Free Pets in a Pickle by Malcolm D Welshman Page B

note to practise a reassuring smile in the mirror until I had it down pat. It seemed the Richardsons were in need of great dollops of reassurance. I had to exude confidence, and show my ability to deal with any problem foaling as if it was second nature to me, as if I’d dealt with hundreds of such cases even though this was my first.
    ‘Nothing’s wrong, Mrs Richardson. Clementine looks fine.’ I smiled in what I hoped was a more confident manner.
    ‘How can you tell?’ said George gruffly. ‘You haven’t examined her yet.’
    ‘He’s just saying that to reassure us,’ said his wife, letting go of me to reach across and claw her husband’s arm.
    I felt my smile falter. Oh dear. Seems I was overdoing the reassurance bit. But I meant what I’d said; Clementine did look fine. Despite my lack of experience, it was easy to see that the horse was in no sort of distress. There was no fidgeting, no tail swishing or stamping of feet. She looked completely relaxed. Which was more than could be said of the Richardsons – their twitchy movements, sweaty faces and wild eyes made them look as if they were the ones about to foal down at any minute.
    Hilary turned to the mare and stroked her muzzle. ‘She’s got a pained look in her eyes. I can tell, you know. Look. Can’t you see?’ She yanked the horse’s head round to me. Startled, the mare rolled her eyes, showing the whites, and then gave a loud snort and pulled away.
    George stepped forward and ran a hand down Clementine’s flank. ‘Thought so. She feels warm. Shouldn’t be surprised if she’s running a temperature.’
    ‘It’s more likely to be the heat,’ I murmured. It was the middle of the summer, a warm, balmy night and there were two electric fires strapped to the rafters, three bars glowing in each. ‘It’s really too hot in here. You should turn those off.’ I pointed up at the fires.
    ‘Are you quite sure?’ said Hilary, her white face cut sharply by the questioning line of her bright-red lips. ‘It’s just that we didn’t want the foal catching cold.’
    ‘He won’t, I assure you.’
    ‘But …’
    ‘If you’re quite sure,’ intervened George.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, I guess you should know what you’re talking about.’ George rubbed his bony hands together in time to his seesawing shoulders. ‘No doubt you’ve attended plenty of foalings like this, eh?’
    I forced my reassuring smile and uttered ‘Of course’ just at the moment Clementine turned, looked at me and gave a loud snort. They say horses have finely tuned senses. Thank goodness they can’t talk. ‘Now I’m sure Clementine would like us to leave her in peace for a while. Allow her to get on with things quietly.’
    There was a joint intake of breath and simultaneous explosive gasps from both of the Richardsons. ‘What, leave her without help?’ queried George, jiggling his shoulders again.
    I nodded.
    ‘Are you quite sure?’ said Hilary.
    Oh dear. We were off again. This time my look said it all.
    ‘Very well.’ Reluctantly, Hilary unclipped the halter rope and allowed herself to be propelled out of the loose-box with George close behind while I stayed with Clementine.
    I heard Hilary address Lucy. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing.’
    ‘He’s very competent,’ she replied.
    Good on you, Luce, I thought.
    The Richardsons remained just outside the stable door, fidgeting on the spot. I racked my brains for a means to get them away so as to give the mare a better chance of settling down.
    ‘I think we might need some buckets of warm water,’ I heard Lucy say.
    ‘Do you?’ asked George, peering in at me.
    ‘Er … yes … it might be useful.’
    ‘You go then,’ said George looking at his wife. ‘I’ll stay in case I’m needed.’ Hilary’s face contorted with doubt but, after a few seconds’ hesitation, she finally backed away and disappeared into the darkness.
    I had another idea. ‘It would be a great help if I could have some strong bits of