’t like any other case of tying up I’ve seen. I’m afraid we’re dealing with something different, but I’m just not sure what it is.” Cole hated to admit that he didn’t know Diablo’s diagnosis, but in his years of practice he’d found it best to come clean when he didn’t know the answers.
Carmen frowned, telling Cole he’d not boosted her confidence any.
“Was Diablo getting any other type of supplement?” he asked. “Before this all started?”
“Hay and grain, that’s all.”
“All right. Go get the easy boots and we’ll put them on him.”
Cole observed Diablo while the trainer was gone. He lay quiet and still; the muscle tremors had stopped. Respirations were shallow and rapid. When Carmen opened the door to reenter, Diablo didn’t move or look up.
He helped Carmen strap on the boots. It took maximum effort combined with pushing, pulling, and cajoling on both their parts to get the horse to stand, but eventually they had him back on his feet. “See if he’ll take a few steps for you,” Cole said.
The horse picked his way gingerly across the stall.
“That’s enough,” Cole said, moving forward to palpate the horse’s back and leg muscles while he was standing. “We do seem to have made some slight progress on the muscle spasm. Let’s continue the insulin and IV hydration with electrolytes like we did yesterday. You’ll need to watch him closely. It’s okay if he lies down, but we shouldn’t let him do that for more than a couple hours without getting him up to move around a little.”
“Why do you think this is happening? Is it sugar diabetes?”
Cole studied Diablo for a few moments. “That’s not likely the cause. I think his blood sugar is elevated because of some inflammatory process going on.”
“What process?”
“I’m not sure. But for now, we’ll treat the symptoms and run the blood work to see if his enzymes are coming back into line. I’ll do some research and see if there’s anything else I should test for.”
Carmen was searching his face while he spoke, her eyes dark with concern. “But it looks like he’s starting to get better?”
“I’m going to increase the anti-inflammatory to counteract the laminitis. Our main concern with that—as you probably know—is to keep the third phalanx from rotating and coming through the sole of the hoof. That shouldn’t happen, since he doesn’t have a lot of calories in his system, and he’s already been on the right feed.” At this point, Cole was winging it and he knew it.
He reviewed the treatment plan one more time with Carmen and took a last look at Diablo. The horse stood with his head lowered and his eyes seemingly focused on something within himself. He was clearly miserable but hanging in there. “I don’t think we have to put him down yet,” Cole said, needing to express the worst to his client. He wouldn’t want Diablo to suffer unnecessarily if there was no hope of saving him. “Even with this new symptom, we’ve made a little progress. Maybe we’ll get him turned around soon.”
“I don’t want him put down,” Carmen said, using an adamant tone.
Cole took in the hard set of her jaw and decided not to argue the point—yet. “I’ll need to see him again tomorrow, but I have to work you into the schedule. It will probably be later in the afternoon before I can get up here.”
She walked with him toward his truck. “Stay for dinner with me tomorrow?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ll need to get home to have dinner with the kids.”
“You’re quite the family man.”
Cole noticed her face had softened, and she was giving him a teasing smile. He offered a small one in return, wanting to keep it light. “I am that. Being a good dad is my main goal these days.”
“And your daughters are special, I can see that.” Carmen tilted her head and gave him a sidelong gaze. “But how do they say it? ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’?”
“I think it just keeps Jack out of trouble.” They’d arrived at the truck. “Call me if Diablo gets worse or if you have any questions. Otherwise, I’ll have Tess give you a call to let you know what time to expect me tomorrow. It might be morning before we get the schedule worked out.”
She placed a hand on his arm as he opened the truck door, keeping him from climbing inside. “I’m interested.”
“Interested?”
“Yes, interested . . . in you.” She’d moved close enough that Cole could feel the heat from her body. Embarrassment made him step up into his truck. But then he felt foolish and knew he needed to exit this situation with more grace than that. “Ms. Carmen, I’m flattered that you’re interested. But my life is pretty complicated right now, and I don’t want to add a new relationship with anyone into the mix. Let’s keep our friendship purely professional.”
Her smile reminded him of a cat toying with a mouse. “Just think about it.” She stepped back, lifted one hand in farewell, and turned to stride back toward the barn, her movements lithe and feline. She glanced back over her shoulder to throw him a sly smile and caught him watching.
His face warmed as he started his truck. When he put it into gear, the click of the automatic door locks reassured him, making him feel silly.
Thinking about it, he started driving down the lane toward the county road. He’d married Olivia right before starting vet school, and Angela had been born about a year later. His married-with-children status had seemed to shield him from flirtations in the past. Everyone knew he was a one-woman man; no client had ever made a pass at him before.
He squirmed in his seat and stopped the truck so he could pull off his jacket. He found himself grinning as he took his foot off the brake and started driving again. Sheesh! This would make one hell of a bar story, but he’d grown up and away from that scene and didn’t really have a friend he could tell it to. Maybe Mattie? Nah—she usually took things too seriously. She probably wouldn’t see the humor in it.
Then he thought of one of his classmates from vet school, Trace Dempsey. Trace had been a great friend to both Cole and Olivia. She’d cooked a spaghetti dinner every Friday night, and they’d invited Trace over so the three of them could celebrate getting through another tough week.
Trace had moved to New Mexico after graduation and established an equine practice near Albuquerque, and he had several racing stables among his clientele. Maybe it was time to give Trace a call. Not to tell his bar story but to see if he had any ideas about Diablo. He decided to try to reach out to his old friend that very evening—after he spent some time with the kids.