He looks a bit pale but nods along with me.
“And I’m gonna need your help.”
Uncertainty crosses his face, but he nods again.
“I need you to keep a tight hold on Mabel’s halter. What I’m about to do is dangerous for both of us—if she gets me with a kick, that’s … bad.”
He nods tightly. And while Theo might not have experience with the medical side of horses, he does work with them every day. He knows how to keep them calm, handle them, wrestle them around if needed.
“Help me position her so her back legs are curled underneath her,” I instruct, and we go to work pushing Mable until she’s sitting with her legs mostly underneath her rather than splayed out. This should help avoid her kicking me. Hopefully.
Mabel whinnies again, flicking her tail in what I’m assuming is pain. It’s now or never, and stalling won’t help anything. I look to Theo. “I need you to do your best to keep her still and calm. And watch her legs and let me know if I’m in danger.”
His jaw is set, and he nods, positioning himself in a squat near Mabel’s head, gripping her halter for dear life. He honestly looks ready to spring himself between me and Mabel’s back legs if needed, although it honestly wouldn’t help much. The thought seems sweet, though.
I move toward her back, situating myself so that if she manages to kick, I’m not in the line of fire. There are gloves in the vet bag that I’d brought down with the ultrasound, so I slip them on, close my eyes, and take a deep, steadying breath.
And then I do what I was trained for, even though it never gets less scary. I get to work delivering this baby foal. I move slowly, trying not to startle Mabel. With one hand on her rump to steady myself, I manage to reach one hand inside. She fidgets and whinnies, but Theo keeps her calm.
And this right here is the part that vet school can never quite prepare you for. I’ve only had to physically reach in to reposition an animal a handful of times, and they were all cows. And in times like this, you’re going in blind—literally. I can tell the foal is obviously not in the right position. But from what I remember from the ultrasound, as well as the hands-on experience I’m currently having, I manage to deduce the baby’s position and … maybe find an easy way to flip it?
“How’s it going?”
It’s Theo’s voice that makes me realize I’d had my eyes closed, squeezed shut, focusing on feeling and finding a solution. “I think I can move it,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just keep her calm like this.”
I pray to God I can position the foal without needing a second hand—that would definitely get Mabel kicking.
I manage to feel what I’m certain are the foal’s front legs, using them as a guide to gently reposition it, and when I’m done, I pull out, quickly scooching away from Mabel.
“You got it?” Theo asks me with wide eyes as I urge him to stand and move away as well.
“I think so,” I say, hoping it’s true.
Just then, Mabel whinnies again, kicking out her legs, and then the foal’s front feet emerge from the birth canal. I squeal in delighted shock, freezing in place as if one wrong move in the stable could somehow deter the process.
Theo nudges me gently. “Is that good?” he asks.
I nod. “Feet first is normal,” I assure him.
Theo grips my arm from beside me, and I turn to see his mouth open in awe as Mabel slowly delivers her foal. I remember the first time I ever saw an animal give birth—it’s an equally horrifying and awe-inspiring experience.
Hands clasped tightly together in front of me, I watch as Mabel delivers her baby, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. But—thank God—everything goes smoothly.
“Can you grab a towel out of my vet bag?” I ask Theo, gesturing to the bag outside the pen while I move to the foal, making sure its nostrils are clear so it can breathe properly. Theo comes back quickly with the towel, and I wrap the foal, drying it off and doing a quick inspection.
“Looks healthy and happy,” I declare. “And a girl!”
Theo grins down at me with a look of utter joy and bewilderment. “Holy shit, Cora … you just did that.” The tone of his voice forces my head up to meet his gaze. And … I’ve never seen Theo look at me quite like this before. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look at me like this. This mixture of pride and awe and excitement and … something deeper I can’t quite identify.
Mabel scoots around in the straw, moving closer to the foal, sniffing and licking her ears. I stand, giving them space and moving closer to Theo.
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” Theo breathes, still looking at me. “You saved them.”
I feel my face flushing ever so slightly. I look away, shrugging. “Birth is always crazy—I had nothing to do with it.”
Theo snorts. “Cora, I’m pretty sure that mare could have died if you weren’t here. The foal too.”
I bite my lip. He’s probably right. Whether the foal would’ve been able to flip on its own in there, Mabel would have been in unproductive active labor for so long that who knows if she would have had the strength when it came down to it?
