Elaine Grant - Make-Believe Mum

As the vet approached, Jon’s gaze traveled slowly upward, taking in coveralls tucked into Justin boots, shapely legs and sleeves rolled to the elbows displaying smooth, well-muscled forearms. A baseball cap shaded one of the prettiest faces he’d ever seen.

A woman?

Just showed how much he got into town these days, else he’d have heard about this. The new vet was a woman. And she was watching him with intense green eyes. Her light brown hair was swept back into a ponytail and looped through the hole in back of her cap, but a few curling tendrils had escaped.

She smiled as she put down one of the medical cases and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Katherine Calloway, Kaycee for short. I believe you’re Mr. Rider?”

“Yes. Jon Rider. Glad you’re here.” Impressed with her firm, confident handshake and enthralled by her soft-spoken Southern drawl, Jon reserved judgment about her vetting ability.

Kaycee cocked her head slightly. “Yes, I’m a woman. Yes, I’m a vet. Yes, I can pull a calf.”

Jon hoped the dim light hid the embarrassment he felt. She smiled again, released his hand and picked up the metal box.

“Let’s see what we can do for you.”

Jon cleared his throat and tried to clear his head as he led the way. “Pretty sure she needs a C-section. Calf’s huge, she’s not.” He stepped aside when they reached the heifer.

Kaycee didn’t look around, but she could sense Jon Rider watching her every move as she opened her cases. She’d learned to get on with the job before the ranchers had time to object to her being a woman. Generally, once she successfully treated their animals, they grudgingly accepted her.

Although he hid it well, she sensed Jon’s skepticism, but to his credit, he hadn’t been rude to her like some had. No snide comments, no come-on for a date or worse—at least not yet. Whatever he might think of a young female vet, he was keeping it to himself and Kaycee appreciated that.

Or maybe he was just worried about his livestock. With good reason, Kaycee saw at once, as the heifer strained. Kaycee slipped on a shoulder-length OB glove and did a quick exam. This calf was locked solidly behind the mother’s pelvic bone.

“You’re right, she needs a Caesar. Let’s prep her.” Kaycee pulled a pair of electric clippers from her equipment chest. “Where can I plug these in?”

“I can shave her while you wash up,” Jon said. He pointed out the washroom across the aisle.

“I’m going to give her a sedative to calm her, then a paravertebral block on the left side. Shave along her spine and from here to here and down her side.” Kaycee indicated with her hands the area from the heifer’s top midline to low on the flank.

By the time she returned, Jon had done an expert job of shaving the cow. Kaycee prepped the area, injected lidocaine along the edges of the vertebrae to block the nerves and laid out her instruments beside Jon’s pulling chains. By now, the barn smelled strongly of antiseptic mingled with warm animal hide, sweet hay and human tension, the familiar scent of the career Kaycee had chosen long ago. Clean hay had been spread around the calving area.

Kaycee cast a glance at Jon. “Nice spread. How many head do you run?”

“Thousand to fifteen hundred, year to year.”

Kaycee raised her eyebrows as she calculated the range necessary to graze that big a herd. Forty or fifty thousand acres. And this was the first time she’d been called out here.

Kaycee’s scalpel sliced smoothly just behind the ribs, through thick hide and muscle. The anesthetized heifer munched contentedly on a sheaf of hay, unconcerned that her side now lay open under the surgical drape. “How long has she been in labor?”

“Couple of hours before I called you, maybe. We had her on close watch since yesterday. She was fine through the night, started showing signs of trouble this morning,” Jon said, his voice edged with concern. “Calf locked up. I tried to turn it, but she was pushing too hard. Couldn’t budge it.”

“It’s way too big. Sometimes Mother Nature plays tricks like that.”

A careful second cut opened the peritoneum. Kaycee gently moved the rumen aside, then reached into the heat of the heifer’s body, searching by feel for a foot to use as a guide to cut into the uterus. Finding it, she made a precise incision and extended the opening enough to deliver the calf without tearing. As she drew the foot out, Jon passed her a pulling chain, which she popped over the calf’s leg above the fetlock adding a half hitch below to give surer purchase on the slippery legs. Handing the first chain off to Jon, Kaycee groped through the warm blood until she found the calf’s other hind leg and attached the second pulling chain. Once the uterus was open, there was precious little time to get the calf out alive.

She worked quickly, with deft, practiced hands, ignoring the trickle of sweat down her forehead. She didn’t want to admit that this baby’s life might already be beyond saving. She sensed that same dread in Jon Rider, as he watched in silence.

Kaycee nodded. “Okay, let’s get it out.”

Jon set his full weight against the chains. She grabbed the calf’s slippery hindquarters. Together they struggled to tug the sodden calf out of the steaming security of its mother’s body.

“Daddy! Oh, yuck, what are you doing?”

Startled, Kaycee hazarded a quick glance at the breathless little girl pushing long, sun-streaked hair out of her eyes and staring in disgust at the cow’s bloody side.

“Not now, Michele.”

“But, Daddy, you have to come in—”

“Not now,” Jon said in a sterner voice.

“But, Daddy, Rachel says—”

“Is Bo worse?”

“No, sir.”

“Is anybody hurt?”

“No, sir.”

“Is the house on fire?” Jon shot the questions at her in staccato succession, his voice choked from the effort to free the calf.

“No. But—”

“Then it can wait. Go back in the house.”

“Dad-dy.”

“Go!” Jon ordered, repositioning his weight, subtly changing the direction of the leverage.

“Good,” Kaycee said. “It’s coming. Just slow.”

The wide-eyed girl turned and ran. Kaycee concentrated on her work, but it worried her that the child had seemed frightened. Maybe it was just the shock of coming upon a cow with her belly slit and a calf hanging half out.

Jon made no further comment as he strained harder against the chains.

“We need somebody else to pull,” Kaycee said, her knuckles white as she gripped the slippery skin.

“I don’t have anybody else around right now,” Jon muttered between clenched teeth. “Stubborn little fellow.”

Kaycee dug her heels in, knowing her strength would fail soon. Stinging sweat trickled into her eyes. Jon braced a booted foot against a support post and widened his stance. Sweat streamed down his face, too, veins popped out in his neck and his hard thigh muscles swelled beneath his jeans as he grunted with the effort. The chains inched back, digging into his leather gloves.

The calf’s body shifted and the suction of the uterus gave way with a soft whoosh. The massive black calf squirted into Kaycee’s arms, its weight staggering her backward. Jon caught her against his chest. He reached around her, grasped the big calf by the hind legs and hauled it out of her grip, gently shaking it to clear the mucus.

“Take care of my heifer,” Jon said. “I’ll see to this one.”

Kaycee jerked her head toward one of her cases. “There’s a resuscitator in there. Looks like you might need it.”

Finding no postpartum problems, Kaycee cleaned and sutured the incision layer by layer. Behind her she heard Jon working feverishly with the calf, talking softly, urging it to live. All the while the mother stood patiently, her pain relieved by the anesthetic. She tried once or twice to look around for her calf, but the headgate restricted her. After a penicillin shot to waylay infection, Kaycee gathered her equipment.