by E. J. Noyes
“Sorry, everyone, it’s thermometer time!” I peered over the first stall and found Dewey still lying down. “Laaaazy.” I opened the half-doors, securing the top one in the open position and locked the lower door behind me. Dewey didn’t get up. A mental alarm bell chimed softly. I knew he was big on naps, but he always got to his feet and came rushing over to anyone who came into his stall. Still, he’d had a busy few months and a huge climate adjustment, and it was understandable he’d want to chill out.
I collected his halter from the hook outside his stall and slipped it onto his head. Dewey snuffled at my leg but that was it. No nuzzling, no grabbing my pants. Alarm bell number two. I knelt and lifted his top lip to check his gums. Paler than they should have been but slippery enough to make me happy that he wasn’t dehydrated. Pressing a thumb into his gums usually yielded a quick capillary response and an attempt to grab my fingers. I got neither. I slipped my hand under the neck of his blanket on the left side to check his hydration by pinching the skin of his neck and was satisfied with its recoil.
He was alert and vaguely interested in what I was doing, but he wasn’t Dewey. I checked the levels in his feed and water buckets. Water, half-empty—good. Feed, still had a few handfuls in the bottom of the feeder, which was probably him sifting out the extra salt and electrolytes—not great. Hay, mostly gone—okay.
“Come on, buddy. Time to get up.” I gave him a nudge in the butt and received a Do you mind? look in response. After another butt nudge and a tug at his lead, Dewey stretched his forelegs out and with a quiet groan, tried to stand. He made another attempt and finally got to his feet, standing with his head and neck low and at an odd angle as if he was having issues with his balance. Oh fuck. With my phone wedged under my chin I called Caitlyn. No answer.
I left a message, then tried Wren who answered on the second ring with, “Yeah yeah, I’m coming. Tell him to cool his jets, breakfast is on the way.”
“Yeah I don’t think he’s worried about breakfast. He had trouble gettin’ up.” I unwrapped my stethoscope from around my neck. “And—”
Her breathing picked up and her answer was a rushed, “Be there in a minute.”
Dewey stood quietly with his head and neck still held low while we waited for Wren, who came skidding to a stop outside his stall. Dewey raised his head a few inches and let out a half-hearted nicker as Wren opened the door. “What’s going on, my man?” she asked Dewey as she took the lead from me. The next question was directed at me. “What’s up?”
“Not sure. Could be nothing. But, he’s just…quiet. He had balance issues while trying to get up, and he’s not keen on raising his head.”
Wren studied him for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. Is Caitlyn coming?”
“Left her a message. You got him? Just going to get some vitals.” While I waited for the thermometer to do its thing I ran through some possibilities. It was the same feed he’d been eating for months. He’d drunk enough water for me to be happy. Fatigue was highly likely, but the neck stiffness…ehhh it didn’t quite tally. Travel sickness was unlikely given he’d never suffered it before, but not outside the realm of possibility. Early colic. Low-grade infection. A virus. Reaction to something in the environment. Attention seeking.
The thermometer’s insistent beep interrupted my thoughts. Upper normal limits but not alarming. His heart rate was mildly elevated but not enough to really worry me. Respiration was a little fast but again not worryingly so, and his gut sounds were okay.
So I had a bunch of clinical signs that weren’t exactly normal, but also not enough to cause panic, and nothing diagnosable yet. I crouched by his head and recorded all the vitals, as well as general observations. If this was a normal horse at home then I would give him a shot of phenylbutazone to bring his temperature down and make him more comfortable. But this was a horse about to embark on an Olympic campaign and bute was a prohibited substance.
Still crouching, I asked Wren, “Can you go pick him a handful of fresh grass please?” Often horses with mild colic would pick at forage while ignoring the richer bulk feeds and it was a very sick horse who would ignore fresh grass. Dewey rested his nose against my shoulder as I typed, blowing soft breaths against my neck. I stroked his face. “I know, pal. We’ll figure it out and get you feeling better.”
Dewey ate Wren’s fresh grass, but only when she offered it near his mouth. The moment she moved it away from his easy reach, he refused to follow. Luckily the feed and water weren’t set up high or he would have had had issues accessing them overnight. I pulled a carrot from my pocket, broke it in half and held it right under his mouth for him, relieved when he ate both halves.
My phone rang. The panic in Caitlyn’s voice was sharp and raw, rising higher and higher in pitch as she spoke. “I’m on my way. What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m not sure. He’s got a very mild temperature, is moving stiffly with his neck, but nothing else is standing out other than he just seems not himself.”
“Is Wren there?” Caitlyn sounded as if she were running and about to burst into tears.
“She is. Dewey’s okay, Caitlyn. I promise he’s not about to keel over.” Okay was relative. “We’re taking care of him ’til you get here.”
“I’m almost there.” Then I was listening to the sound of nothing.
I clutched the phone to my chest. Okay okay, think. What could it be? Time to look at everything that doesn’t seem right, aside from neck stiffness. I glanced at Wren whose alarmed expression probably mirrored mine. “Let’s get that blanket off him.”
We worked at opposite ends to remove his blanket and Dewey’s discomfort was unmistakable when he tried to turn around to nuzzle Wren as she fiddled with the straps under his belly. He huffed out a little groan. Wren stopped dead, then moved to his head, murmuring to him. Dew nosed her, but it was with far less enthusiasm than his usual snuffling. I felt like crying at his obvious discomfort.
Caitlyn burst into the stall and Dewey nickered quietly at her. She rushed to him, hands moving over him as she demanded of me, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t know aside from the fact he seems to have a sore neck. I don’t know the cause just yet. I’m about to do a full examination.”
She stroked Dewey’s face as she murmured tearful things under her breath to him. Wren pulled the blanket from him and slung it over the lower half-door. The moment I’d moved up to his head, the reason for the neck stiffness became abundantly clear. The blanket had covered spongy edema the size of a small melon on the right side behind his jaw, and welts spread down along his neck and up over his cheek. When I palpated the area, Dewey flinched the moment my gentle fingers touched the hot, swollen skin.
From behind me, Caitlyn said, “That’s swollen, right?”
“Mhmm, yeah. And hot.” My differential diagnosis just narrowed to localized trauma or an insect bite. We were getting somewhere. I kept examining the site and without turning around said, “Can one of you please carefully pick up his blanket again. Look inside it, around the head part on the right side specifically and see if there’s any bugs like ants or bees or spiders in there.”
I checked his airways and breathing and within a minute Caitlyn had come back, offering me the rug for examination. “There’s a bee,” she said, voice choked. “A huge one. It’s all caught up in the rug binding and squashed.”
I looked where she indicated. “Then it looks like he was stung by a bee.” I closed my eyes and for a few moments gave in to my adrenaline. When I opened my eyes I felt calmer, and my focus had sharpened. I turned, my words directed at both her and Wren, who had a look of panicked and trying not to seem it. “First things first, I need to get him to the equine hospital. I’m going to have the trailer brought around for him.”
“Okay,” Caitlyn whispered. “I’m just…he just seems so…not him.” She exhaled shakily. “Okay, anything you have to do then do it. I just need you to make him feel better.”
“I know. And I will. I promise I won’t let you guys down.” She started when I touched her arm. “Caitlyn, look. As soon as Dewey is comfortable we need to talk to Mary because if I have to treat him using a prohibited substance with a long detection time then I’m sorry, but obviously he can’t compete.”
Caitlyn slid down the wall of the stall like her legs had just quit on her. She drew her knees up and wrapped both arms around them, bending her head to rest her cheek against the top of her knees. “I know. But can’t we…try something else?” She looked as if saying the words disgusted her.
“Of course we’ll try if that’s an option. I know the stakes as well as you do.” I quietly cleared my throat, hoping to shift the lump of upset sitting there. I looked at Wren who was pointedly not looking at us. I was stuck between two things, and I knew right then that my professional priority was going to butt up against my personal one. “But my focus is his welfare. You know I’ll do everything I can to get him well, and ready and able to work but I can’t guarantee anything other than that I’ll try.”
She nodded, her eyes cast downward.
“Look at me.” When she finally raised her chin to make eye contact with me, I crouched down and took her face in my hands. “I’m going to do everything I can to get him better.” I had to inhale a long breath before I told her the rest of my truth. “But I really do need you to be prepared for the fact I might not be able to treat him in a way that allows you to compete. I’m sorry that it may mean things don’t work out as you want them to, but his wellbeing is my priority. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I know and yeah, I get it,” she said flatly.
I offered her a tissue from my pocket, though what I most wanted to do was gently wipe the tears away. Caitlyn wiped her eyes then took the hand I offered. Once she’d stood I gave her a quick side-on hug. “Come on. We need to get him to the hospital and we’ll go from there.”
Dewey was settled in a hospital stall with icepacks strapped to his swelling while I waited on rushed lab results, went over and over his notes and kept a close eye on him to ensure this wasn’t affecting his breathing. He was stable—his signs weren’t progressing but neither were they resolving, which meant I had to intervene.
I’d left a voice mail for Teresa with all the details, along with an urgent request that she call me, and she did within five minutes of my frantic message. She dispensed with formality and jumped right in. “Fuck me, Addie, what’s going on down there? Bees? Are you fucking serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I don’t suppose this has happened to him before and you’ve magically treated him with something that’s not on the banned substances list and he got better in hours?”
“No,” she said quietly.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Goddammit. Caitlyn’s due to ride her first test on Thursday. That’s…six days away and if he’s going to compete, everything needs to be totally cleared by then. Preferably days earlier.” If I wanted to be fully comfortable with sending him out to compete I’d have to use a controlled substance that would not only resolve all his signs, but clear through his system in three days maximum. It wasn’t just paranoia about positive samples—I needed to ensure he had time to recover and train adequately before his first test.
“Have you got labs back yet?”
“Nope. Still waiting. I mean…talk about rocks and hard places. I’m too goddamned scared to give him anything just yet.”
“You’re going to have to make the call, my friend. That’s your job. His welfare above everything else.”
“I know. I’ll do that, obviously.” I blew out a long breath, turning to check there was nobody in earshot. “But it’s gotten complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“Let’s just say Caitlyn Lloyd and I have been doing a whole lot more than just talking as you’d suggested.”
There was such a long silence that I began to squirm with embarrassment. Finally Teresa spoke. “Wow. Just…wow. And yay. That is something we are going to talk about as soon as you get Dewey’s treatment figured out.”
“Yeah. I just don’t know what to do. He’s comfortable enough and settled.” Another call notification cut in. Caitlyn. “I gotta go, I’ll call back.” I swapped calls. “Caitlyn—”
“How is he?” she demanded. “Is he okay?”
“Looks goofy, but he’s doing okay.”
“Can I see him?”
“Sorry, but no. Not yet.”
Silence.
“Hello? Caitlyn?”
Nothing. She’d hung up.
A member of security arrived minutes later to tell me she was there and demanding to see me. I made sure everything was okay with Dew then peeked out of the door to find her looking as if she was working up a good head of steam and a flood of tears all at once. I closed the door behind me. “Hey. I know this is hard but he’s comfortable, I’ve spoken to Teresa and I’m just about to figure out how to treat him. I’m taking good care of him, I swear.” I reached for her hand, not caring who might see, and was stunned when she pulled back.
Both her arms came up to fold over her chest as she asked again, “Can I see him?”
I fought to keep myself neutral as I repeated myself. “Sorry, no.” At her look of disbelief I added, “It’s their policy, not mine, to ensure biosecurity and so things don’t get crowded in here. If it were up to me you’d be in there as much as you want. Honey, he’s comfortable and stable and I’m working on multiple treatment plans. I just need to talk to a few people first to make sure I’m covering all bases.”
“Shouldn’t you be talking to me?”
“I am talking to you,” I said calmly.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
I’d had enough experience with distraught clients, plain nasty clients and everything in between to recognize that this was anxiety and stress talking. Still, it hurt. I tried for some levity. “Are we doing some weird reversion to Pony Club thing, or did I miss the memo about it being ice queen day?”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you really joking right now?”
“No, I’m—” I bit back the words. Getting into an argument now, or even a discussion that wasn’t directly related to Dewey’s care was counterproductive. “I’m doing my job. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to that. I’ll call you the moment I have a plan.”
Caitlyn’s mouth fell open, and as she closed it, her jaw hardened. She looked upset. She looked angry. But worst of all? She looked as if I’d betrayed her. After a hard stare, she turned away from me and walked off.
The worst part was that I couldn’t think about that right now. I had to set aside Caitlyn’s distress, despite the fact I was the obvious target for it, because I knew it probably wasn’t really about me. My priority was figuring out what drugs I could use to make her horse better. I slipped back into Dew’s stall and checked the ice packs were still covering the swelling. He nuzzled my arm. I stroked his face. “At least you still like me.”
I had two options. Option one was go hard and hit him with everything to get him well fast, including banned competition substances—Olympics be damned. Or, option two which was treat him conservatively with a controlled substance that had a detection time under three days to allow a safe margin and hope it worked so he could compete and not return a positive test.
Option one meant no Olympics for Dewey and Caitlyn. Option two ran the risk of the treatment not working, which meant I’d have to go with option one anyway. My armpits felt damp and I had a sudden sick feeling that I had no idea what I was doing. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against Dew’s shoulder. I did know what I was doing. This was my job, to know these things and act in a way that ensured the welfare of the horses under my care and the best possible result to enable them to compete.
I pulled out my phone and opened up my veterinary drugs app again to resume checking and cross-checking the drugs I wanted to use against the official FEI guidelines. Once I’d checked that, I�
��d get confirmation from Mary and clearance from every on-site veterinarian I could find to confirm I should and could treat the horse with my chosen drugs.
Dexamethasone, a corticosteroid to relieve inflammation and reduce swelling. Detection time of forty-eight hours. Sold. Now to find an antihistamine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Caitlyn
We had a plan.
With my permission, Addie had started Dew on a drug regime that she’d called her soft option—the thing that would allow us to compete. We’d discussed not only the drug clearance times, but the fact I needed as much time as possible for Dew to train and finish acclimating. Everyone agreed with this approach. But if Dew didn’t start responding in a way she was happy with by tomorrow midday then she would have to move to her hard option using banned substances or controlled substances with a long detection time, which meant my shot at the Olympics was over.
Because I wasn’t allowed to see him, Addie had sent me photos of Dew chilling out after she’d given him the drugs. The fact she’d gone out of her way to keep me informed made me feel worse for being so harsh with her. A bee sting obviously wasn’t going to be fatal and if we were home I’d have been upset about Dewey’s discomfort but able to deal with it. But we weren’t home, and we didn’t have endless time or options up our sleeve to get him better. The consequences of us being unable to resolve the issue loomed over me. Maybe everything we’d worked for would be for nothing.
I’d been called into an emergency meeting with Mary, Ian, and Simone, our reserve rider. The gist of the meeting was if Dewey wasn’t okay then the reserve horse and rider combo would take my place. Because Olympic qualification was for the combination of horse plus rider, we couldn’t just swap out one or the other—not that I’d have wanted that for anyone, including myself. We would have to nominate the change of horse-rider combination by Tuesday, the day before the first day of Grand Prix, at the latest. I could see my whole life’s ambition crumbling around me and there was nothing I could do except sit there and listen.
