Colic

The pies look excellent. I had to make the pie dough twice, and even though the filling looked to thick, I poured it into the dishes and stuck them in the oven. After they had baked for five minutes, I realized I had doubled the amount of pumpkin, but not the rest of the ingredients.

I pulled those pies out of the oven and scooped out the filling, adding two more eggs, another cup of cream, brown sugar and spices. It looked more like pumpkin pie goop, so I poured it back into the dishes and baked them for 45 minutes.

Patches must have gotten into some pumpkin. When I went out to throw the horses their dinner, she lay in the barn and wouldn’t get up. Darkness descended and the temperature hovered at one degree.

I offered her oats, but she wouldn’t stand, so I kept bothering her until she got to her feet. But she would not move. I ran inside and called Greg.

“Desire`, do you have any banameen?”

“No, I have some bute, but it’s in pill form, and I’d have to mix it with water and oats, which she won’t eat.”

“Do you have a winter blanket?”

“No. I buried it with Heart.”

“Give John a call. I’m sure he has some medicine for her.”

I thought Patches had slipped on the ice and hurt herself. But when John said colic, I knew what I had to do. By the time he arrived, I had haltered Patches and was walking her in the roundish pen.

The kids didn’t show any interest in riding horses, but whenever an equine needed vetting, they always assisted me. Especially Nik. He didn’t mind holding a horse for me or applying salve. He hosed down wounds and mixed medicines. He helped me load them into the horse trailer and if necessary, he walked them in circles until they pooped.

I didn’t have Nik or DaNae around to help me, but I had John. He listened to Patches stomach and determined she had a mild case of colic. He gave her the shot, looked at her lips, and put the blanket on her.

“You need to walk her for 10 minutes, then go inside and warm up for 10 minutes, and then walk her again until she poops. Tie her up when you go inside so you’ll know if she’s gone. Are you cold?”

“Not yet. I have this great airmen suit my brother gave me.”

“Here’s the number for the vet. If she goes down, call your sister over here to help you hold her up, and call the vet. And call me, too, if you need help walking her. Give us a jingle when she poops.”

At 8 p.m., the temperatures dipped to -5 degrees and Patches still hadn’t taken a shit. I added a layer of clothes to my ensemble, staying inside for 15 minutes instead of 10. By 9 p.m., we were down to -8 degrees and I stayed inside for 20 minutes and only walked her for 8. On my last outing, I prayed to Allah to let the horse shit, and she complied at 9:57 p.m.

The cold seeped through my layers of clothes like a wet rag. My knee, back and shoulder ached, so I didn’t dance a jig. The lead rope latch had froze, so I unhooked the halter and set Patches free for the evening. An almost full moon provided light, and I watched the steam rise from Patches patch of horseshit. Thanking Allah and John, I crawled under the wire and trudged back into the warmth of the house.

It’s cold this morning. I’ve kept the water in the kitchen sink dripping to prevent the pipes from freezing, and I have both electric heaters roaring. I’ll need to purchase another one if this weather is a forecast for the future.

All the windows but the ones in the living room are covered with plastic. The view, limited, matches my mood, gray and foggy. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and Nik should be here in the kitchen making his famous fondue. Instead, it’s just me, Cholo and the cats, huddled together to keep warm.