“Who would want to poison these
beautiful animals?” Micah “Mick” Andres patted the bay mare, which leaned
against the sun-bleached wooden fence. The top boards were worn and chewed.
Mick wondered which horse nibbled on the rails.
The exhausted
older woman grimaced. “I don’t know. I almost lost two already. This has to
stop.” Nan McLaughlin’s face creased with worry lines. Her eyes bore the
redness of stress and frustration. Her grey-streaked hair fell from the
ponytail threaded through her ball cap.
Mick’s wife,
Wendy, gazed around at the beautiful seven-acre lot. Mick knew what she saw.
Foothills rolled gently to meet the mountains in the distance. Two horses
grazed in the back pasture. Two ponies munched down the greenery in the front.
Both wore muzzles. Mick asked, “Why the muzzles? Do they bite?”
Nan laughed. The stress lines on her face disappeared for
a moment. “No. It’s to keep them from overeating and foundering. Ponies are
notorious pigs. They’ll eat until they’re full and eat some more.”
Wendy hmphed. “I
know some people like that. How do they eat?”
“The muzzles have
a hole in the center so the horse can get some of the food but not rip whole
mouthfuls.”
Mick quipped, “I
could use one of those.” At times. When Wendy full-on baked for all the kids in
foster care,
Mick debated, then
admitted his ignorance. “What’s the difference between a horse and a pony? Are
they different breeds like a Lab and a Shepherd?”
“No. The main
difference is the size. Ponies are shorter than 14.2 hands. Horses are taller.
They are all considered equine. Ponies are hardier than horses. They're also
better at avoiding work. They gain weight just by looking at food. There are
different breeds of horses and ponies and some crossover." She snorted.
"And some snobbery about which is called what. For all that, they're
horses."
Mick filed the
information away for further research. He didn’t want to risk insulting the
animal or its owner by calling it the wrong thing. Especially if they were all
going to be working together.
Mick watched Wendy
turn the attention from the equines to the matter at hand. She had the lead on
this case. “Tell us about the poisoning.”
“Let me show you.”
The older woman marched across the pasture to the fence at the far end of the
property. Mick noticed she didn’t bother to step over the dried horse dung but
kicked it out of her way. Mick's choice to wear boots to the ranch—or ranchette,
as its owner preferred to call it—was a good one. Better than the tennis shoes
he favored. But when in Rome…Wendy had sensibly worn her boots as well.
Nan pointed to
leaves on the fence. “Those. Those are oleander leaves.” She pointed around the
area. “There are no oleanders anywhere around here. Oleanders are poisonous to
horses. That’s why I don’t have them on the property.”
“But they grow
wild,” Wendy stated the obvious. Along the highways. In yards. Under
foundations…Mick still battled to remove them at home.
“Yes, they do. But
not here. I’m very diligent in keeping them away from my horses. And my dogs.
The dogs are generally smart enough not to eat them.”
“And horses
aren’t?” Wendy turned to gaze at the ponies in the field with them.
"Not when
mixed with sweet hay. Someone is lining the fences with hay and oleander
leaves. It's a deadly combination for livestock. I have to come out here every
day and rake it. And dispose of it so none of the animals can get to it.”
Mick looked around
the compact ranch. "That's a lot of raking." Five acres square,
around 155 yards down each side and across the back.
“And a lot of
confining the horses until I’m done.” Nan pointed to the corrals.
Mick saw the
weariness on Nan’s face. And the frustration. Concern. Anger. All the emotions
played across the woman’s countenance.
Wendy asked, “What
have you done about it so far?”
“I’ve got cameras
on the fences. I’ve seen the culprits…” She glared a cold-hearted smile,
"…and that's not what I want to call them…at night. Deputy sheriff
Lawrence says I can't prosecute since they're not on my side of the
fence."
Wendy pointed to
the house next door. “What about the neighbor on your west side?”
Mick took note of
the ranch house that shared a fence line with Nan’s ranch. It seemed oversized
for the lot. And the green looked garish. To each their own.
Nan shook her
head. "No problems with them and no leaves on that side. Just the
east."
Wendy gazed across
the fences to the empty lot beside Nan’s. “Who owns the lot?”
“The bank. No one
ever purchased it. It’s not fit for anything. Too many boulders and rises, and
not enough clear space. It would be a major undertaking to make it useable.”
“So it sits idle.
Anyone can come and go across it?” While Wendy asked questions, Mick dug the
toe of his boot into the loose dirt. If it was dirt.
"Not
technically. But people do. I walk my dogs there on occasion. It's open
land." Nan motioned to the far side. "There's a creek in the winter
where my dogs like to run. I keep them on a long line, but there's not much
they can get into. I'm more worried about them being ambushed by coyotes."
Wendy narrowed her
eyes and stared at the parcel of land. She turned back to address Nan.
"The obvious question is, who would do this? Do you have a list of
suspects? People you've made angry? People who hate horses? Or hate your
horses?"
Nan shook her
head. “No. I can’t come up with anyone I know who would harm animals. They
might come against me but not try to kill my animals. We’re a small horse
therapy stable. We help at-risk kids from distressed families. Absent parents,
abusive parents, that kind of thing. And we help the occasional adult who wants
to bond with a living thing bigger than they are.” She shook her head again. “I
don’t know anyone who would object to us.”
Mick grimaced to
himself. Always the answer. “I don’t know anyone who would do this…” Until
you start digging and find out there's a host of enemies. Never a good thing.
Nan led Mick and
Wendy back across the pasture, nickering at the two ponies as she passed them.
The ponies looked up for a moment then resumed their grazing. Serious business,
eating. Especially when you’re wearing a muzzle.
As they reached
the gate and went through, Wendy asked, “What do you want the Knights to do?”
Coming in August 2025, the final book in the Knights of the Octagon Series: POISON