The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man by Debbie Howells/Susie Martyn Page B

trees and the soft, warm air smells of summer.  I
forget my cares and because Horace is now fitter, we venture a little further,
through open fields and shaded woods, cantering along a grassy path until
suddenly, he stumbles and sends me flying. 
    I leap up, unhurt, but when I look at
Horace, my precious horse is standing holding his off-foreleg pitifully. 
Talking to him gently, I try to coax him forward but he refuses to put any
weight on it.  And okay, so I work at a vets , but
with my own, beloved horse suffering in front of me, I go straight into panic
mode.
    Emma’s the first person I call.
 Her bloody phone is switched off.  It’s pointless leaving a message
because I need someone NOW if not sooner.  I try Miles.  Ditto.   What is going on?  So I call the practice
number.  A calm, recorded message in Agnes’s voice tells me my call is
being forwarded to the vet on call. 
    Oh please hurry... I’m willing someone to pick up.  Poor Horace hasn’t moved and I’m
terrified it’s the lameness that Miles warned me about, back with a vengeance.
    At last.  A vet answers.  It’s Marcus.   Of course.  
Crisply, he asks me where we are.
    I haven’t a clue how to explain.
    ‘Er, past my house, up the lane, about
half a mile down the first bridlepath on the left,
then right into an enormous field...’
    There’s silence, then he says wearily, ‘I’ll
come and find you.  Just keep your phone switched on, okay?’ 
    Horace and I wait for what seems like
ages.  My poor horse still hasn’t put his sore foot to the ground. 
My cursed imagination is working at warp speed, as I contemplate all sorts of
hideous possibilities like broken legs and pulled tendons, or even the worst
case scenario, which is that no-one can help him and there’s only one thing we
can do.
    Eventually, I hear my name being
called.  Very distantly.   Marcus .
 I jump up and down and wave my arms just a bit.  Not too much
though, I don’t want to startle the patient.  Fortunately he sees me.
 He strides over, carrying, I notice with relief, his vet bag.
 Slowing his pace, he approaches Horace quietly and strokes his shoulder. 
Horace responds with a throaty whickering noise.
    ‘What have you done to yourself, old
fellow?’ Marcus asks him gently, and by now I can’t hold back the tears.
    Horace is looking very sorry for
himself.  
    ‘Right,’ Marcus says.  ‘Can I take
a look?’
    Gently he runs his hands down Horace’s
leg and lifts up the foot that Horace is nursing.
    ‘Louisa?  Have you even looked at
this?’ His voice is just a little exasperated. ‘Your poor horse has trodden on
something.  It’s cut into the sole.  No wonder he’s sore.’
    Sure enough, when I look, there’s an
indentation   and what looks like a thin slice
into the sole of his foot.  Marcus puts the hoof down.
    ‘I’ll tape something round it, just to
get you home and I’ll give him a shot, just in case there’s any
infection.  He’ll be lame for a bit, but he’ll be fine.’
    He fiddles around in his bag and the
injection is over with before Horace has even noticed.
    ‘I can’t believe you didn’t even have a
look...’ he says, more than a little accusingly.  ‘Still, the main thing
is he’ll be okay.  Just keep it poulticed for a few days, and I’ll take
another look next week.  Are you okay to lead him home from here?’
    I nod.  As usual, Marcus has
managed to make me feel utterly inept.  But, to be fair, this time I’ve
screwed up all on my own.  If I’d exercised some common sense and kept my
cursed imagination in check, instead of freaking out I could easily have dealt
with Horace myself.
    ‘Right.  
I’ll be off then,’ he says brusquely.
    It’s only late morning when Horace and I
get home, but it feels hours later.  I fuss over him and poultice the foot
and wrap it in loads of bandages, with Horace loving every minute of it.
    After all the drama of the morning, I
skip lunch and think instead