Read Online Nightstorm and the Grand Slam by Stacy Gregg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stacy Gregg
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relapse, but Avery had reassured her. They left the estate grounds on Monday afternoon, with Nightstorm travelling alone in the massive horse truck now that his stablemate, Victory, was gone.
When they arrived at The Laurels Issie decided it would be best to box the stallion for the first night. She was a little concerned that Storm would be anxious about being left in his stall without another horsebeside him for company, but figured he would settle down eventually. After all, heâd been on his own in the stable for a night after Victory had gone and heâd been fine.
But Storm didnât settle this time. And the loose boxes at The Laurels were quite a different set-up to the ones at Badminton. Instead of having iron grilles on the top half of the door, they were open Dutch doors, with just a bottom half that secured the horse inside. Each stable had the same view, looking directly out at the fields. Issie figured that Nightstorm would be happy enough being able to stick his head out over the door and see the other horses out grazing nearby. And there was no way he could jump out since the Dutch doors were a substantial one metre-fifty in height.
She was wrong on both counts. Far from being content with his view, Nightstorm only became more agitated because he wanted to join them. And as for the height of a metre-fifty being enough to contain him, the big bay stallion disagreed.
Issie had left Nightstorm to eat his dinner and was sorting out the tack room when she heard a loud bang.
Nightstorm had been barging the stable door with his chest to push it down but the door was solid oak. When the barging tactic didnât work on the second try, the bay stallion turned around and went to the recesses of his box to get a run-up. If he couldnât force his way out, then he would jump it.
Issie emerged from the tack room just in time to catch sight of her horse flying through mid-air. He had his head down between his knees as he jumped so that he could squeak his way through the tiny gap between the door and the ceiling of the stable.
âOhmygod, Storm! No!â Issie shouted at him but it was too late. Storm was already halfway over; his front legs had cleared the door and he had tucked up his back legs and managed to get them over as well. He landed on the other side of the box, took three strides and then dropped his head and began to graze contentedly. He didnât seem at all concerned about the fact that his hind leg had scraped the door as he went over, and there was now a strip of exposed flesh and blood oozing down his cannon bone.
âOhmygod, Storm! What have you done?â
Feeling sick at the sight of the wound, Issie grabbeda lead rope and clipped it onto his halter. The cut didnât look deep, but she would need to make him trot to find out if he was lame.
âCome on,â Issie clucked with her tongue, asking the stallion to move forward. At a walk, Nightstorm seemed fine, but when he trotted her heart sank. He was definitely favouring the left hind.
Tying him up, Issie tried to move around the back and get a closer look at the wound, but Nightstorm wouldnât let her touch the leg. He kept kicking out every time she put her hand on it.
âTom!â Issie tried shouting for help. âStella?â There was no one else in the yard and it was almost dark. Issie knew that she had no choice. She would have to leave Nightstorm alone to get help.
She ran from the paddock to the house, adrenalin spurring her on.
Avery, Stella and Francoise were in the kitchen preparing dinner when she burst in.
âIsadora!â Francoise saw the panic written on her face. âWhatâs happened?â
While Stella got out the emergency kit and Avery raced back down to the paddock with Issie, Francoisegot straight on the phone to their vet, David White. Luckily, David was already on a call-out attending a broodmare at the farm just down the road and he made it over to The Laurels
When they arrived at The Laurels Issie decided it would be best to box the stallion for the first night. She was a little concerned that Storm would be anxious about being left in his stall without another horsebeside him for company, but figured he would settle down eventually. After all, heâd been on his own in the stable for a night after Victory had gone and heâd been fine.
But Storm didnât settle this time. And the loose boxes at The Laurels were quite a different set-up to the ones at Badminton. Instead of having iron grilles on the top half of the door, they were open Dutch doors, with just a bottom half that secured the horse inside. Each stable had the same view, looking directly out at the fields. Issie figured that Nightstorm would be happy enough being able to stick his head out over the door and see the other horses out grazing nearby. And there was no way he could jump out since the Dutch doors were a substantial one metre-fifty in height.
She was wrong on both counts. Far from being content with his view, Nightstorm only became more agitated because he wanted to join them. And as for the height of a metre-fifty being enough to contain him, the big bay stallion disagreed.
Issie had left Nightstorm to eat his dinner and was sorting out the tack room when she heard a loud bang.
Nightstorm had been barging the stable door with his chest to push it down but the door was solid oak. When the barging tactic didnât work on the second try, the bay stallion turned around and went to the recesses of his box to get a run-up. If he couldnât force his way out, then he would jump it.
Issie emerged from the tack room just in time to catch sight of her horse flying through mid-air. He had his head down between his knees as he jumped so that he could squeak his way through the tiny gap between the door and the ceiling of the stable.
âOhmygod, Storm! No!â Issie shouted at him but it was too late. Storm was already halfway over; his front legs had cleared the door and he had tucked up his back legs and managed to get them over as well. He landed on the other side of the box, took three strides and then dropped his head and began to graze contentedly. He didnât seem at all concerned about the fact that his hind leg had scraped the door as he went over, and there was now a strip of exposed flesh and blood oozing down his cannon bone.
âOhmygod, Storm! What have you done?â
Feeling sick at the sight of the wound, Issie grabbeda lead rope and clipped it onto his halter. The cut didnât look deep, but she would need to make him trot to find out if he was lame.
âCome on,â Issie clucked with her tongue, asking the stallion to move forward. At a walk, Nightstorm seemed fine, but when he trotted her heart sank. He was definitely favouring the left hind.
Tying him up, Issie tried to move around the back and get a closer look at the wound, but Nightstorm wouldnât let her touch the leg. He kept kicking out every time she put her hand on it.
âTom!â Issie tried shouting for help. âStella?â There was no one else in the yard and it was almost dark. Issie knew that she had no choice. She would have to leave Nightstorm alone to get help.
She ran from the paddock to the house, adrenalin spurring her on.
Avery, Stella and Francoise were in the kitchen preparing dinner when she burst in.
âIsadora!â Francoise saw the panic written on her face. âWhatâs happened?â
While Stella got out the emergency kit and Avery raced back down to the paddock with Issie, Francoisegot straight on the phone to their vet, David White. Luckily, David was already on a call-out attending a broodmare at the farm just down the road and he made it over to The Laurels
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