Still Life with Elephant Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sometimes they get to a barn and no one is there to help, and they are in the unique predicament of having to lasso their patients before treating them. The odd hours wear a lot of equine vets down. They get terrible back problems from holding up horse legs or wrestling medicine down their patients’ throats. In addition, they get kicked at and stomped on, rare for practitioners of human medicine.
    Still, Matt’s decision took me by surprise, because I thought he loved the work. I thought he loved it more than we needed money. We were doing okay. Now I realized that it was probably a decision he made with Holly-Greedy. Or for Holly because she complained about his being out of the office so much. She wasn’t much for farm work because she would have gotten mud on her Gucci loafers. And all the while, I hadn’t suspected a thing. I thought he had done it for us, so I could continue to build up my horse business.
    Â 
    It was too quiet, even with Mozart. Grace jumped on the bed and settled down on Matt’s pillow, and promptly fell asleep. Her snores accompanied Sonata No. 15 in C. Alley Cat was on his other pillow, purring and doing her kneading routine, which reminded me of my mother making yeast bread. I scratched Grace behind the ears and thought maybe I would get a few more dogs, and another cat or two, so they could fill up Matt’s entire side of the bed. I definitely needed more warm bodies. And more horses to keep me busy. More something.
    I threw myself back against my pillows and waited for sleep.
    Â 
    There is a peace that comes when I am with an animal. I don’t have to strain to listen to words, I don’t feel pressured. They speak volumes, without one word passing between us. And I can feel the tightness across my shoulders ease, feel the clench in my jaw, the coil of memory that winds around the inside of my head, unwrap itself. I keep the music playing for the same reason. So I don’t have to think. So I don’t have to listen to my own head.
    Three a.m., and I realized that I wasn’t going to sleep. I pulled on my sweats and sneakers and went out to the barn to check on the horses. Grace followed.
    It’s spiritual for me, the darkness, the soft sighing when the horses are lying down, or chewing their hay. Mousi always makes a nest for himself with his hay, then settles down in the middle of it like a big white marshmallow, so he can be cushioned while slipping strands out from underneath his great body. Isis stands in a corner, her head pressed under her hay rack to protect her from everything. Conversano, my three-year-old, still sleeps like a foal, flat on his side. He isn’t saddle-broken yet, doesn’t know that life is about working.
    I was curious how Delaney, the new horse, slept.
    Grace and I walked across the back lawn under a half-moon, following the bouncing yellow ball from my flashlight. I ducked under the door-guard and into the barn. The sound of the horses breathing instantly relaxed me. I glanced around. There was Mousi, asleep in his nest; Isis, in her corner; Conversano, flat out and snoring loudly. And Delaney, awake, vigilant, ready. He scooted back as soon as I approached him. I ignored his behavior and just casually threw him some “quiet” hay—trying not to rustle it, so I wouldn’t wake up the others. I would need time to figure him out.
    I stood outside the barn for a few minutes after that, looking toward the house. It was no longer a house I recognized. It was dark; there wasn’t anyone sleeping inside, waiting for me. No one that I could crawl back into bed to and reach over for. It was all empty.
    â€œCome on, Grace,” I said. The night was pressing against me now. The cool, quiet air bringing a chill. The streak of half-moonthrowing haunting shadows across the ground. Then I thought I heard him.
    â€œGrace, come!” I had to walk fast now, to get back into the house, because, for one moment, I