The Case of the Ill-Gotten Goat by Claudia Bishop Read Free Book Online

bute,” I said. “She isn’t in pain, although with these feet, she should be. That’s good.” I dropped Sunny’s left fore and picked up the right. Then I pinched a roll of fat on the mare’s barrel. “You have been feeding her grain and hay, have you not? This mare hasn’t dropped an ounce since I saw her last.” I pulled at my mustache in frustration. “That’s very bad. As a matter of fact, it is close to criminal.”
    Penelope peered at me over the stall door. “But she’s starving. Surely just a quart or two of grain can’t hurt.”
    â€œAbsolutely not!” I roared. “You will load this horse up and deliver her to my clinic. Instantly!”
    â€œYes, Dr. McKenzie.”
    â€œAnd you will not give her one ounce of feed of any kind!”
    â€œYes, Dr. McKenzie.”
    I stepped back from the mare and nodded at Joe. He released the twitch. Sunny sneered at me, then nudged at my pockets, presumably looking for sugar. I stepped into the aisle. “You can pick her up in three weeks or so. And I warn you, there is going to be a considerable farrier bill. It’s a certain bet that the sole on the left fore has rotated, and the hoof will have to be trimmed and shod with speciality shoes.”
    â€œYes, Dr. McKenzie. Of course, the cost is not a problem. We love Sunny. She was Ashley’s first pony.”
    â€œYou are loving her to death, madam. If you need help loading the pony up, Joe will give you a hand.”
    â€œYou mean right now, Dr. McKenzie?”
    â€œIf not sooner.”
    â€œHey, Doc. Hey, Ma. What’s going on?”
    Ashley trotted into the barn like an Afghan hound on parade at Crufts: long, lean, and blonde. She flipped her hair and batted her eyelashes at Joe. “How’s Sunny doing?”
    â€œDr. McKenzie’s taking her to the hospital, honey,” Penelope said. “The treatment he’s been giving her here just doesn’t seem to be helping.”
    I bit my mustache. “It is the treatment you are giving her, madam, that—”
    â€œI don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Joe interrupted. “Ashley, is it?”
    â€œThere is a great deal too much of her to see at the moment,” I pointed out. The child was dressed—half dressed—in a top that ended far short of her belly button and a pair of shorts not up to the job of covering her buttocks.
    Joe put his hand on my shoulder. “Joe Turnblad, Ashley,” he said, extending his hand. He shoved me gently aside. It is not at all like the boy to be rude. Perhaps I was being a bit testier than necessary. Madeline occasionally reminds me that human beings deserve the same sort of consideration one gives one’s animal patients.
    â€œHey, Joe,” Ashley said. “I know I haven’t seen you around before.” She wriggled in front of her mother. The two of us withdrew to the side, while Joe and Ashley circled around one another. It reminded me of the ritual mating dance of the bowerbird.
    â€œIs Sunny going to be okay, Dr. McKenzie?” Penelope asked anxiously. “I’d just die if anything happens to her.”
    I frowned. The woman loved the horse, that was clear. But she had to understand that the animals are not children in horse suits. “Madam,” I said. “How would you fare if your routine was to walk twenty miles a day, eating plain, low-protein grass at twenty-minute intervals, drinking five gallons of water a day from untreated streams, sleeping standing up?”
    â€œMe?” She blinked rapidly. “I guess I’d starve to death.”
    â€œI guess you would. But that, Penelope, is an ideal life for a horse. Movement. Grass. Fresh air. Water from the stream. You are killing your animals with kindness. Get rid of the air-conditioning! If you must keep the animals in a stall, at least keep a rational amount of manure in the shavings.