Page 10 of Till The Cows Come Home
“No one makes old Bethy do anything, but he asked me to drop it off, yes.”
I let out a dramatic groan, but Beth just chuckled at my frustration.
“It’s not funny! I don’t understand why a man I just met is giving me such a hard time. The absolute fury I felt when I saw him parading in front my parents' spot at the market was unbearable but,” I paused, my voice softening alongside my demeanor, “he’s making it a little hard to hold on toallthe anger when he reads the damn cow books and tries to get me fresh bread.”
“I think the only one making this hard is you, Sage,” she responded, and when I opened my mouth to protest, she just gave me that motherly look that said, “Don’t even think about it.”
So, I didn’t.
“You’re right, though, I can’t stay. Ihave a ton of stuff in the truck to unload, so unfortunately I have to skedaddle. But I’ll call you in a few hours to check in, and you better be in much better condition than you are right now.”
“Okay.” I sighed, preparing myself for the incoming loneliness before she’d even had a chance to leave.
“And Sage,” she paused, looking at me over her shoulder, “I know it feels safe here away from everything that hurts, but the only reason you feel that pain is because you’ve allowed yourself to love something so fiercely. Imagine the freedom you’d feel if you allowed yourself to love like that again.”
I had no words.
The sudden loud ringing in my pocket broke the silence, and I squeezed Beth’s hand, mouthing “Thank you,” as I picked up the phone, waving as she left.
“Hello?” I answered.
The number was unknown, and I expected to be greeted by the usual automated response, warning me about an expiring warranty, but my heart dropped when instead I heard the deep voice I’d come to recognize grumble through the receiver.
“Sage, it’s Miles. Please don’t hang up. I need your help.”
The urgency in his voice told me to put whatever conflicting feelings I had aside, and my own anxiety spiked as my brain imagined every horrible scenario that would warrant this call.
“What happened?” I asked, my tone laced with a worry that I didn’t even bother trying to hide. My feelings regarding him didn’t cloud my unwavering loyalty to the animals he cared for, and as he began to explain, I involuntarily gravitated towards my door.
“Buttercup has been laboring for over an hour, and every time I try to grab the calf, she butts me away. I need an extra hand to keep her steady and calm her down so I can free the baby. I called everyone I know, but they’re not answering.”
“I’m on my way,” I responded, allowing a temporary ceasefire in whatever feud we’d entangled ourselves in for the sake of the farm. “In the barn supply room, there should be stomach pumps. Grab one of those and a bucket full of warm water. I’m going to leave you on speaker while I drive.”
“Thank you, Sage.” He sighed, and the exhausted relief in his voice muddled my already confused feelings.
His emotions were raw, conveying the care he so clearly possessed for the herd, and I grew nervous at the thought that his dedication may rival my own. I threw on jeans and grabbed my keys off the counter, making my way to my car. The farm was only a ten minute drive down the road, but it felt like an eternity as I navigated the windy roads I’d purposefully avoided all this time.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, you can do it. You’ve done it before. Show me what a good mom you are.”
Oh god. Listening to this man sweet talk a cow through birth may single-handedly be what it’d take to dissolve the hatred I had for him.
“Sage?” he asked.
“Pulling in.”
I slammed my car into park before taking off towards the barn, the faint beep of the door I left ajar echoing behind me. The sound of distress guided me to Miles, who was elbow deep, trying again to grasp the feet of the calf. When I turned the corner of the stall, he looked up, his panicked eyes locking with my own.
“I’m going to tie her closer to the post so she doesn’t thrash around,” I called to him as I approached the cow’s head, rubbing her gently so she knew I was there. Once she was secured, I moved to stand with Miles.
“Now, while you keep your hand steady, I’m going to take this hose and slide it along your arm to pump water around the calf. It should help dislodge it, or at the very least, allow itto slide around a little. While I’m doing that, you keep reaching to grab its legs.”
“Got it,” he said, and we began working in tandem as if we’d been farming together our entire lives. “I can almost reach it. Can you give me a few more quick pumps?”
I obeyed, and as more water surrounded the calf, it slid slightly forward, allowing Miles to grab hold.
“Alright, sweetheart, we're not out of the woods yet. Give me a couple of pushes.”
As if Buttercup could feel the relief of Miles’ steady pull, she heaved, pushing the calf free, and Miles was there, guiding it carefully to the ground. I dropped to my knees to check for breathing, and Miles hovered anxiously above me as I used the bottom of my shirt to clear off the calf's nose. After a few eternally long seconds, it shook its head, taking a big breath, which was my signal to move out of the way, allowing momma to step in and do her job. But before I had a chance to stand, my feet suddenly left the ground, and I couldn’t help the involuntary squeal as I became airborne.
