Brown Sunshine of Sawdust Valley Read Free Page B

accept Lady Sue. “There are times,” Mrs. Moore thought aloud, “when all’s right with Molly, then all’s right with my world!”

    She turned back to the kitchen, singing a hymn in her Sunday voice. She did up the dishes and put them away, still humming. Then she picked up a magazine from the sideboard and went upstairs to her bedroom to read. A whole blessed hour of peace!
    Before getting comfortable in her recliner, she lowered the window shade against the blinding sunlight streaming onto her magazine. In one glance she saw Lady in the pasture thrashing and rolling from side to side. The magazine dropped to the floor. For a second the mare lay still, but her body seemed bloated as if it might explode.
    Colic! The word froze, unspoken in Mrs. Moore’s mind.
    Panic. What to do? Nothing must happen tothe mare now, just when Molly had grown to love her.
    There was no mistaking the mare’s symptoms. Words of advice said themselves, right out of the manual. “When you suspect colic, call your vet at once. No time to lose.”
    Mrs. Moore wished Pops were home. He’d know what to do. And wouldn’t waste time. There was no use her trying to help Lady Sue—she didn’t know anything about horses. She had to get Doc Winquist. Now!
    Nervous fingers dialed the phone.
    Click. Click. Click. So many numbers. Click. Click. Click. Click.
    And the canned words. “Please check with your operator for the correct number. The number you have dialed is not in service at this time.”
    Mrs. Moore hung up and dialed “0.”
    â€œOperator, please dial for me. Our mare needs a vet immediately. She may have the colic.”
    The clicks sounded foreboding. Strange.
    Then Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
    â€œSorry, ma’am, the line’s busy.”
    What now? I’ll have to go get Doc Winquist! He’s got to save Molly’s mare.
    The white Chevy is with Pops. The only thing I have is the old pickup, which seems to run only when it wants to. There! It coughed a bit. Hurray! It started.
    Through mud holes, onto hard roads Mrs. Moore steered the rattling truck, blowing her horn before even crossing the iron bridge and crunching into Doc Winquist’s yard. She slammed on the brakes, sending chickens and geese flapping.
    Mrs. Winquist hurried outside. “Florence Moore!” she exclaimed. “What brings you out this way in such a hurry, honking and scaring my chickens?”
    â€œOur mare is down with the colic. Your line was busy, and I just couldn’t wait. Is Doc home?”
    â€œSorry. Jensen’s show horse got tangled in barbed wire and Bill went to sew him up. He’s been gone near two hours, but maybe I can reach him by phone.”
    â€œOkay. Tell him I’ll pick him up. It’d be out of his way to come back home when we can take the shortcut to Sawdust Valley.”

    When Mrs. Moore arrived at the neighbor’s farm a few minutes later, Doc Winquist, black bag in hand, stood at the gate waiting for the pickup to grind to a stop.
    He opened the truck door and set his bag on the floor. All in one breath he said, “Now compose yourself, Florence, and tell me all the symptoms so I can be ready to go to work soon as we get there.”
    Her foot bearing down on the gas pedal, Mrs. Moore explained as the old pickup crow-hoppedalong. “Molly loves this gentle mare. And I saw her rolling and thrashing in the pasture.”
    â€œYes, go on.”
    â€œFirst time Molly’s had a horse of her own. And now, just when everything is getting so perfect, the mare could die.”
    â€œWe’ll not let her die. Colic isn’t always a killer. It can be just a stomach ache. Has the mare been wormed regularly?”
    â€œYes, I’m sure of it.”
    â€œGood! Has she been overeating?”
    â€œI don’t think so. But her barrel did look bloated.”
    â€œIt could be a gas pocket. Horses can’t burp like people, so they get