Chasing Dream (6 page)

11

Help!

“Please! Help!” I'm shaking. I keep my eyes on my horse, but everything looks blurry through the tears. Her motions are jerky. She wheels her neck around so fast her nose bumps her belly.

I want to take off the saddle. Maybe that's what's bothering her. I step toward my horse but feel a firm hand on my shoulder, pulling me back.

“Don't, Ellie. Don't get any closer. Dream is in pain. She might not know what she's doing.”

“In pain?” The thought of my horse being in pain makes me feel like I'm going to throw up. “What's wrong with her? What happened?”

Mr. Harper tosses his cell phone to Ashley. “Call the vet. Doc Snyder is in my contacts.”

“Tell me what's wrong with Dream!” I cry. My chest hurts. It's hard to catch my breath.

Colt takes hold of my arm like he's afraid I'm going to faint. “Mr. Harper, what's wrong with Ellie's horse? She was okay this morning.”

“Are you sure?” He looks from Colt to me. “Has Dream been acting . . . strange in any way lately?”

“No,” Colt answers.

But I'm not so sure. “Maybe.” I picture Dream in the library.

“How? What's been different about her?” Mr. Harper hangs on to Dream's reins. I don't know when he took them from me.

“She jumped our fence and came to school and—”

He interrupts me. “I know. Ashley told me. What else? Little things, Ellie. Think.”

I close my eyes, then open them as images of Dream come back—pictures I must have shoved to the back of my brain. “She
has
been acting funny. Dream always comes when I call her. But for the last couple of days, she hasn't. And she walked away from me when I came out to catch her.”

Mr. Harper nods and waits for more.

“She shied away from Ethan, and she likes Ethan.”

“She did the same thing with me,” Colt adds.

“And she's been sweating too much. She paws the ground a lot.” I glance at my horse and realize she's doing it right now.

“She keeps looking at her stomach.” Mr. Harper's face is filled with worry wrinkles.

“I know! Why? What is it?” I demand.

“I'm not a vet, but I'm pretty sure Dream has colic.”

I'm not exactly sure what colic is, but I've heard of horses dying from it. I can't ask anything more. I'm crying too hard.

“What's colic?” Colt asks for me.

“It's a stomachache,” Mr. Harper says. “There are lots of kinds of colic—lots of reasons for it. Dream could have gotten some water she wasn't used to. She might have eaten something she shouldn't have. There are—”

“Dad! I got the vet.” Ashley runs up to us. “Doc says to keep Dream on her feet. We're supposed to walk her until she gets there.” Ashley looks at me, and I can tell she's been crying too. “Ellie, Doc Snyder said you should walk Dream back to your place. She'll meet you there.”

The other kids have gathered around us. They shout good luck and other encouragement as we lead Dream away. I hear Cassie's voice and Rashawn's, but I don't know what they're saying. My heart is thumping too loud in my ears. My stomach hurts.

Mr. Harper insists on leading Dream all the way to my house. Colt walks Bullet a safe distance in front of us. I keep up with Mr. Harper. No one says a word.

Except inside, my heart and soul are talking to God. And I'm begging God not to let my horse die.

12

Waiting

The whole walk to my house, I try not to cry. Dream is the one in pain, not me. But my stomach feels upset enough that I might as well have colic too.

Mr. Harper tries to keep Dream walking, but it isn't easy. She dances and sidesteps one minute. Then the next minute she stops—just puts on the brakes. Twice she tries to lie down in the middle of the road. But Mr. Harper jerks the rope up and won't let her.

All I hear is the clip-clip, clop-clop of Dream's hooves. And each hoof beat shouts to me,
It's all your fault. It's all your fault.

Bullet picks up on Dream's nervousness. Colt has to turn him in little circles to calm him down.

Finally we turn onto my road.

“Looks like Doc beat us here.” Mr. Harper points to an old white pickup truck parked in front of my house.

The truck door opens, and a girl with long, curly brown hair hops out. She looks like she could be in high school. She's wearing cowboy boots, skinny jeans, and a pink T-shirt. I study her as she walks to the back of the truck and takes out a black bag.

“Whoa!” Colt mutters. “
That's
the veterinarian?”

“She's young, but she's good,” Mr. Harper says. “Best vet we've ever had around here.” He waves to her. “Hey, Doc. Thanks for coming out so fast.”

“Glad to, John. Let's get this mare settled so I can take a look at her.”

Mr. Harper introduces Colt and me to the vet. Colt shakes her hand and says something about how great it is that she's a vet.

“Can you help Dream? She's in pain. Her stomach . . .” Tears make my voice sound like I'm underwater. “Dream is such a good horse. She really is. She would never hurt anybody. Please?”

The vet shifts her bag to one hand and puts her other hand on my shoulder. “I promise I'll do everything I can for your horse, Ellie.”

I nod . . . and pray that's enough.

We get Dream into the lean-to. I've already cleaned it, but I sprinkle more straw on the floor. Dr. Snyder ties my horse on a short lead so she can't lie down. Then she listens to Dream's belly and takes her temperature.

Mr. Harper fills Dr. Snyder in on the details about Dream. He describes my horse's symptoms. He tells her what we did for Dream and how she acted on the walk over here.

A horn honks. Ashley and her mother drive up.

“I wish I could stay, Ellie,” Mr. Harper says. “Will you be okay? When will your folks get home?”

I can't think straight. Where
are
my parents?

Then I remember. “Mom's at the cat farm outside of town.” It's where I should have been. Would it have made a difference if I'd gone there? What if I'd done what I was supposed to do? What if I'd hung out with the quarantined cats instead of making Dream race and jump?

“I think your dad's home,” Colt says to me. “His car is in the driveway. I'll go see, okay?” He doesn't wait for an answer. Colt slips off Bullet's bridle and lets him graze. Then he takes off for the house.

Ashley comes to the back fence and leans over. “Is Dream okay?”

“Doc Snyder will take care of her, honey,” Mr. Harper answers.

Colt comes outside with my dad. Dad's face and clothes are wrinkly on one side, like he's been napping on the couch. I run to him and let him wrap his arms around me. He strokes my hair like he used to when I was little.

“Colt told me what's going on,” Dad says. “Thanks for coming, Doc Snyder.” He shakes her hand. Then he turns to Mr. Harper. “John, thank you. Appreciate what you did for Ellie and whatnot. You go on. We'll take it from here. Thanks again.”

Things are happening all around me—people are talking and pointing and shaking hands. I'm in the middle of it, but it doesn't feel real. Nothing feels real except the fact that my horse is sick. Very sick.

“Ellie,” Dr. Snyder calls from the far side of the lean-to. “Can you come help me, please? I think Dream will be calmer if you'll come around and talk to her.”

Doc guides me to stand by Dream's muzzle. I watch my horse's nostrils flare out and in, out and in. Her eyes are too wide. There's too much white. It's like she doesn't even see me.

“Will she be okay?” I ask. “Tell me she'll be all right.”

“I need to find out how bad her colic is.” Dr. Snyder runs her hand along Dream's side. When she gets to the belly, Dream's ears flatten back.

“Look out!” I shout.

Dream whips her head around and shows her teeth . . . like she means to bite.

13

My Fault

“Dream has never bitten anyone,” I tell Dr. Snyder. “Ever. She's a sweet horse.”

Doc Snyder doesn't seem angry. She goes back to scratching Dream's withers. “You hurt, don't you, girl?” she murmurs to Dream. “It's okay. I understand.”

When Doc turns to me this time, she looks serious. “Ellie, we need to figure out if something Dream ate might be giving her colic. I'd like to know what caused this bellyache so I can help get rid of it.”

Colt eases through the lean-to and stands beside me. “Is colic . . . is it serious?”

“It can be. That's why it would help if we knew the cause. Understand?”

We both nod.

“Good. Mr. Harper told me you said that your horse has been acting different lately. Tell me about that.”

I tell her everything I can think of—how Dream has been restless, how she's taken to pawing the ground for no reason, how she sidesteps like she's nervous, how she's been hard to catch and skittish lately.

She nods and waits for more.

I try, but I can't think of anything else.

“Do you know if your water is good?” she asks.

This time Dad answers. He has inched toward the corner of the lean-to a few feet from us. “The water's fresh. It's the same as what we use in the house, and it moves through the tank constantly.”

“How about the hay? Was it musty when you bought it? Did it smell funny?”

We shake our heads. It smelled like hay.

Dr. Snyder keeps guessing. “Is there anything in this pasture—your yard—that the mare might have gotten hold of and eaten?”

“No way,” I answer. “I walk the yard every night to make sure. There's nothing here but grass.” Then I think of something. “Dream did jump the fence and get out a couple of times.”

Dr. Snyder puts her hand on mine. “This is important, Ellie. When did she get out? Where did she go? She might have gotten into something that—”

“That's it!” Colt exclaims. “Ellie, remember? I told you something's been into our grain bin. At least twice. It must have been Dream! I'll bet she broke out of your yard and came to our barn and got into the oats.”

Now my head really is spinning. “But your oats can't be bad. Bullet isn't sick.”

“How much grain did she eat, Colt?” Doc asks.

“A whole lot,” he answers. “We keep the oats in a big rubber trash bin about this high.” He raises his arm to show her. “She just about emptied the thing.”

“What can we do?” I don't know if I'm relieved that we know what's wrong, or even more worried.

Dad strokes Dream's sweaty neck, even though I know he's afraid of my horse—and all horses, for that matter. “Won't she just vomit if she overeats?”

I know the answer to Dad's question. But I wait for the vet to explain.

“Horses can't vomit, Mr. James. As a vet, I wish they could. Other animals can get rid of bad things they eat, but not horses. And unfortunately horses don't have a shutoff valve on their appetites. A horse will keep eating until someone stops it. Let me walk the mare around a little bit so I can tell where she's hurting.” She unties Dream and takes her out of the lean-to and into the yard.

Dad, Colt, and I watch in silence. I beg God to cure my horse. But it feels like my words float up toward the sky, then plunk back down again.

The back door slams and Ethan comes running out. I can't take my eyes off my horse to see what my brother is signing. But I can hear Colt and Dad.

“Dream's sick, Ethan,” Dad explains. “It's colic. A stomachache. She ate too many oats when she got out of the fence. I should have built it higher when we knew she was getting out. I was so worried about the Harvey's Hardware account and the barrel campaign, I guess I didn't want to take the time to make more fence out here.”

The barrel account!
How could I have forgotten? Dad's presentation was this morning. He had to go ahead without my rhymes, without the list of words I promised him.

I can't even look at my dad. Guilt tightens around me like a burning belt.

“Mr. James,” Colt says, “your fence is taller than ours. We should have gotten a real storage bin instead of that trash can. And I should have figured out what was going on with the missing oats, but all I've been thinking about lately is getting Bullet ready for barrel racing.”

There's one more thing I forgot about. I let Colt
and
Bullet down.

Dad and Colt can talk all day about things they should or shouldn't have done, but it doesn't matter. I know whose fault this is. And so does God. It's not just that I didn't pick up on the warning signs of colic and how weird Dream was acting. It's not just that I didn't keep looking for an answer to how Dream was getting out or where she was going.

It's everything I haven't been doing. I was so set on proving to everybody how great my horse is that I let everything else go. I didn't just let Dream down. I let everybody down.

“So how was your game, Ethan?” Colt asks.

This time I wheel around to see my brother's answer.

We won. But I think Coach was mad at me about something. He yelled a lot in our after-game talk. And he pointed right at me. Only don't ask me why he was so fired up.

Chalk up one more letdown by Ellie James.

No wonder God doesn't answer my prayers for Dream. I don't deserve to have anyone listen to me. Especially God.

Dr. Snyder leads Dream back to us. She's holding the lead rope high like she's trying to keep my horse on her feet.

Again I ask God to make my horse well. But I can tell by Dream's wide eyes and heavy breathing that she's still hurting.

“Well, I don't think her intestines are twisted,” Doc Snyder says. “Beyond that, I'm just not sure. I'll give her a shot of butraphol to ease the pain. Then all we can do is wait and see. If the colic is mild, it should pass in twenty-four hours.”

She doesn't say what will happen if the colic isn't mild. But she doesn't have to . . . because we all know.