Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [29]
Finally, realising I couldn’t delay things any longer, I sank the needle through the skin at what I thought was the correct place. Imagine my relief when a trickle of yellow fluid oozed out. Spinal fluid. Yippee! I’d hit the right spot. Attaching the syringe, I pushed down on the plunger and watched the dose of anaesthetic disappear.
‘Phew,’ I gasped as I whipped out the needle and got to my feet. ‘At least that’s done.’ I looked along Clementine’s flanks now steaming with sweat and smiled at Lucy before turning to the Richardsons, still transfixed in the corner. ‘Maybe a cup of tea while we wait for the anaesthetic to take effect?’
They obeyed without a murmur.
A fine drizzle had begun to sweep across the yard as the four of us returned from the house. Whether due to the trickle of water that ran down my neck or the thought of what still lay ahead, I began to shiver.
Clementine lay stretched out, quiet, motionless.
Hilary gasped, one hand flying to her mouth, the other catching at the sleeve of my smock. ‘She’s … she’s … not dead is she?’
Clementine lifted her head and whinnied.
Hilary let go of my sleeve with a sheepish look.
This time I allowed the Richardsons to cradle Clementine’s head, while Lucy and I knelt down behind the mare where two tiny hooves were poking out. I tied a rope round each of them and handed the ends to Lucy. No mention had been made of the need for wooden handles, or buckets of warm water for that matter. Best keep quiet about it, I reasoned.
‘Keep some tension on those ropes, Lucy,’ I said as I once again slid my arm inside the mare’s womb in an attempt to turn the foal round. As before, the other set of hooves were just inside; and now that Clementine was no longer straining, I was able to push them back. As I did so, I felt them float away from me. Hey. This was easier than expected. Then suddenly the floating stopped. I pushed on the legs. Nope. No movement. I pushed again. They didn’t budge. Another push. Still they didn’t shift. What on earth was stopping them? My heart thundered against my chest and I could feel trickles of sweat course down my cheeks, leaving a warm trail as they coalesced to drip from my chin.
‘Not more problems, surely?’ said an anxious voice as George looked over at me.
I grunted. ‘The foal’s quite large. Proving a little difficult to turn.’ I was now right up to my armpit and felt as if I was trapped inside, the folds of the womb like those of a collapsed tent, enveloping and hindering every movement of my arm.
Hilary suddenly yelled, ‘Clementine’s suffocating.’ Her cry made the mare jerk. My arm was violently squeezed, pinned to the wall of her pelvis, rotated and pulled until I thought it would be wrenched from its socket. I opened my mouth but forced back the scream that threatened to explode from my lungs. Lucy winced, grimacing in sympathy.
‘Quiet woman,’ hissed George. ‘It’s just Clementine snoring.’
As the horse relaxed, the pressure on my arm subsided. But it was several minutes, with me stretched out in the bedding taking deep breaths, before I had sufficient strength and feeling in the arm to resume my attempt to swing the foal round. My fingers swam through the warm fluids, membranes yielding, sliding from me like layers of overcooked lasagne. Imagine the relief when my fingers finally bumped into the foal’s melon-sized head. It was now just a matter of easing it towards me. Yeah. Right.
‘Pull a little on the ropes, Lucy.’
She pulled. ‘Enough?’
‘A bit more.’ I felt the foal’s head float nearer. ‘Bit more.’ The back legs started to dip out of reach. Then they were gone. ‘Done it,’ I declared triumphantly. ‘The foal’s turned round.’ I pulled my arm out and took one of the ropes from Lucy.
‘We’re going to start pulling