And We're All Falling

Did Someone Say Cupid?

“Yes, Mr. Dayton. I understand that the foal has a lot of chrome. The sire has been throwing that gene more often and we will be contacting a vet to consult on the problem. Until then, enjoy your foal. If he can’t run, at least he’ll be quite the looker!”

Putting the phone back on its cradle, a young woman sighed heavily. The office she was working in was brightly lit and spacious, but it felt confined. Foaling season was in full swing, so her phone hardly stopped ringing with either complaints or praise. She didn’t care for either.

Graduating at the top of her class, she was a good geneticist and she knew it. Farms had fought over her for a while before she settled on Stonehill Farms, a large and prosperous farm with a plentiful breeding program. What she didn’t expect were the amount of calls from annoyed barn managers and trainers when the genetics she’d predicted surprisingly didn’t happen.

Looking at the clock, she realized the vet she’d contacted would be there soon. Sighing again, she smoothed back her long, brunette hair and turned her green eyes to the doorway. She’d have to head to the stallion barn. 

Walking briskly along the pathway, she took in the scenery. Mares grazed in the pastures, a few horses worked out on the tracks, a foal kicked up its heels in the pens. Yes, it was peaceful, but that was only a front to what actually went on. Everything had a due date and the time leading up to each one was stressful. But the geneticist was determined to beat the “Backstretch Stress” that was popular among new workers.

“Miss Ware, good evening!” a stablehand called, leading a mare to pasture.

“Good evening!” she called back, not remembering his name.

The stallion barn stood in front of her. The vet’s van was parked nearby and a woman was getting out of it. Her hair was light brown and clipped short on one side while it was longer on the other. Odd, but it must keep her hair clean when working with animals.

“Hello. I assume you are the one I contacted about the stallion’s odd gene throwing?” the geneticist called, walking closer.

“Oh! Yes, that would be me! My name is Charlotte Taylor, but everyone calls me CT,” the vet introduced, offering a hand.

“Delilah Ware, but most call me Della,” the geneticist replied, shaking CT’s hand.

“Well, seems to be that your stallion is not performing…well…properly?” CT asked awkwardly, following the other woman into the stables.

“Throwing tons of chrome with any mare and he has none,” Della replied, stopping in front of a jet-black stallion who regally shook his head.

“And chrome is?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Della was almost reconsidering her choices for her vet.

“White. Blazes, socks, stockings, cornets,” she listed, trying to remain calm.

“Oh! We call it blank spots back at the clinic. Well, the more you know…” the vet replied, pulling out the chart that was hanging on the wall.

“Of course. See, I personally don’t think its a problem, but they’re saying it’s really hard to register a foal that has three socks, two of which are questionable, and a face that’s pretty hard to decide what it is,” Della replied, letting herself breathe again.

“What mares are you breeding him to?”

“Whatever they pay me for…”

“Uh…”

“Kidding. Mostly solid mares with no history of chrome in them just to get him throwing something solid.”

“Did you get info on this uh, Belgian, is it? The mare way back where is says she’s foreign and I assume that’s Belgium?”

“What mare?”

Looking over the papers, Della spotted a horse’s name written in red ink, declaring it hadn’t passed the chrome test. She’d been so busy booking other stallions and receiving complaints, she hadn’t checked the testing on the mare. Groaning, she leaned on the wall.

“No! I forgot I sent her in for testing! Great there’s my one mistake! Declaring he’s a solid thrower and then I get chrome, chrome and more chrome!” she muttered loudly to herself.

“Hey, don’t sweat it! You’ve matched him up extremely well in the other categories. Most of his kids should be great runners for the sprints,” CT assured, trying to cheer up the geneticist. 

“I’ve got one job and I screwed it up,” she laughed sarcastically.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I successfully gave a chameleon a c-section even though I never learned how!”

Della’s eyes widened as she snapped her gaze to the vet who looked very embarrassed.

“Uh, I mean, I skimmed a book?” CT backpedaled.

“I’m not questioning it. I was just surprised,” Della replied, rubbing her head.

“Well, my friend is an ER nurse and then my other friend is my assistant so technically it was like three of us, but still,” the vet explained, scratching the stallion’s face.

“Sounds like fun.”

“You have any friends around here besides horses?”

“Nope. Most people don’t want to be friends with a horse love doctor,” the longer-haired brunette laughed.

“Nonsense! I’m friends with plenty of people weirder than you,” the vet assured, rolling her eyes.

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Two of them are twins. One is a pediatric nurse who has a pet bunny and the other is an ER nurse who has a snake.”

“I stand corrected. That’s odd.”

“You should come meet up with us for dinner sometime. They’re pretty cool and I’m sure you guys would get along.”

“Maybe. That’s all depending on the work I get done.”

“I will personally call those idiotic barn managers that can’t do genetics themselves to get them to leave you alone.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll see. Thanks for coming out to see him,” Della agreed, looking at the ex-racehorse.

“No problem. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll be coming out to check on old Wobbles soon. One of your breeding boys said he’s getting…weird…again,” CT replied, starting out toward the door.

“Wobbles?”

“The grey stallion that can’t….well….you know,” CT implied, blushing heavily.

“That’s not my department!” Della squeaked, cheeks flushing pink. “Just…come deal with it whenever. Don’t screw with his genetics and I don’t care!”

“Alright! Catch you later!”

“Bye!”

Looking around the barn, she sighed. Many stallions stuck their heads out. She knew their names and could rattle off their genetics from memory. But was that really all she was good for? Putting horses together for money? It seemed to be so considering she had little to no friends in the town and she’d been there for around three months. 

“You guys need to start being consistent with your children!” she declared, smiling at all the stallions.

Maybe she need to go to dinner with CT and the twin nurses sooner than she thought.

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(Disclaimer: I do not own the Red Vs Blue characters, they belong to the lovely people at RoosterTeeth :))