A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [100]
Farley grunted, noncommittal, then grasped all four of the sheep’s hooves and flipped it over to its other side. The animal bleated in protest, then was silent. Farley bent for a closer look. “Right here’s your problem.”
He parted the wool to reveal a gory-looking wound in the sheep’s side. Bridget gasped and lost color, and Cici brought her hand to her mouth, looking away.
“Probably ran into a stick or tore itself up on barb wire,” he said. “Sheep’re stupid critters.”
He straightened up. “Want me to shoot it for you? Got my rifle in the truck.”
Both Cici and Bridget cried, “No!”
He gave them a long and unreadable look, then tugged at the bill of his camo cap, spat on the ground again, and said, “Bring my tractor by in the morning, dig you a hole. Cost you ten dollar.”
He started back toward the gate, and Cici saw the despair in Bridget’s eyes. She rushed forward. “Farley, wait. If you could help us get it to the barn, out of the cold, until the vet comes . . .”
Another look. But all he said was, “Your barn’s got a hole in it.”
“I know, but it’s better than being out here on the damp ground, and it’s getting dark. Please?”
He shrugged, and between them they managed to get the wounded animal into the back of his truck. Bridget climbed in back with the sheep as Farley drove to the barn, the sheepdog trotting behind.
Cici quickly cleaned away as much of the debris as she could inside the barn entrance, and dragged a bale of hay from the stack they kept in the shed to use as mulch. The animal showed an encouraging surge of energy when they got him out of the truck, bleating in protest and shaking his head as they led him into the barn. But as soon as they got him inside, he collapsed on the hay, eyes rolled back and sides heaving. Bridget wrung her hands in distress.
Lindsay ran up just as Farley was driving away. “I called the vet,” she said, looking anxious as she took in the scene. “He’s out of town for the weekend. He’ll be in first thing in the morning, but meantime his service gave me the number of the emergency clinic in Staunton.”
“That’s okay,” Cici said quickly. “We can get him in the back of my SUV—”
Already Lindsay was shaking her head. “I called them. Cats and dogs only. I’m so sorry Bridge. I don’t know what else to do.”
Bridget drew in a breath, pushed back her hair, and straightened her shoulders. “We’ll just do the best we can, that’s all. I’ll get some water, and some towels.”
“I’ll try to block up some of these holes to keep the draft out,” Cici said.
And Lindsay quickly volunteered, “I’ll get some more hay.”
They worked by flashlight for over an hour, but it became increasingly difficult to convince themselves their efforts were anything but futile. The poor animal was barely breathing, and a closer examination of the wound revealed it to be much more serious than they had at first thought. The ten-inch long gash was deep enough to reveal viscera, and oozed a thick yellow black fluid that made even the strongest-stomached among them woozy.
“Bridget, come inside,” Lindsay urged at last. “We’ll call the vet again first thing in the morning. I don’t think there’s anything more we can do now.”
Bridget shook her head, hugging her arms. “No, I think I’ll stay awhile longer.”
“But it’s getting cold.”
“I should have fixed the hole in the roof before now,” Cici fretted. “I knew winter was coming. I should have gotten this place airtight. You could have put the whole flock in here at night, and the deer, too. That way they would have been safe.”
Bridget’s smile was strained as she patted Cici’s arm. “It’s fine for now. Don’t worry about it.”
“At least come in and have some supper,” Lindsay said. “I’ll stay while you eat.”
Bridget shook her head. “I couldn’t eat anything.”
They both looked down at the suffering