Golden Filly Collection One by Lauraine Snelling Read Free Book Online

vet. Oh, if only Dad were here. I don’t want to make these decisions. What if the filly dies? Oh, God, no—no! I won’t think of dying. Please, God, you said you’d help…all the time. Why are you so far away when I need you?
    When she reached the stable, Trish flipped on the light. Nickers and rustlings in the stalls told her she had surprised the sleeping animals.
    The thud of hooves on a wall warned her that Spitfire didn’t take kindly to the interruption.
    “Easy, fella,” she called as she grabbed a lead rope off the nail and dashed back to the pasture. Caesar raced beside her.
    “Dear God,” she pleaded between harsh breaths. “Help me get her up and into the stall.”
    The filly still lay shivering in the hollow. When Trish petted the gray neck, her hand came away wet.
    “Dew or sweat?” she muttered. “I’m not sure. My feet are soaked enough to make me think it could be dew. Let’s hope so.”
    All the while her soft murmurings seemed to calm the shivering horse. With the lead rope snapped in place, Trish stood and leaned against it. The gray shook her head but made no effort to regain her feet.
    “God, please.” Trish wiped a hand across her forehead and wrapped the lead rope around her fist. “Come on, girl.” The command rang across the hollow. “Get up!” Once more she leaned against the rope, her heels digging into the wet turf.
    Caesar barked. The command sharpened when he nipped the filly on the rump.
    The horse scrambled to her feet.
    Trish scrambled to keep from landing on her seat.
    “Wow!” She shook her head. “God, when you answer a prayer, you don’t fool around.”
    “Thanks, Caesar.” At his name the dog left his self-assigned position at the animal’s hocks and nuzzled his slim nose into Trish’s hand. “Good boy,” she whispered. “Good job. Now let’s get her up to the barn.”
    Slowly the three made their way to the lighted stables. Every time the filly stalled, a sharp bark from Caesar reminded her of the nip on the haunches. Trish led the droopy animal into the stall farthest away from the stabled horses, one kept for sick animals but rarely used. She clipped the lead rope into one of the barn rings, then snapped the crosstie in place.
    “I know you want to lay down,” she stroked the sick animal. “But that will have to come later.”
    When she unlatched the door to the tack room, Spitfire nickered for attention. “Later, fella,” she said as she reached inside the medicine cabinet for the thermometer and petroleum jelly.
    The filly was too miserable to even flinch as Trish lifted the horse’s tail and inserted the rectal thermometer. Her gray head drooped as far as the lead ropes permitted. The two minutes back-pedaled into what seemed like an hour while Trish’s mind flipped pages in the medical dictionary searching for possible diseases.
    “Whew! A hundred and four,” she read after wiping the glass tube on her pant leg. “No wonder you’re shivering, old girl. You’ve got a fever. Let’s see what else.” Swiftly she checked the animal for other symptoms. Droopy eyes, sweaty, can’t hear any strange breathing, mentally she checked them off.
    “Be right back,” she patted the steamy neck. “Come on, Caesar. Let’s call the vet.”
    The phone was ringing as Trish slid open the back door. “Runnin’ On Farm,” she could barely get the words past her gasps for air after the run to the house. “Trish speaking.”
    “Hi, babe. What’s happening?”
    “Oh, Dad!” Trish swallowed past the boulder that had suddenly lodged in her throat at the sound of the familiar voice. “How did you know how much I needed you?”
    “Hey, we’ve always said great minds run in the same circles.” Her father’s voice rasped from a throat raw from coughing. “Now, what’s our great minds’ problem?”
    “It’s the gray filly. When I went back out to last-check the stock, she was down. Caesar and I—no, God , Caesar, and I got her up and into the