Read Online Treasure of the Celtic Triangle by Michael Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Phillips
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visible. The mare’s contractions were coming steady and strong.
“I’ll have to go inside to find the legs,” said Steven when Grey Tide was lying comfortably on the ground. “Lady Florilyn, I’ll need your help. I know this may be unpleasant—but can you be brave and help me?”
“I’ll try, Steven.”
“Kneel down here. Do you see—the head is out. Grasp the little torso just below the head with both your hands. Come—I’ll help you.” Steven took Florilyn’s two hands and set them gently around the white mass. “Here, Lady Florilyn—we must move quickly. You can see the head and neck, can you not?”
“Yes … oh, ugh!”
“Now with your hand like this … Good—now very gently apply a little pressure and try to prevent the foal coming further until I have the legs out … very gently. Can you do that?”
“I think so … Oh, it’s all wet and sticky … ick!”
“Be brave, Lady Florilyn. We have to try to save Grey Tide’s foal. Now I have to go back inside. I must get the forelegs out before the foal tries to get up. The minute she is breathing her instinct will be to stand. If her legs are still inside, she could damage Grey Tide’s insides.”
Again Steven reached inside. He felt along the length of the foal’s slender body, now about half exposed. Gradually he managed to extricate first one tiny hoof and leg, then the other.
“The forelegs are out—good,” he said at length. “Now, Lady Florilyn, very gently … pull. We can let her come the rest of the way.”
Still grimacing but clutching firmly around the tiny form, Florilyn did as Steven said. Almost instantly the foal slid the rest of the way until only her back legs still rested inside.
Kneeling beside Florilyn, Steven set his hands atop Florilyn’s. “Pull again. We must get the other two legs out.”
Within seconds the tiny form lay motionless on the ground before them. The birth was over, but the foal was not breathing.
“Is … is it dead?” asked Florilyn as she gazed down at the wet, bloody mass in front of her.
“I don’t know,” said Steven, jumping to his feet. He grabbed several handfuls of clean straw from across the stall and tossed it in front of Florilyn. “Here, wipe it down with dry straw. Try to get the mouth open if you can.”
“Where are you going?” she asked in sudden panic.
“Just over here,” said Steven as he walked around the large form of the mother lying on her side recovering from the birth. “I need to get Grey Tide on her feet. We’ll need her help to save her foal. While I’m doing that, tickle the foal’s nose with a piece of straw and blow into its mouth and nose.”
Tentatively Florilyn took some of the straw and began wiping at the wet, limp form.
“Oh … Steven—something’s happening. Oh, ick … There’s a lot of blood and icky-looking stuff coming out—ugh. I think Grey Tide’s bleeding!”
“It’s the afterbirth. Nothing to worry about … though it usually takes twenty minutes to an hour. This is fast. Come, Grey Tide … up! Come, girl, you need to help us get your little foal breathing.” Steven pushed and cajoled, but the poor mare was obviously spent. “Any sign of life?” he called out to Florilyn.
“No. I think he’s dead.”
“
Is
it a colt?”
“Oh, I … I don’t know. I didn’t actually …
look.”
Florilyn was now stroking the lifeless little head gently with one hand. With two fingers inside its mouth, she blew at its nose and mouth and tried to coax life into being.
With a swaying and wriggling, Grey Tide struggled to her forelegs then up to her feet. Steven was careful to lead her a few steps forward before allowing her to turn around. As she turned, she gave a low snort then bent her long nose toward the newborn, nudged its head a time or two, but then turned toward the messy mass on the ground.
“Oh, no … ick. Goodness, Steven!” cried Florilyn. “She’s trying to eat it! How disgusting!”
“She’s just
“I’ll have to go inside to find the legs,” said Steven when Grey Tide was lying comfortably on the ground. “Lady Florilyn, I’ll need your help. I know this may be unpleasant—but can you be brave and help me?”
“I’ll try, Steven.”
“Kneel down here. Do you see—the head is out. Grasp the little torso just below the head with both your hands. Come—I’ll help you.” Steven took Florilyn’s two hands and set them gently around the white mass. “Here, Lady Florilyn—we must move quickly. You can see the head and neck, can you not?”
“Yes … oh, ugh!”
“Now with your hand like this … Good—now very gently apply a little pressure and try to prevent the foal coming further until I have the legs out … very gently. Can you do that?”
“I think so … Oh, it’s all wet and sticky … ick!”
“Be brave, Lady Florilyn. We have to try to save Grey Tide’s foal. Now I have to go back inside. I must get the forelegs out before the foal tries to get up. The minute she is breathing her instinct will be to stand. If her legs are still inside, she could damage Grey Tide’s insides.”
Again Steven reached inside. He felt along the length of the foal’s slender body, now about half exposed. Gradually he managed to extricate first one tiny hoof and leg, then the other.
“The forelegs are out—good,” he said at length. “Now, Lady Florilyn, very gently … pull. We can let her come the rest of the way.”
Still grimacing but clutching firmly around the tiny form, Florilyn did as Steven said. Almost instantly the foal slid the rest of the way until only her back legs still rested inside.
Kneeling beside Florilyn, Steven set his hands atop Florilyn’s. “Pull again. We must get the other two legs out.”
Within seconds the tiny form lay motionless on the ground before them. The birth was over, but the foal was not breathing.
“Is … is it dead?” asked Florilyn as she gazed down at the wet, bloody mass in front of her.
“I don’t know,” said Steven, jumping to his feet. He grabbed several handfuls of clean straw from across the stall and tossed it in front of Florilyn. “Here, wipe it down with dry straw. Try to get the mouth open if you can.”
“Where are you going?” she asked in sudden panic.
“Just over here,” said Steven as he walked around the large form of the mother lying on her side recovering from the birth. “I need to get Grey Tide on her feet. We’ll need her help to save her foal. While I’m doing that, tickle the foal’s nose with a piece of straw and blow into its mouth and nose.”
Tentatively Florilyn took some of the straw and began wiping at the wet, limp form.
“Oh … Steven—something’s happening. Oh, ick … There’s a lot of blood and icky-looking stuff coming out—ugh. I think Grey Tide’s bleeding!”
“It’s the afterbirth. Nothing to worry about … though it usually takes twenty minutes to an hour. This is fast. Come, Grey Tide … up! Come, girl, you need to help us get your little foal breathing.” Steven pushed and cajoled, but the poor mare was obviously spent. “Any sign of life?” he called out to Florilyn.
“No. I think he’s dead.”
“
Is
it a colt?”
“Oh, I … I don’t know. I didn’t actually …
look.”
Florilyn was now stroking the lifeless little head gently with one hand. With two fingers inside its mouth, she blew at its nose and mouth and tried to coax life into being.
With a swaying and wriggling, Grey Tide struggled to her forelegs then up to her feet. Steven was careful to lead her a few steps forward before allowing her to turn around. As she turned, she gave a low snort then bent her long nose toward the newborn, nudged its head a time or two, but then turned toward the messy mass on the ground.
“Oh, no … ick. Goodness, Steven!” cried Florilyn. “She’s trying to eat it! How disgusting!”
“She’s just
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