“Yeah, but you gotta admire the courage,” the old man replied, his admiration evident as he lifted his worn cowboy hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
Lila leaned forward, absorbing the sights and sounds of the rodeo as the next rider prepared for his turn.
Lila’s heart pounded in sync with the crowd’s rising excitement as a bull, its muscles rippling under a sleek coat, charged into the arena. The rider, a figure of sheer determination, clung on for dear life, his hand wrapped tight in the rope, his body swaying with each violent jerk of the bull.
She felt herself drawn into the visceral struggle between man and beast, her hands clutching the bleacher’s edge. The air was electric, the crowd’s cheers swelling into a thunderous crescendo, echoing the fury of the ride.
Suddenly, the bull stumbled. A collective gasp sliced through the noise. Lila watched, heart in her throat, as the rider was thrown clear, rolling away from the thrashing bull, unharmed yet shaken. The bull, however, was not so fortunate; it limped, favoring one leg, pain evident in its movements.
The arena fell into a concerned hush, the excitement quickly turning to worry. Murmurs of concern rippled through the stands, and Lila found herself whispering hopes for its recovery.
Claims that rodeo animal injuries were common were debunked by extensive studies. PRCA rodeos had a high safety rating with less than one percent of livestock exposures resulting in any form of injury. Still, there were those rare occasions, and this appeared to be one of them.
The bull stumbled and went down, falling hard into the dirt. The cowboy rushed across the arena in the direction of the chutes. “We need a vet,” he shouted.
Lila bolted up from her seat. “I have to help!”
Without thinking the decision through, Lila bolted from her seat and rushed down the stands, determined to help. She raced for the gate, leaped over the barrier, and then made her way to the injured animal, now being tended to by a small group of rodeo staff. “I’m Doc Tillman’s vet assistant—in Thunder Mountain,” she declared upon approach. “Let me help.”
Never did she stop to consider how absurd her offer might appear to the men gathered. Nor did she consider that the bull might rise at any moment and thrash around, perhaps injuring her and the others.
One of the men extended a hand. “I’m Bill—the official rodeo vet. Glad for the assistance.” He motioned to the others. “Stand back. Safety first.”
He gestured towards a nearby bag. “Grab that bottle of ace and a syringe.”
Lila complied and did as she was instructed. Without being asked, she began filling the syringe with liquid. “How much acepromazine?”
Bill gave her an appreciative nod. “Start small,” he advised, specifying the number of milliliters. “We can always administer more if needed.”
Once the tranquilizer had been administered, Lila knelt by the bull, watching as Bill assessed its injury—an ankle that was visibly swelling. She looked up to coordinate with Bill on whether he might need a nose twitch for further restraint when a guy clad in jeans and a blue button-down shirt, stepped in front of her, blocking her view.
Lila firmly rose to her feet. “Excuse me.”
He turned his back to her as he bent and slid his hand down the injured leg. “I doubt it’s broken. Just needs a little ice and rest.”
Lila stepped forward, insistent. “The bull needs to be stabilized before moving. We should strap his leg and check for fractures with a portable X-ray.”
The intruder held up open palms, clearly annoyed. “That’s overkill, in my opinion. But sure, X-ray it.”
He glared at Lila before turning this attention to Bill. “Just offering my opinion. I’m a certified large animal vet.”
“Look, we don’t have time for egos.” Her voice remained steady and commanding as she looked him directly in the eyes. “This animal is in pain.”
Bill tilted his head in Lila’s direction. “I’m afraid I have to side with her. We can’t assume the leg’s not broken. But we’re going to have to take the animal off-site for the X-ray since we don’t have a portable at our disposal.”
The guy rubbed at his right ear lobe and begrudgingly stepped aside. Lila moved back to the bull, carefully strapping its leg with the help of the rodeo staff.
Once the sedated animal was loaded into a waiting hauler, she turned to find the guy was gone. Good riddance, she thought as she headed back to the stands.
“Wow! What was the deal down there?” Charlie Grace asked as she handed Lila a hot dog. “Hope your food is not cold.”
Lila gave them a brief rundown of what had occurred in the arena. “The bull likely suffered a transverse fracture. Hard to diagnose because they tend to be stable breaks. If an X-ray confirms my suspicion, with proper treatment, the animal should be fine.”
“Ooh…listen to you, talking all professional and veterinarian-like.” Capri teased as she unwrapped a straw and shoved it into her plastic cup of Coca-Cola. “So, who was that hot guy down there?”
Lila shrugged. “I don’t know. Some veterinarian. Probably a tourist here on vacation. But he was an a…” She stopped mid-sentence. “He was a jerk.” She peeled the wrapping from her hot dog and took a bite. “Argued against my assessment—which by the way, the rodeo vet agreed with.”
Capri chuckled. “Never bet against Lila when it comes to animals.”
