For Jack London
You were the best French Alpine, Nubian Companion Goat an Orphaned Foal could ever have!
Slick Little Fox
Katie Delaney looked at the little Tobiano foal struggling to stand. There was something terribly wrong with it. It looked like a hermit crab. Its front legs curved in an arc and couldn’t be brought under it to bear weight. Its attempt to stand ended the same. It would roll to one side and fall down. Katie rushed into the large birthing stall of the arena. She slid a leather halter over the mare’s nose and buckled it.
“Easy Foxy,” she said to the exhausted paint broodmare. “It’s Ok girl, I’ll look at your baby.”
“Will, call the vet. It’s Foxy’s baby, there’s something wrong with his legs. Then get some straw and spread it in the corner for it to lay down.”
Will Stanton entered the stall and spread out several sections of straw for bedding. He liked Katie. He cleaned the stalls of the arena and was responsible for the general maintenance. She had asked him if he would hold the horses while she worked. He was a bulldogger. She said she didn’t understand why a cowboy would jump off of a perfectly good horse. Will liked the young brunette therapist and took the teasing well. He listened to her singing in the mornings as she was working.
“Here Will, take Foxy. Keep her by the grain.”
She walked to the foal and knelt down and rolled up her denim sleeves. Katie feared the worst for the baby. She could only rub its head and face.
Susan Mckenzie entered the stall. Her long black hair pulled in a ponytail hung loosely between her cap and its band. The cap read: Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy.
“Katie what’s wrong with the foal?” I think it has contracted tendons, I’ve seen cows like this. We’ve called Dr. Trent,” Katie replied. ''The cows she had seen had been put down.”
“I don’t see how he can make it,” Susan replied.
“Katie, This is Dr. Trent,” Will said.
“Dave Trent.”
“I’m Katie Delaney, the Barn Manager. This is Susan Mckenzie, the owner.”
“Hi, let’s look at him.”
The foal was lying on its side. The vet reached down and stroked him. Foxy nickered deeply and the foal struggled to stand. It wobbled and fell. He attempted to bend its leg. He stood and faced the two women.
“It’s congenital flexural deformity and generally can’t be cured. The animals are culled. I’m sorry to be so blunt but we have not had much success with this condition.”
“Surely, there must be some options.”
“I-I don’t want a deformed horse in my breeding operation,” Susan was quick to say.
“His legs may grow out, especially with a little massage work. He has such a strong soul, Katie countered.
“Animals are beasts of burden and they don’t have souls, I put them down all the time, it's just nature.”
The hairs on the back of Katie’s neck stood on end. She swallowed deeply in an effort to control her anger before speaking.
“Are there any alternatives?” She glared at the vet.
The vet took a step backwards. He looked closely at her. Her hands were clenched, her shoulders were square, and her jaw jutted forward poised for confrontation.
“Tetracycline is an antibiotic. It weakens the tensile strength of connective tissues. His legs are rotated out. We still need to deal with that. There is a technique called blistering. We would go in and injure the outside of the knee by burning or cutting it. It would bring increased blood flow to the area and stimulate growth. I suggest putting a 4” PVC splint on both legs to immobilize them for a period of fourteen days. I will take x-rays today. I still recommend we put the foal down,” the vet replied.
“We just can’t have a deformed horse in the stables,” Susan said.
“I understand your concerns about the foal. Massage is what I know. The technique of blistering seems barbaric to me, and confining him in splints wouldn’t help either.”
“These are proven practices,” the vet interjected.
Katie raised her hand in defense.
“I’m sure they believed lobotomies were healthy,” Katie said with a grin. “There is a massage stroke named tonic friction. It is a vigorous stroking of an area, it’s designed to bring blood to an area and stimulate healing. I believe that through hydrotherapy, stretching and massage, with the help of the shot of tetracycline I can correct the problems in the foal.”
“Next, we’ll burn incense and ask for a Voodoo Priestess,” the vet said, sarcastically.
“These techniques are used on thoroughbreds around the world,” Katie retorted.
“That doesn’t address his deformity and its reflection on my breeding operation,” Susan said.
“I suggest we give the foal the shot, and allow me a period of two weeks to work with it. If there isn’t significant progress by then, you can put the foal down. If there is any improvement, I will take the foal home and work with him. We will geld him when he is old enough. Please, just give me a chance to see if I can help.”
“Susan, you know my position,” the vet replied.
“If I hadn’t seen the miracles your therapy has worked on my brood mares and stallions I’d say no right away. I believe you Katie. I’ll go along with it for the two weeks,” Susan said.
“I’ll xray him and give him the shot.”
The vet and Susan turned and walked out of the stall.
Katie had the foal standing on the second day. Will walked to the stall.
“Will, would you hand me the foal halter?”
“Here you go, “ Will said.
Will walked to the foal and restrained him. Katie slid the halter over the foal’s nose and fastened it. The foal struggled for a few seconds, realized he was restricted, and growled like a bear cub. They both laughed.
“Here, help me to lay him down.”
Will lifted the foal and with Katie’s help set the foal on its side. She slipped her first two fingers into his heel bulb. She used a little pressure and began a clockwise rubbing motion to stimulate blood flow to the area. The foal was curious and lay still while she continued. Resting a comforting hand, a mother hand, on the front of the hoof, she squeezed the tendon and began a chucking motion up and down the length of it. She repeated the motion several times. Supporting the hoof with the palm of her hand, Katie used her thumb and fingers of her right hand to effleurage the front of his leg, paying particular attention to the inside and outside of his knee joint. She then set the first three fingers of her right hand on the outside of his carpus and began vigorously rubbing them in a back and forth motion called tonic friction. This would create friction to the surrounding area to promote and stimulate growth. It would help rotate his legs straight. Katie supported the leg at the carpus and with a hand under his heel bulb gently stretched the leg forward. When she finished the second leg she set it down and stood up. The foal was asleep. Will removed the halter and coiled the lead rope. They both slipped out of the stall to the hallway.
“Do you think you can help me? He has to be worked on every 2 hours for the next several days.”
“If I can sleep on the other office cot, I’d be happy to help.”
“His sire is Slick Left Prints, and his dam is Foxy, I think I’ll call him Slick Little Fox.”
A week later, Dr. Trent returned.
“The x-rays show some bone growth on the lateral side of his knees and his legs appear to be turning in. They have a long way to go. The tendons have loosened and his legs have come up under him. It’s been a week already. You should let me put him down now!” the vet said.
“Susan, Foxy doesn’t come into her foal heat for another three weeks. Please give me two more weeks,” Katie implored.
“I don’t know, Dave says he hasn’t made that much improvement. Lord knows I don’t want anyone to see those crooked legs,” Susan said.
“I’ll move them to the big back stall. Please let me continue.”
“OK, but if Dave disagrees in two weeks, you know what our decision will be.”
“It’s a waste of time,” the Vet said.
“I’ll waste it rescuing Little Fox if I want.” Katie glared.
“You’re one tough little lady,” the vet turned and walked off.
“I hope you know what you’re doing with the foal.” Susan left the arena.
Katie ran to Little Fox’s stall, haltered him and led him into the hall, his hooves clopping on the concrete.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you. We can do it, Little Bubba,” she said, bending down and hugging him tightly.
Foxy nickered loudly. Little Fox turned and Katie led him back to her.
“Don’t worry mamma.” She slid the halter off and walked out of the stall.
Will set the crockpot on the small table in the entryway and plugged it in. He dampened the cloth towels and placed then inside and set the timer for 15 minutes
“We are going to have to be more aggressive in our stretching! The heat and moisture will make the tissue extremely pliable. I want to take some photos. I have an idea that might help,” Katie said, entering the stall.
Will nudged Little Fox to stand and slipped his halter on.
“What’s the idea?” Will asked.
“I’m going to present Little Fox as a case study to a Veterinarian Professor from the University and try to get him to help me with Dr. Trent.”
The timer rang and Will pulled out the towels. Katie slid her camera into her palm. He handed them to Katie and took the lead rope. He stood at the foal’s left side. She started wrapping his legs.
“Listen, Little Bubba, you have got to cooperate. I’m going to be more aggressive. But if you want to live, we have to get through this.” Katie cupped Little Fox’s muzzle with her hands. He nickered his understanding and she bent and kissed him on the nose.
Katie unwrapped his legs after 15 minutes had passed. She lifted his left leg, supported the underside of his knee joint with her left hand, and stretched his leg. She worked lightly at first, but began to use greater force with each successive stretch. Little Fox stood steady and countered Katie’s stronger stretches with great fortitude. She worked both legs forward and backward very aggressively. She set the right leg down when she was finished.
“Will, would you perform tonic friction on the lateral section of his knee,” her voice cracked slightly and she wiped a tear from her cheek.
“No problem,” Will responded. It would be his good fortune to work closely with her and Little Fox in this intimate setting.
Three weeks had passed quickly. Dave Trent stood in front of Little Fox. Susan shifted nervously. Katie Delaney stood with her left hand resting on Fox’s neck. Will fidgeted at the foal’s side.
“If I hadn’t spoken with the Professor from the Vet School, I would still have recommended that this horse be put down. I had no idea that hydrotherapy and massage therapy was having so much success with animals and birth deformities in the Veterinary Field,” he cleared his throat. “I’m an old dog learning new tricks. I understand the miracle that I see before me.”
Little Fox rose on his hind feet with the sudden excitement and Will quickly brought him down and regained control.
“I was hoping for this outcome,” Katie said excitedly.
“I never would have believed this could be accomplished. If any of my other clients have similar problems, could I recommend your therapy services to them?”
“I’d be happy to save any animal that I can.”
“I have many clients, and the Professor has made me aware of just how helpful massage therapy can be in my practice. Perhaps you could come into my office next week and we could talk about it.”
“Next week would work for me, I’ll call and arrange the time,” Katie replied.
“Susan, we should go and look at Kate and see how her baby is doing,” the Vet said.
Turning, he and Susan walked down the long corridor. Katie looked at Will and Little Fox and smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for this day. Is everything set?”
“Yes,” Will replied, “The baby goat is in the trailer and I have hay spread and stacked.”
“We might as well do it now,” Katie said, taking the lead rope from Will.
Will walked slowly behind Katie and Little Fox. They had gone several yards when Foxy nickered loudly to her foal. The foal stopped, returned her nicker and looked at Katie. She bent and placed her face next to the foals
“Come on Little Bubba, please,” she pleaded. “Walk on, Little Fox.
They walked forward in silence. The sound of the foal’s hooves clapping against the concrete, were the only noise. They reached the trailer door and Will stepped around and opened it. A small brown and white Nubian French Alpine goat greeted them with a loud “Baaaa-Baaa.”
Little Fox stuck his head in the trailer and Katie stepped in and gave the lead rope a slight tug. The horse stepped quickly into the trailer and sniffed the small goat.
“Little Fox, this is Jack London, Jack-Little Fox, You’re going to be the best of companions,” she said and laughed loudly.
“I’ll hold Little Fox and ride in back,” Will said.
Katie stepped out, closed the horse trailer door and walked to the cab. She slid into the driver’s seat, started the truck and began moving forward. She couldn’t think of a time in her life that her future had looked brighter.
Girls & Horses, Templeton Thompson
