Read Online Here to Stay by Catherine Anderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catherine Anderson
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did, oh, well. If she settled for calling him, he might hang up on her. In her experience, it was a lot harder to get rid of someone face-to-face, and there was absolutely no way that she was going to let someone else stake a claim to that little horse if she could secure it for her brother.
It took Zach and Rosebud nearly an hour to get in the house, and by then, Zach was exhausted. He suspected the horse was, too. The first thing Zach did was call his brother-in-law, Tucker Coulter, a renowned vet who specialized in equines. He and Samantha lived on an adjoining parcel of land now known as the Sage Creek Ranch.
Tucker listened while Zach explained his concerns about Rosebud’s loose bowels. “Most likely, she ate something that disagreed with her,” he told Zach. “It happens. For now, just keep an eye on her. If you see blood or a lot of mucus in the stools, it may be something more serious, but until then, I wouldn’t worry.”
Zach released a breath. “She never has accidents, and she crapped inside the—”
“Inside the pharmacy, I know,” Tucker finished for him. “I caught the newscast. She’s definitely got something going on, but at this point, I wouldn’t fly into a panic.”
“I’m a novice with minis,” Zach confessed. “You know? Give me a large horse, and I’m on solid ground, but my experience with tiny horses is zilch.”
“She’s still an equine. Would you be this upset if a cutter got the squirts?”
Zach felt better after the call ended. Tucker knew his stuff. If he said there was nothing to worry about, there was probably nothing to worry about.
Rosebud stood by the table and hung her head, the stance of any horse at rest. Zach went to the fridge for a longneck. Nothing like a cold beer to work out the kinks . He settled on a kitchen chair, done in walnut and flat black to match the table, and took a long pull from the bottle. Then he went to rifle through his Sub-Zero freezer for a man-size dinner entrée. He settled on Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and gravy. As he shoved the tray into his microwave, he thought of his brother Quincy, the health nut. He was probably having a green smoothie for dinner. The man could pontificate for hours about how Zach was systematically killing himself with all the crap he ate.
Zach liked crap, thank you very much. He’d never have a love affair with kale and spinach whizzed into green froth with nonfat yogurt, raw eggs, sesame seeds, and every other nauseating thing Quincy could think of. Zach wanted meat, and he wanted carbohydrates, and he wanted fat. He was a man, not a rabbit. One of these days Quincy was going to turn green and grow bunny ears.
Zach’s microwave had no sooner pinged than Rosebud started to do a tap dance, her signal that she needed to go outside. “Not now . Hello, my dinner is ready.”
But the horse continued to put Fred Astaire to shame, looking up at him expectantly. Zach kissed his hot dinner good-bye and haltered her up to go back outside. Just as they reached the door, Rosebud lost control of her bowels and deposited a huge dump on the indoor mat Zach used to wipe his boots. The stench almost took his breath. And Rosebud still tapped her feet, telling him there was more to come.
Zach hooked the mat with the heel of his Tony Lama and slid it away from the door so they could go outside without smearing horseshit everywhere. As they gained the porch, he wondered if he shouldn’t resort to putting a kiddie-pool litter box in the laundry room. Frigging stairs . He was coming to hate the damned things. It was extremely tempting to just pick Rosebud up and carry her, but if he did that, he would be defeating the whole purpose of not having a ramp.
They made it to the yard just in time. She deposited steaming feces to the left of the steps. Despite the looseness of the stool, Zach praised her and offered a treat, which she declined. Rosebud always loved her rewards, and she never had this many bowel
It took Zach and Rosebud nearly an hour to get in the house, and by then, Zach was exhausted. He suspected the horse was, too. The first thing Zach did was call his brother-in-law, Tucker Coulter, a renowned vet who specialized in equines. He and Samantha lived on an adjoining parcel of land now known as the Sage Creek Ranch.
Tucker listened while Zach explained his concerns about Rosebud’s loose bowels. “Most likely, she ate something that disagreed with her,” he told Zach. “It happens. For now, just keep an eye on her. If you see blood or a lot of mucus in the stools, it may be something more serious, but until then, I wouldn’t worry.”
Zach released a breath. “She never has accidents, and she crapped inside the—”
“Inside the pharmacy, I know,” Tucker finished for him. “I caught the newscast. She’s definitely got something going on, but at this point, I wouldn’t fly into a panic.”
“I’m a novice with minis,” Zach confessed. “You know? Give me a large horse, and I’m on solid ground, but my experience with tiny horses is zilch.”
“She’s still an equine. Would you be this upset if a cutter got the squirts?”
Zach felt better after the call ended. Tucker knew his stuff. If he said there was nothing to worry about, there was probably nothing to worry about.
Rosebud stood by the table and hung her head, the stance of any horse at rest. Zach went to the fridge for a longneck. Nothing like a cold beer to work out the kinks . He settled on a kitchen chair, done in walnut and flat black to match the table, and took a long pull from the bottle. Then he went to rifle through his Sub-Zero freezer for a man-size dinner entrée. He settled on Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and gravy. As he shoved the tray into his microwave, he thought of his brother Quincy, the health nut. He was probably having a green smoothie for dinner. The man could pontificate for hours about how Zach was systematically killing himself with all the crap he ate.
Zach liked crap, thank you very much. He’d never have a love affair with kale and spinach whizzed into green froth with nonfat yogurt, raw eggs, sesame seeds, and every other nauseating thing Quincy could think of. Zach wanted meat, and he wanted carbohydrates, and he wanted fat. He was a man, not a rabbit. One of these days Quincy was going to turn green and grow bunny ears.
Zach’s microwave had no sooner pinged than Rosebud started to do a tap dance, her signal that she needed to go outside. “Not now . Hello, my dinner is ready.”
But the horse continued to put Fred Astaire to shame, looking up at him expectantly. Zach kissed his hot dinner good-bye and haltered her up to go back outside. Just as they reached the door, Rosebud lost control of her bowels and deposited a huge dump on the indoor mat Zach used to wipe his boots. The stench almost took his breath. And Rosebud still tapped her feet, telling him there was more to come.
Zach hooked the mat with the heel of his Tony Lama and slid it away from the door so they could go outside without smearing horseshit everywhere. As they gained the porch, he wondered if he shouldn’t resort to putting a kiddie-pool litter box in the laundry room. Frigging stairs . He was coming to hate the damned things. It was extremely tempting to just pick Rosebud up and carry her, but if he did that, he would be defeating the whole purpose of not having a ramp.
They made it to the yard just in time. She deposited steaming feces to the left of the steps. Despite the looseness of the stool, Zach praised her and offered a treat, which she declined. Rosebud always loved her rewards, and she never had this many bowel
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