Helping Hands

  He just gives a snort and pushes the cream cheese across the table to me.

  “I spent a lot of time online last night,” I say, changing the subject, “trying to learn more about Gus and find a better home for the ponies.”

  He doesn’t respond, so I tell him everything I found. By the time I’ve finished the bagel, he knows everything, but I’m still puzzled.

  “Did something go wrong with your dad?” I ask.

  He looks up at me. “Why do you care? You have the perfect family.”

  “Ha!” I laugh. “Perfect? We’re broke. If business doesn’t pick up soon, we’re going to have to move in with my grandparents. We’re always arguing. Half the time Sophie thinks she’s a pony or a rabbit or a raccoon. We’ve never been to Disneyworld, and I’m pretty sure we’ll never go. My parents expect me to be exactly like Jules, only the boy version. We are a long way from perfect, trust me.”

  “Yeah, but your parents don’t make promises and break them.”

  That’s true.

  “That’s why you’re not at the horse show, right?” I ask.

  He nods. “He said he had to go into work. He promised he’d make it up to me.” He shrugs, like he’s trying not to care. “Whatever.”

  I can’t imagine what it would feel like if that happened to me. Looking at David, I get the sense that it happens a lot.

  “That really sucks,” I say.

  “Yeah, it does.” He stabs the cream cheese with a knife. “Don’t tell the girls, okay?”

  “Ok, I . . . whoops.” I say.

  “What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

  “I almost said ‘I promise,’ but then I realized that you might not like it if I said that. So . . . what I am supposed to say?”

  He gives a half laugh. “You could say, ‘David is the all-seeing, all-knowing horse genius and stand-up comedian who is my best friend and will save the world.’”

  “No way!” I flick a spoonful of cream cheese, and it hits him square in the nose. “How about ‘David is a pain in the butt, but he’s my best friend and we’ll save the world together.’”

  He pops the cream cheese in his mouth. “Deal.”

  A loud horn blares in the parking lot. We both run to the window.

  The ponies have arrived for Day Two.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time we get outside, Karl, the guy who drove the ponies away yesterday, is opening the trailer. Gus is nowhere in sight.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Karl says as he lays the end of the ramp on the ground. “Gus only called me a little while ago.”

  Gus obviously forgot that we didn’t open until noon on Sundays. For once, his incompetence was a good thing.

  “Where is Gus?” David asks.

  Karl backs Babe out of the trailer. “He’s not feeling so good this morning. Here, take this,” Karl hands Babe’s lead to David. “I’m just dropping the ponies off.”

  “What time will Gus get here?” I ask as he heads back into the trailer.

  “He’s coming to pick them up at one,” Karl says.

  “What! But the pony rides go until four today!”

  “I dunno about that,” Karl says. “Gus just said to tell you to have these critters ready by one. That’s all I know.”

  David and I watch anxiously as Buster slowly emerges, limping much worse than he had yesterday. David opens his mouth to say something, but I put my fingers to my lips. We don’t want Karl to take back any of the details of our plan to Gus.

  I take Buster’s lead rope. He looks up at me—his face tight with pain—sniffs my hand, and sighs heavily.

  I pat his neck. “Poor guy,” I say. “You had a rough night, didn’t you?”

  Buster swings his head toward me and lets me scratch his chin. His feet and Babe’s are caked in manure. When they left last night, their hooves were much cleaner than they are now.

  “Did Gus keep the ponies locked in that trailer all night?” I ask angrily. “Did he even feed them?”

  Karl looks up from the trailer hitch. “Gus is paying me to drop off the ponies and bring his truck back to camp. You seem like nice kids, but honestly, that’s all I know. Have a good one.” He gets into the cab, waves out the window, and slowly drives away.

  David is already focused on Buster. “How you feeling there, buddy?” he asks. “How’s that foot?” He moves his hands from the pony’s shoulder down the leg. “Definitely warmer,” he says. “And more swollen.”

  “Stay with him,” I say. “I’ll get everything we need.”

  In just a few minutes we have our mini-triage station assembled. The problem is our patient doesn’t want to cooperate.

  “Come on, buddy, just pick up your foot a little bit.” David pleads.

  “Just an inch,” I add.

  “Let’s try something else,” David suggests.

  We have Buster lift and lower his other feet, taking it slowly and loving him up, then we try to get him to lift the injured foot.

  “Ready?” David asks.

  I nod, poised to slip the empty bucket under the hoof when it’s off the ground so we can start the treatment.

  “One, two . . .”

  Buster lifts the foot on “two.” I get the bucket in position, but the nasty smell makes me gag. “Yuck!” I say.

  David wrinkles his nose and leans away from the stink. “That’s a really bad sign.”

  “I’ll call the doc.”

  “Is the pony in distress, breathing hard?” Dr. Gabe asks on the other end of the phone. “Is he foaming at the mouth or unable to stand up?”

  It’s tempting to lie because it might get him here faster, but I make myself do the hard thing. The right thing.

  “No, sir,” I admit. “The leg is warmer than it was yesterday, more swollen, too.” I look out the window. “Right now he’s drinking water.”

  “Don’t let anyone ride him,” Dr. Gabe says.

  “We won’t,” I promise. “But Gus is picking them up early, at one. I told you that he called them dog meat yesterday, didn’t I? How soon can you be here?”

  Dr. Gabe covers the phone and says “I’ll be right there” to someone in the clinic. To me he says, “A two-year-old Labradoodle that was hit by a minivan was just carried in. I have to go, Josh.”

  • • • • •

  David and I don’t stop moving for the next hour, first setting up the riding corral, next grooming the horses. Buster stands calmly, sore leg soaking in the bucket of Epsom salts while I go over his coat with the currycomb and the brush. David does the same with Babe; then he takes out the tools to check her hooves.

  “I still feel rotten I didn’t do this yesterday,” he says, picking up Babe’s foot.

  “You’re doing it today,” I point out. “That’s what matters.”

  “No.” David shakes his head. “You’re doing it.”

  “What?”

  “Time for your next lesson in horse maintenance. Come here.”

  David shows me how to check and clean each of Babe’s hooves with a hoof pick that has a small brush attached to one side. It’s a little scary at first, especially when I pick up Babe’s first front foot. But I do what David says, first running my hand down Babe’s front leg and giving a bit of a squeeze near the bottom so she will pick up her foot.

  I’m not queasy, not yet, but I sure am nervous. I take a deep breath, and another, slower than the first. David talks to both Babe and me in a quiet, low voice. I work carefully and steadily and keep breathing. Babe stands there patiently. After I pick and brush out that first front hoof, David shows me how to run my hand along her side and down her back leg so she knows which foot I’m headed for next.

  I finish cleaning that back hoof then move on to check her other front hoof. I run my hand down her leg and squeeze; she lifts the foot, almost like ma
gic. Babe’s last hoof has a small stone stuck next to the frog, the bottom part of the hoof that acts like a shock absorber.

  “What should I do about that?” I ask.

  “Try getting it out with your finger or the brush,” David advises. “You don’t want to pick too hard at the frog; it’s really sensitive. You only use a pick there as a last resort.”

  “Okay,” I say. But I hesitate.

  “Go ahead,” David encourages me. “You can do it.”

  I take another breath and dig my finger in and—the stone comes out! I let out a big breath and finish cleaning Babe’s hoof with the brush.

  “Awesome,” David says. “Walking on stones like that can bruise a horse or cause an infection.” He kicks the stone out of the way so Babe doesn’t step on it again. “I bet these guys haven’t seen a farrier in months. See how her hooves are chipped and uneven?”

  “Can I ask a dumb question?” I ask.

  “I specialize in dumb questions,” he says with a grin.

  “What’s a farrier?”

  “Farriers are in charge of hooves, kind of a mix between a blacksmith and hoof doctor. All the horses at Quinn’s stables see Angela regularly; she clips, files, and balances their hooves and replaces the shoes. The horses love her. Mr. Quinn calls her the ‘horseshoe master.’”

  “Maybe we should be calling ourselves “pony ride masters!” I say.

  • • • • •

  We get the grooming finished just in time. Jules comes around the corner of the store leading the line of kids who are ready to ride. Not surprisingly, Sophie is in the front. She’s taught the pony song to her new friends, and they sing it so loudly that they drown out the traffic noise. Jules has everyone sit in a neat line by the planters and then joins us.

  “We can’t use Buster?” she asks.

  “Dr. Gabe said not to,” I explain.

  “How do I explain that to the kids?” she asks.

  David is tacking up Babe. “They’ve all gotten boo-boos, they’ll understand.”

  “You could have them make get-well cards for him,” I suggest.

  “Good idea,” she says. “Brenna left a message saying she’ll be here soon. Sunita will be here later. Her family’s having a big Sunday dinner.”

  “You better bring Sophie over here,” I say. “If she sings that song any louder, she’s going to hurt herself.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  David and I take turns walking Babe and her rider around the corral. Every five minutes I ask David to check what time it is; one o’clock is coming way too fast.

  But when one comes, Gus does not arrive. One oh-five, one ten . . .

  “Did someone say there’s a lame pony around here?”

  Out of the back door of the store comes my father and Dr. Gabe, who’s carrying an emergency medical kit.

  My heart skips, then falls.

  “Oh, no,” I say. “The Labradoodle?

  “He’s still in surgery,” Dr. Gabe says.

  “But—”

  “Dr. Mac and the girls got home just after we hung up,” he explains. “Both Zoe and Maggie woke up with a stomach bug. I assisted Dr. Mac with the surgery on the Labradoodle, then she sent me here to check out Buster.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Dad asks.

  “Just keep your eyes open for Gus,” I say. “He’s supposed to be here any minute.”

  As Dad walks away, Dr. Gabe introduces himself to Buster, gently smoothing his mane while the pony smells him.

  “I thought you couldn’t treat him without Gus’s permission,” I say.

  “That’s right,” he says. “But I can certainly have a look at him.” He takes a stethoscope out of the kit and listens to the pulse point behind Buster’s front leg and then listens to the sounds in his belly. After he checks Buster’s gums, he runs his hand along Buster’s side and down his right front leg. “Okay, there, buddy, are you in the mood to show me that hoof of yours?”

  Buster must feel reassured by Dr. Gabe’s tone of voice and confident touch because he lifts his hoof out of the bucket.

  “Hmmm.” Dr. Gabe frowns as he feels Buster’s lower leg.

  “It smelled awful this morning,” I said.

  “That smell usually indicates an abscess.” Dr. Gabe puts his thumb and finger on the lower part of the leg. “I’m feeling a strong thumping digital pulse here at the fetlock,” he says. “We don’t feel a strong pulse here unless there is an infection in his foot.” He finally lifts Buster’s hoof. The pony shudders, but lets the doc check out the bottom of the hoof.

  “It’s definitely very tender here. Do you want to see?” Dr. Gabe asks.

  I peek over the vet’s shoulder to see what’s happening. The underside of Buster’s hoof looks very different than Babe’s. It’s moist and mushy and smells bad, too. Dr. Gabe cleans it out with a a small hooked instrument that he calls a hoof pick and tells me about the parts of the hoof. “The structure in the middle is the frog. This is the hoof wall, the hoof capsule, and the white line, which holds the areas together.” He leans in to look closer.

  “I don’t see any stones,” I say.

  “I’m also looking for punctures or cracks; openings where bacteria could have entered, causing this infection. The hoof has an abscess—that much is clear. They’re common in horses and ponies and really hurt, which is why Buster suddenly couldn’t walk.”

  Dr. Gabe uses a set of hoof testers, squeezing the metal prongs around the hoof. Buster cooperates until Dr. Gabe squeezes the hoof tester on one spot, then Buster pulls his foot away.

  “Yep,” Dr. Gabe says. “See there? Buster is letting us know where it hurts. When an infection digs in, the horse’s body fights back by sending white blood cells to the area. They form pus. If the pus builds up in the body, it causes inflammation and pain. As the tissue around the wound dies and the pus leaks, you get that stench.”

  “How did it get infected?” I ask.

  “He could have stepped on a nail from a thrown shoe, or a bit of stone or dirt could have worked its way into the hoof. A horse will be fine one moment, then suddenly seem completely lame the next.”

  “That’s how Buster was yesterday!” I exclaim. “Totally fine, then suddenly limping.”

  “We need to find out if Buster is up to date on his tetanus shots,” he says. “An infection like this almost guarantees exposure to the bacteria that cause tetanus, and that disease can kill an animal. That’s why it’s so important to clean and check the hooves. There’s an old saying: ‘No hoof, no horse.’”

  He gently eases Buster’s hoof onto the pavement.

  “The good news is, abscesses are easy to treat. He’ll feel better as soon as I drain it, and it should heal with no problem if the hoof is kept clean and allowed to continue to drain.”

  “Sounds like there’s bad news, too,” I say.

  “Sadly, there is.” He stands up. “I need Gus’s permission to drain the abscess.”

  “But he caused it, right? He doesn’t take good care of them; that’s why Buster is sick!”

  Dr. Gabe pets Buster’s neck. “Even ponies who are treated wonderfully can develop abscesses. The law requires that before I help an animal I have to get ‘informed consent.’ The owner has to understand what I want to do to his animal, and he has to give me his permission. If that doesn’t happen, I can lose my license to be a veterinarian.”

  “Glad you know it,” says a harsh voice.

  I look up, startled, to find that Gus is standing behind us.

  “Hand over that lead,” Gus demands. “Time for these ponies to leave.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  You must be Gus.” Dr. Gabe extends a hand. “I’m Gabe Donovan, from Dr. Mac’s Place. I’ve heard a lot about you. The kids are really enjoying your ponies.”

  Gus eyes the doc suspiciously but shak
es his hand. “Kids always love ponies; that’s why it’s a good business.”

  Standing by the corral, Jules raises her hands and gives an exaggerated shrug, trying to ask me what she should do. Gus is busy untying Buster’s lead. I pretend to hold a phone to my ear, and she nods. Thank goodness for our twin connection. She has a quick conversation with David, then sprints toward the store.

  I try to keep my voice calm and friendly. “It’s a shame you’re going to lose so much money.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gus grumbles.

  “Buster has an abscessed hoof,” Dr. Gabe explains. “He won’t be able to work unless it’s treated.”

  “Ponies heal up naturally,” Gus says. “They don’t need interference from the likes of you.”

  Dr. Gabe bristles but calmly replies, “Well, that can sometimes be the case, but in my opinion, when an abscess reaches this point—”

  “I don’t give a hoot about your opinion!” Gus says. He points at David and hollers, “Rides are over! Get that kid off of Babe!”

  The parents of the little boy on Babe’s back approach the corral to talk to David. I sure hope he figures out the right thing to say to them.

  “Horse doctors are too expensive anyway,” Gus mutters.

  “But it’s free!” I blurt out. “My dad will pay the bill.”

  This is a total lie, and it could be a complete disaster, but it’s the only thing I can think of. We have to keep Gus here as long as possible.

  “Free?” Gus asks.

  Dr. Gabe looks at me, one eyebrow raised. He has to know that I’m not telling the truth, but he plays along. “Hard to turn down an offer like that,” he says.

  Oh, man. I’m gonna be in so much trouble later. I’ll probably be babysitting and doing odd jobs for the rest of my life to pay this vet bill. But I can’t think about that now.

  “Well, if it won’t cost me anything—” Gus says. “Guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Go ahead, fix him up.”