“The fuck?” I turn to Bodie. “You hear that?”
Bodie nods, cautious. “Could be. Could also be a hot ration or mold somewhere.”
Sarah doesn’t back down. “If it were one or two, I’d agree. But you’ve got half a dozen with drooping ears, three hanging back instead of pushing to the bunk. Thunder’s pacing because he’s queasy. Watch him when he stops—he shifts off his front feet.”
“Rumen acidosis?” Bodie offers.
She shakes her head. “Manure’s loose, not foamy. No belly-kicking or teeth-grinding. If it were acidosis, you’dsee pain. This is systemic, affecting the entire organization. Something they’re all eating.”
Bodie gives my bull a measured look. “What would you suggest, Sarah?”
“Pull ‘em off grain. Straight hay a week. Fresh water at all times. Get feed samples to the lab today. Watch Thunder close. Bulls can show later, but once they do, it hits fast.”
Bodie lets out a breath, studying her. “You talk like you’ve seen it.”
“I have. Montana. Bad supplement load—monensin dosed wrong. Took two weeks to figure out. They lost ten head before changing feed.”
I stand there with my fists in my pockets, watching like it’sdéjà vu—Sam Kirk’s ghost at the rail, telling me his girl was born for this work.
“Feed contamination’s the first thing I’d rule out.” Sarah’s eyes stay on Thunder. “In the right dose, monensin helps efficiency. In the wrong one, it guts a herd from the inside out.”
Heat flares in me. “We’ve fed the same ration all spring. I know my operation.”
“Then something changed without you knowing,” she counters evenly. “Moldy silage. A hot load of supplement. I’ll pull samples. Until then, get them off grain. Hay, clean water. Watch ‘em.”
I bristle, but Bodie nods. “She’s right. Sometimes it’s subtle. Easy to miss.”
“How would monensin get in the feed? We don’t useit.” I cut Sarah a look. “Never have. My old man hated it—said a good cow don’t need crutches. We finish on grass and rolled corn.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know how it got in, cowboy. But it…or something did. Your fancy Angus ain’t squirting water if he’s just on grass and rolled corn.”
Bodie lifts a brow, glancing between us. “She’s not wrong. Cattle don’t crash for no reason.”
“May I take care of your bull now?” Sarah asks, eyes flashing, daring me to say no.
I glance at Bodie. He hooks his thumbs in his belt, mouth twitching. “She knows what she’s doin’, Cade. Better’n me.”
I grind my molars and jerk my chin at Dodge. He’s already slipping the halter on Thunder. The bull shifts, hooves grinding dirt. Sarah checks his eye membranes, then draws up a syringe.
“What the hell’s that?” I move toward her.
“Fluids and electrolytes,” she says, tapping the barrel of the syringe.
“You sure?” I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole.
“Cade, do you really think I’d hurt an animal?” she asks softly, holding my gaze, challenging me.
I throw my hands. “If something happens to him, I’m gonna?—”
“Stop with the threats, cowboy, and let me do my job,” she snaps, swabbing Thunder’s neck and sliding the needle in smooth. The bull flicks an ear but doesn’t fight.
“Good boy,” she murmurs, rubbing hisneck. Then she reaches for a bolus gun from her kit. “Activated charcoal. If there’s toxin, we bind it and move it out.”
Thunder tosses his head; I steady him. Sarah doses him quickly.
She steps back, wiping her hands. “That buys us time till results come in.” Her gaze lands on me. “And don’t second-guess me when your future’s standing on four legs in front of us.”
Thunder snorts, swings his head, looking better already. Or maybe it’s her confidence working on him…and me.
