Contagious

“My name is Flea.”

“Why did they send a detective? Have I broken the law?” Jerry asked.

I smiled. “You’ve broken your contract.”

Jerry gazed at me wearily. “Charge me or lock me away. But I’m not acting as a stunt horse ever again.”

I looked around at the empty stalls. “They think you’re contagious,” I said with a grin.

Jerry gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not sick,” he replied. “And I’m tired of everyone poking and prodding me to get back to work.”

With a wink at the horses at the other end of the barn, I continued, “Still, they don’t want them to catch the “non-acting” bug.

Jerry moved to the back of his stall and resumed his motionless stance. His handsome brown eyes stared down at the ground. My senses told me that Jerry was not obstinate by nature. There was another story going on with him. A different approach was needed.

I made my way into the empty stall next to him. After rummaging the shavings with my hoof until they formed a comfortable bed, I laid down quietly.

The sound of hiccups filled the air and Raffi approached at a jog. “Sorry Detective,” he hiccupped. “I’m all better now.”

“Good,” I said sleepily. “Go to the shed and get my blanket.”

Raffi peered over the stable door. “Why are you napping?”

“I’m not working as a detective, anymore,” I told him.

Raffi’s mouth hung open in astonishment until a hiccup seized him.

“There’s something contagious around here,” I said.

There was a shuffle of movement and Jerry’s eyes appeared above the iron railing.