Claws for Alarm

1

September 20, 2019

Friday

Fairy skirts twirled through the air. Glossy white, tiny seeds dispersed into seven-mile-per-hour winds. Milkweed balls, equally as glossy, floated along with the fairy skirts, which some people call Devil s dandruff. All living creatures whether two-legged, four-legged, or plant were responding to the loss of light, the cooler night temperatures.

Pharamond Haristeen, DVM, all six feet four inches of him, stood in the aisle of Big Mim Sanburne s perfect brick stable. He looked out the opened doors to watch the parade of skirts, the tiny ballerinas filling the air. The walkway to the stable gleamed white from all the fairies that had fallen.

Returning to Loulou, a large gray mare, now in her late teens, he knelt down, ran his hands over her swollen hind leg.

Big Mim, standing behind him as Paul, her stable manager, held her halter, mentioned, Those fang marks are so noticeable.

Gray horses are harder to keep clean but it is easier to see in a situation like this. He gingerly, gently touched her. Good girl.

Is she drugged? asked Tucker, Fair s corgi, sitting properly to the side of the aisle.

Fair took his two dogs with him today, figuring it was like take-your-daughter-to-work day. Tucker was the female; the Irish wolfhound, Pirate, just turning one year old, was male. Pirate sat watching everything. He was trying to learn the business.

Paul, you found her?

The young man, married to Tazio Chappers, one of Fair s wife s best friends, nodded. She wasn t moving well so I walked out and saw the swollen leg plus the marks. Had that snake struck a dog, the animal would be dead.

What an awful thing to say, the corgi grumbled, then peered more closely at Loulou. She s not drugged.

How can you tell? The young wolfhound was curious.

A horse hangs her head. Nods off. I should have noticed right away. Tucker puffed out her chest. I ve been working with Daddy for years. You wouldn t believe

Rita Mae Brown & Sneaky Pie Brown