Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Saturday, October 19^th, 4:45 p.m.

 

Mom arrived at the barn in less than five minutes. She took one look at Twaziem and announced. “He has choke.”

“What? How could he be choking?”

“Choke,” Mom repeated. “Something is lodged in his esophagus. Call Dr. Larry while I start massaging him.” She came into the stall and stepped up next to Twaz. While I pushed buttons on my cell phone, she began rubbing my horse’s chin, then his jaw, working her way up between his cheeks to his throatlatch and back down again.

I explained the symptoms to the receptionist, and she promised to send Dr. Larry immediately. She told me to keep massaging the throat to help clear the blockage until the veterinarian arrived. “We are,” I said, “and we will.”

“What could he have choked on?” I asked Mom as soon as I ended the call. “Not his hay or his grain. He hasn’t had any problems before.”

“He’s still wormy and debilitated,” Mom said. “It could be anything he’s eaten from hay or grain to carrots to his manure. Why don’t you clean his stall while I massage, and then when my hands get tired, we’ll switch.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

I fetched the wheelbarrow and tools as well as a partial bale of shavings. It didn’t take long to pick the stall and dress it with new bedding. Despite Mom’s massage, Twaziem didn’t look better. White mucus with bits of grain still flowed from his nose and mouth. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

She nodded. “Yes, honey. You probably don’t remember, but this used to happen to Cobbie when he got rolled oats instead of wet cob. After the first couple of times, I didn’t bother with Dr. Larry. I just massaged Cobbie’s throat until the blockage cleared. I don’t want to take any chances with Twaziem. He’s such a baby.”

“What is wet cob?” I asked.

“The kind of grain we feed,” Mom said. “It’s corn, oats and barley mixed together with molasses to dampen it. The feed store also has dry cob, the kind without molasses. Our horses get enough work that they need the extra energy.” She stepped back and flexed her hands. “Your turn.”

I put the tools outside the stall. “What do I do?”

“Come on over and I’ll show you.”

I placed my hand on Twaziem’s throatlatch, but there wasn’t a bump or anything pushing against my fingers. “What should I be feeling?”

“It’s a bit swollen already,” Mom said. “You want to rub softly there and stroke down the underside of his neck. Think of it as if you have something stuck in your own throat. You’re trying to clear the blockage. While you do that, I’ll get a grooming kit and brush him. It’s psychological first aid. He’ll feel better if we both fuss over him.”

That made sense. For the next hour, we took turns massaging Twaziem’s throat, but it didn’t help. He still had white snot streaming from his nose and mouth when Dr. Larry came in the barn. He smiled at both of us before he eyed Twaziem. “I’m going to have to be put on retainer with this fellow. Let’s see what I can do to make him more comfortable. How long have you been massaging his throat?”

I looked at my watch. “I found him an hour and a half ago. Probably about an hour and fifteen minutes.”

“Any change in the amount of saliva?” Dr. Larry asked.

I shook my head. “No. What are we going to do?”

“Let’s rule out some causes first, Robin. Any chance that he got to rat poison or other toxic substances? Some can cause excess saliva.”

“No way,” I said. “We don’t have any rats, and we don’t use poison because the cats could get to it.”

“I’m still going to examine him and look for physical trauma,” Dr. Larry said. “We’ll need a halter and lead since he may not stand still for this.”

“Okay.” I went and got the training halter. When I returned, I found the veterinarian with his hand inside Twaziem’s mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Checking his teeth. There aren’t any sharp points on any of the molars. He should have been able to chew his lunch, not choke on it. He doesn’t have a broken jaw, and there aren’t any other signs of trauma.”

Mom and Dr. Larry shared a look before she said, “You’re going to have to flush the blockage, aren’t you?”

“Afraid so.” Dr. Larry turned toward me. “I’m going to run a surgical tube through his nostril and down his throat to move the obstruction toward his stomach. I won’t use a twitch to immobilize him. Instead, I’m going to give him a light dose of a local anesthetic to ease his stress. While it takes effect, can you get me some warm water to flush the blockage away?”

“All right.” I took a bucket and headed for the shower stall. Suddenly, it occurred to me that Bill would be showing up anytime to take me to Homecoming, and I couldn’t leave Twaziem. While I waited for the water to warm, I pulled out my phone and texted Bill. I hated breaking our date, but this stupid horse came first. He was making it easier and easier for me to sell him to get a car next summer. I swear Twaz lived to wreck my life.

Twaziem had started to relax when I returned, his eyes half-closed as he drowsed and drooled on Dr. Larry’s gold coveralls. I put down the bucket of water. “How is he?”

“I think he’s ready,” Dr. Larry said. “I know you’ve never held a horse while the vet does this before, Robin, but I’ll need you to do what I say, when I say it. Deal?”

“Of course she can do it,” Mom said. “The two of you need to be careful, honey. If anything goes wrong, it’ll damage Twaziem’s nasal passages, cause a nose-bleed, or injure his lungs.”

I eyed her and the vet. “Do we have to do it this way?”

“Yes, because nothing else has worked.” Dr. Larry pulled a long three-eighths inch tube out of his pocket and squirted surgical lubricant into his hand to smooth over the plastic. Then, he stepped up to my horse and eased the rounded tip of the tube into Twaz’s nostril. “Okay, son. Here we go.”

He slid the tube slowly up through the right nostril, never forcing the plastic line. I shifted my hold on the Twaziem’s head to help him partially flex it so he could swallow. Dr. Larry didn’t try to push the tubing into the stomach. He stopped when it was at the esophagus.

“Hold the line for me, Maura,” Dr. Larry told Mom. “Don’t push on it or pull it out.”

She nodded agreement. “You’re the boss.”

Dr. Larry hooked up a plunger to the tube, then began to force water through the plastic. Running water through the tube seemed to do the trick. The flow of mucus from the nose and mouth eased as the lump of feed was flushed down toward Twaziem’s stomach. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when Dr. Larry removed the plastic line.

Mom rubbed Twaz’s face. “You’ll be fine now, fella. Promise.”

Dr. Larry turned to me. “Clear that hay out of his manger, and he’ll need fresh water in his bucket. You may want to add a bit of apple juice to it so he takes on extra fluids.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“I’ll be leaving him electrolytes and pain relievers with instructions for you to follow. No hay until Tuesday while his throat heals. We don’t want him to choke again. The next time could be fatal. And when he goes back on hay, I’ll want it dampened for him so he eats more slowly. Hold off on that second dose of wormer for another week until he recovers from this episode.” Dr. Larry glanced at Mom. “Do you folks have any straight alfalfa?”

“No, but I’ll send John to the feed store to get him some,” Mom said. “What do you think about pellets if we really soak them down? I hate to have him miss any meals.”

“I understand,” Dr. Larry said. “We still don’t know what choked him, and we don’t want it to happen again. So, let’s be careful. Watch the pellets and his grain so they don’t clump and block his throat.”

I finished cleaning out his manger and taking the hay to Nitro. Twaziem gave me the evil eye like I was trying to starve him, but then he sighed again and started to doze off. I checked his water tub. It was still clean. I headed for the feed room to grab a small bottle of apple juice from the barn fridge.

I’d just poured it into the water tub when Dad hustled in the barn, Bill and Jack right behind him. “I saw Larry’s truck,” Dad said. “What happened?”

“Choke,” Mom said. “But, he’s going to be okay.”

“What is that?” Bill looked like a total hunk in his black tux, white shirt, gold cummerbund, and gold tie. No wonder he asked me what color my dress was. When I told him it was a metallic short waffle knit, he seemed baffled. I added that when my dad and Jack saw it, they’d totally freak about the way it fit, and Bill was happy. We’d have been awesome together. I listened while Mom explained with a few facts thrown in by Dr. Larry.

“So, what’s going on?” Dr. Larry asked. “Do you always wear a tux to the barn?”

“Only on special occasions like Homecoming.” Bill smiled at me. “I’m sure I can borrow some jeans and a sweatshirt from Jack, and we can stay with Twaziem tonight. Otherwise, you’ll worry about him.”

A tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away. “You don’t have to do that. This is your last year to go because you’re a senior.”

“It won’t be any fun without you.”

“And she’s going to your celebration,” Dr. Larry said, surprising both of us. “Take my word for it. All your horse will want to do tonight is sleep, Robin. It will stress him out more if you’re hanging out in his stall for the next few hours. It’s enough if you check in on him when you get home.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Hey, I’m the doctor, and that’s why I get the big money.” He winked at me. “Besides, I’ll be back tomorrow to take you with me on rounds, so we’ll make this guy our first patient. Deal?”

“And your mother and I will pop down to see him too,” Dad said. “Now, we’re taking over on chores. You and Jack need to head for the house and get ready to go. We’ll be up in a bit to take photos for the family album.”

I lingered by Twaziem to pet his neck and breathe in his warm horsy odor. When I got home, I’d bring down my sleeping bag and stay with him just to be on the safe side. He sleepily nuzzled me, and I rubbed the blaze on his face. “No carrots for you till Tuesday when your throat’s better. I’ll see you later.”