Not one to go flingin’ suspicions like a drunkard tossin’ cards at a saloon cat, but when a fellow turns up deceased on the shores of Lake Mead—with no boat, no gear, and no reason for being anywhere near the water—it tends to raise a few eyebrows in any town worth its salt and pepper. And if, by some twist of fate or flat-out foul play, it turns out he’d been introduced rather forcefully to the back end of a mule—or any blunt object equally democratic in its wallop—it might not surprise anybody who’s been watchin’ the papers lately.
Dr. Shawn Frehner, known by trade as a veterinarian and by reputation as something of a controversial horse-whisperer with a boot, was found dead near the Boulder Islands on the 18th of April, his lifeless body lodging in the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. Identified through dental records–which is a mighty formal way of sayin’ he was in no condition for a family viewing–Frehner had been missing nearly two weeks after vanishing under circumstances that, if not downright sinister, were at the very least odd as a five-legged calf.
The good doctor’s wallet, keys, and telephone—still warm from public scandal—got found abandoned in his truck near Hemmenway Harbor, a place he had no known business with, unless he intended to drown his sorrows or his reputation, both of which were teeterin’ after a viral video showed him kickin’ a horse in the face.
The townfolk of Pahrump remain divided. Some cry cruelty. Others claimed a misunderstanding—an animal doctor under duress, perhaps misjudged in the white-hot glare of internet lightning.
The authorities in Nye County opened an investigation. Meanwhile, the Nevada State Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners had already had their dance with Dr. Frehner back in 2016, when he got a year’s suspension for scribblin’ patient notes on the back of napkins and handin’ out prescription drugs like they were after-dinner mints.
And here we are, with a man gone to meet his maker in a manner that invites more questions than a poker player with one eye on the deck. The Park Service, bless their tight-lipped souls, ain’t sayin’ much yet. And the coroner has yet to declare whether Frehner’s fate came by misadventure, malice, or the sort of grim accident that keeps poets and insurance agents up at night.
But I’ll say this–if it turns out this poor soul got walloped by a hoof, a boot, a rock, or a heavy conscience—it would be the kind of irony that would make Shakespeare rise from his grave to spit. Until the dust settles, it’s best to keep one eye on the news and the other on the stables.
After all, horses remember. And so do people.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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