"Butterscotch is in the stable," Tucker says, already walking in that direction like he can't get away from this conversation fast enough. "He's definitely improved since yesterday. More alert, better attitude, walked easily this morning without any signs of distress."
I follow him, my bag bouncing against my hip, my coffee growing cold in my hand. The morning air is crisp and clean. I can see cattle grazing in the distance, horses in the paddock near the barn, chickens wandering around pecking at the ground near what looks like a vegetable garden that's seen better days.
It's beautiful in a rough, working-ranch kind of way. Not like some of the manicured, tourist-friendly ranches I've seen, but real. Lived-in. Loved.
"Any manure yet?" I ask, because we already talked about urination this morning via text and I need to know about the other end of things.
"Not since yesterday afternoon. Should I be worried?"
"Not yet. The mineral oil needs time to work through his system. But it's something we need to keep monitoring."
We reach the stable and Tucker holds the door open for me, a gentleman gesture that's probably automatic for him but makes my heart race as I step inside.
The stable is warm and dim, smelling like hay and horse and leather, and Butterscotch is standing in his stall looking significantly better than he did yesterday. His head is up, his ears are forward, and when he sees Tucker he actually nickers softly.
"Hey, boy," Tucker says, his voice going gentle the way it did yesterday. "Dr. Williams is back to check on you."
"Marley," I correct, then immediately regret it because that's the second time I've told him to use my first name and I'm supposed to be maintaining professional distance.
Tucker glances at me, nods, then turns back to Butterscotch. "Marley's back to check on you."
I set down my coffee and my bag and approach the stall slowly, letting Butterscotch see me, smell me, remember me from yesterday. He doesn't shy away, which is a good sign. It means he's not associating me with pain or fear.
"Good morning, sweet boy," I murmur, unlatching the stall door and stepping inside. "Let's see how you're doing."
Tucker follows me in without being asked, taking position at Butterscotch's head, one hand on the halter. It's the same setup as yesterday.
I run my hands over Butterscotch's body, checking for heat, swelling, tenderness. His coat is already looking better. More shine, more life, and when I press gently on his abdomen he doesn't flinch away like he did yesterday.
"Temperature?" Tucker asks.
"Going to check that next." I pull out my thermometer and take Butterscotch's temperature while Tucker keeps him calm with soft words and gentle hands. "Normal range. This is perfect."
I can see Tucker's shoulders relax slightly, and I realize he's been holding tension there since I arrived. Maybe longer. Maybe since yesterday morning when he first realized something was wrong.
I pull out my stethoscope and listen to Butterscotch's gut sounds. They're significantly improved—active, healthy, no longer the sluggish, reduced sounds I heard yesterday. The mineral oil is working exactly like it should.
"Gut sounds are good," I say, straightening up. "Much more active than yesterday. The impaction is breaking up."
"So, he's going to be okay."
It's not a question, but I answer it anyway. "Yes. He's going to be fine. But I want to do another rectal exam to confirm the impaction is resolving properly."
Tucker nods, and I see him brace himself slightly, probably remembering yesterday's exam and how undignified the whole process is for everyone involved.
I pull on a long glove and position myself at Butterscotch's hindquarters while Tucker keeps him steady at the front. The exam is quick and thorough, and what I find makes me smile despite myself.
"Significant improvement," I say, stripping off the glove. "The impaction is much softer, more broken up. I'd say we're about seventy-five percent resolved."
"That's good?"
"That's very good. Means the treatment is working exactly as it should." I wash my hands in a bucket of water that Tucker musthave brought a out here specifically for this, which is thoughtful, and turn back to find him watching me.
"Thank you," he says. "I know I keep saying that, but... Emma would have been devastated if anything happened to him."
"I know." I dry my hands on a towel that's hanging on a nail. "That's why you texted me about urination at 7:45 in the morning."
His ears turn slightly red. "Yeah. Sorry about that."
