In September 2018, after the conclusion of our haying escapades, I received an unexpected call from Dr. Barry inquiring if I was available to be an assistant for the day. I was quite keen to tag along since my task involved spending the day the Tunbridge World’s Fair. From Thursday through Sunday on the third weekend in September, local farmers finally pause from a busy summer and celebrate the bounties of their harvest and show off their finest animals. In addition, there are carnival rides, funnel cake and bloomin’ onions, a tractor pull, pig races and the infamous beer tent. Our day would be spent watching the pony pull event with Dr. Barry stepping in at the very end to take blood samples from the top three winners to confirm none were being doped with steroids by their owners or handlers. Competitiveness breeds cheating in every arena, I suppose. “If we don’t test, somebody will,” noted Dr. Barry, unquestionably a seasoned large animal veterinarian who has seen it all.

Unbeknownst to me, a pony pull goes on and on for several hours. From our deluxe vantage point (parked on folding chairs tucked behind the announcer and his assistant who read off the names of the competitors), I deduced that pairs of ponies are harnessed together with their trace (or tug) straps connected to a chain that is clipped onto the weighted sled. Once contact with the sled is made by the handlers, there’s lots of shouting and slapping of baseball caps on their legs encouraging the ponies to dig in and move the sled a modest distance along the dusty fairway. It quickly becomes apparent when the ponies can budge the weighted sled no further, and the handlers command them to back down so the chain connection can be unhooked. The pulling distance is measured, and then next pair comes up for their turn. Ultimately, one or more teams are eliminated, more weight is added to the sled, and the process starts all over again.

By mid-afternoon the final round concluded, and we had our first, second and third place winners. Ribbons were distributed, and Dr. Barry was summoned to validate the legitimacy of the winners. Carrying the blood draw supply case, befitting for the job of assistant, Dr. Barry and I emerged from our VIP seating. I presented him with the appropriate syringes, previously labeled over the course of hours watching the event. The ponies, now disconnected from their harnesses, were slick with sweat and ramped up from exertion and adrenaline. Nonetheless, Dr. Barry calmly set about his task, found the robust veins, jammed in the needles, and filled his vials. Our job was done for the day… so I thought.

At the conclusion of the Pony Pull event and subsequent blood draw task, Dr. Barry and I made our way back to his vet mobile to get our blood samples safely stored in the prepared cooler. Only moments later, a call came through on his cell phone. A vet was needed immediately at the show ring to tend to an injured horse. Of course, I was game to tag along!

Over the course of the four days of the Tunbridge Fair, the show ring is relegated to everything horsey. There are classes for both English saddle riders and Western saddle riders. There’s a beginner lead line class where adorable toddlers, all dolled up in their equally adorable mini-sized riding clothes, sit proudly on their mounts with mom or dad or some other enthusiastic older person holding onto a lead rope attached to the bridle. On the other end, there’s an “Old Fogies Pleasure Class” where riders are required to be over 40 and under 100. While there is quite a variety of showmanship opportunities, most horseshow classes at the Fair fall into low-risk category. Walk, trot, canter (or lope) around the ring and not much beyond that. Consequently, Dr. Barry and I were not expecting to happen upon such a grizzly situation. Standing before us was a horse, wearing only a halter, with a massive crescent moon shaped gash running from the center of its ears almost to the center of its eyes. Attached to the halter was a lead rope and attached to the lead rope was the hand of a trembling teenaged girl. The horse’s owner (the traumatized girl before us) had just participated in an “in hand” class where handlers lead their horses around the ring for the judges to determine the best representation of animal confirmation. In the middle of this, something spooked this girl’s horse, and it reared up – just as it sounds, back legs on the ground and front legs reaching for the sky. This is indeed quite scary for the handler still holding onto the rope! Fortunately, when the horse’s front legs came back down, they didn’t land on the girl. However, neither did they land squarely back on the ground. Somehow the imbalance of this action caused the horse to fall over onto its side with its head sliding underneath the bottom rail of the ring surround. When the horse flailed and ultimately regained some bit of the ground from which it was able to right itself, the head of the panic-stricken steed made noteworthy contact with the bottom rail.

Dr. Barry, in classic Dr. Barry form, was unfazed. Another day on the job. Unfortunately, I think he was expecting me to be a bit more useful. Having driven his vet mobile from the parking area for the Memorial Arena Pony Pull venue to the horse events venue, we had easy access to his supplies. However, when he dispatched his assistant to go retrieve syringe blabiddy blah, and some number of cc’s of dibbly doo, he soon realized I was useless. Nonetheless, he was in good hands. One of the women in the growing assemblage around this grim scene happened to be an RN, who also happened to have in her personal first aid kit the one critical, but missing component to Dr. Barry’s back seat supplies – an Rx staple gun to patch this head wound back together again. You never know what people carry around with them!

Step one was to sedate the very jittery horse, so Dr. Barry injected an extra-large dose of sedative into the vein bulging from its neck. As it turns out, sedated horses don’t automatically drop to the ground and fall sound asleep. Rather, they just stand with their head hung low in a state of suspended animation, a very helpful position for the next phase of the operation. Even though the horse was sufficiently medically mellowed, somebody handed Dr. Barry a rub rag (old towel) to drape over the horse’s eyes so it wouldn’t be able to see what was coming next. First, the multiple injections of Lidocaine to numb the forehead, then the staple gun. Dr. Barry’s new RN friend assisted with forceps while Dr. Barry carefully connected the two scalp flaps with 28 medical grade staples. I was relegated to official photographer, so Dr. Barry would have some new material to upload to his website. Lucky for my readers, I still have the photos to share with you.

*Dr. Barry with his very capable assistant (not me!).*

Once the on-site surgical procedure was complete (all in it took about 20 minutes), the horse, still sedated, stumbled onto a trailer to return home. Explicit post-op instructions were passed on to the young girl, now slightly less disquieted from the experience, riding along in the cab of the truck. My volunteer veterinary assistance was concluded for the day, so I indulged in a few more hours meandering around the fairgrounds, feeling energized by this day that was unquestionably like no other.

Adventures with Dr. Barry - Part 2

Making Hay - part 2