Brett was observing Daisy Mae, a chestnut mare who was heavy with foal. Terry, the senior barn manager, had taken Brett under his wing and had helped him settle in. “This’ll be you’re fifth foaling, I’ll be thinking,” Terry said in his soft Irish brogue the horses always seemed to respond favorably to.
“Yeah.” Brett looked from the horse to Terry, who took up a position leaning against the entrance to the stall. “Don’t think it’ll be long before Junior shows up.” Brett glanced at the side of the stall to check that the soft cloths, ropes, etc., were ready, just in case Daisy Mae needed human assistance giving birth.
“Hmm,” Terry said.
Brett looked back at him. “You don’t think so?”
Terry shrugged. “Be a bit yet, I think.”
“Bottle of Irish Whiskey says she’ll be through before the end
