Page 12 of Till The Cows Come Home
After confirming the tag was firmly attached, I let her return to the spot she’d made in the shavings, seemingly unscathed by my intervention. In the farming industry, we compared the discomfort to an ear piercing, but I was always relieved at how quickly they became unbothered after the process was complete.
Reparational chin scratches were always paid in times like these, and once my dues were settled, I left the farm’s newest member, bidding the ladies goodnight as I walked through the barn back to the house. Part of me considered staying outside, knowing as soon as I walked through my door I’d be obligated to tackle the paperwork that followed an addition to the herd, but I knew better. A disarray of documents had been taking over my dining room since I bought the place, so I had to fish through papers in an attempt to file Blossom’s birth somewhere amongst the mess. When I found a nearly blank sheet muddled within the chaos, I celebrated the small win.
I may be disorganized and a tad slow when it came torecord keeping, but registering each cow was still a priority to me. In my opinion, it was vital to have their lineage and information recorded someplace other than my pocket notepad, but with the amount of calves I had, it was easier, and more importantly cheaper, to send the registration paperwork in groups. The downside to this process was that in the meantime, I had to keep all the information straight, which was clearly not my strong suit.
As much as I’d like to pretend I had my shit together, more times than I’d like to admit I found myself staring at a calf asking myself, “Who’s your mother?” They’d look blankly back at me while I silently cursed, vowing to do it the right way next time, but when next time rolled around I just tossed the responsibility into the pot I kept continuously simmering on the back burner. This time, though, I scribbled Blossom’s name and date, along with the bare minimum information that would guarantee I’d have everything I needed when I eventually got around to filling out the entire form.
Dam: Buttercup
Sire: Cowabunga
It may seem like nothing, but if I knew who Blossom’s parents were, I could figure out the rest. I would still hate myself later for not taking the time to look up their actual registration numbers, but the adrenaline from the eventful birth and impulsive embrace had leached every ounce of energy from my body.
As I leaned over to remove my boots, I pictured Sage milking and planting crops, images cycling with each pull of my laces as my brain attempted to piece together what she was like when she was the one running the place. I imagine she was sorting out her own emotions after plunging head first into her past, because as she left the turmoil on her face was tangible. Instinct urged me to close the distance, welcoming herback into this life, but reason told me to stay put and mind my business.
The first time I surfaced into society after spending years improving the farm, she was there, a humbling martyr reminding me perfection had not yet been achieved. The wealth of knowledge Sage possessed was indispensable and whatever bits she was willing to pass on I’d graciously accept, but at this point I wasn’t even sure of her willingness to share or where we stood.
My hope was that everything would just fall into place because, in reality, no other option existed, and my looming exhaustion urged me to be momentarily content with that unknown. So instead of dwelling, I wandered through my home, shedding clothes throughout the trek, and as I crawled into bed, groans of relief escaped me as the mattress took the weight of the day, absorbing the thoughts racing through my head as I drifted to sleep.
I jolted upright from the sudden wails of my alarm, and as I looked around, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the panic slowly subsided.
I’d overslept, but luckily not by much.
I’d always been an early riser, scoffing at anyone who depended on their phone to start their day, but one night and a few too many drinks made me change my tune. Waking up late to the moans of cows overdue for milking was enough for me to implement a backup, and my alarm had been set everyday since. Hearing it blare meant that I’d slept way later than intended, and within seconds my feet were on the ground. My hands searched through the dark to find one of the many discarded T-shirts, and after a quick smell test, Ipulled on the winner, along with my jeans, foregoing my beloved caffeine as I slid on my flannel.
Boots. Where were my boots?
After scanning the kitchen twice, I saw the deflated leather peeking from under the dining room table, begging for a break, and I made a mental note to start saving for replacements, while willing my current pair to last me through the day. New calves were usually hearty, but given Blossom’s harsh entrance into the world, I’d intended to check in on her as soon as possible this morning. Now already an hour behind, I shoved the laces into the sides of my boots, not wasting the time to tie them, and within minutes of waking I was walking out the door.
As I rounded the corner to Blossom’s stall I was stopped dead in my tracks, disoriented as my brain processed a voice other than my own. I swore I heard the familiar cooing from last night that had showered Blossom in affection, and the longer I listened, the more confident I became that I was going absolutely nuts. I slapped my cheeks, rousing myself from whatever daydream I’d been caught in, before peeking around the corner. My brain tried to make sense of what it was seeing, hesitantly confirming that Sage had in fact snuck into the barn.
I rubbed the pain from my cheeks, not realizing the grin I wore as I listened to her chit chat with the calf as if they were the best of friends. Sage was going on about her weekend as she mixed up a bottle, while Blossom followed her around, waiting somewhat patiently for her breakfast. Even as Sage offered the bottle, the words didn’t stop, her voice a constant hum as she worked. I hesitated to interrupt, but I had to walk past to get to the parlor, so I cleared my throat, making my presence known as I stepped into sight. Sage jumped about a foot in the air, her face cycling from fear to relief that it was me, back to panic before immediately rambling.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. I know this is technically trespassing.”
“Not technically, it is, in all circumstances, definitely trespassing.”
“I mean…”
“How about instead of arguing over semantics this early in the morning, you just explain.”
“You’re spicier now that you don’t need my help,” she huffed. “I woke up early this morning and I couldn’t stop thinking about Blossom. I used to take care of the calves, and when we had bottle babies I would dream of the sweet smell of milk replacer. I couldn’t sleep, so I came here. I was going to leave a note so you knew she was taken care of, but I obviously didn’t think you’d be out here this early.”
My grin spread into a full on toothy smile as I took in the sight in front of me. Sage was staring at me out of breath, mortified, yet slightly ticked, while Blossom stood next to her, milk dripping from her chin, nudging her side for more. Sage looked down at Blossom and back at me, as if she was torn between running or just continuing on.
“Please, continue,” I said, waving my hands between the two of them, and Sage guided the bottle back to the eager calf without taking her eyes off me.
“You’re not going to murder me, are you?”
I chuckled. “You’re just thinking of that now?”
“I was thinking I couldn’t sleep and the cutest baby cow would erase my worries. I kinda threw the rest to the wayside.”
“Well, just for your scheduling purposes, this morning was late for me. If you want to avoid me, you’ll have to break in earlier,” I said, pivoting to walk towards the parlor, leaving her staring at my back with her beautiful blue eyes wide open.
About thirty minutes after I’d left her, Sage sauntered to the parlor where I’d begun milking, taking a seat on the edge of what I like to call the milking trench. The design allowed me to be eye level with cows’ udders, saving my back, but it also meant that I was now eye level with her.
“I’m gonna head out. Thanks for not calling the cops on me.”
