Moo (8 page)

When Beat and Zep heard about Mrs. Falala's refusal to move Zora to Birchmere Farm, Zep offered to bring one of his own heifers to Mrs. Falala's.

To keep Zora company,
Zep said,
to be an example
for Zora.

Beat chimed in,
Oh, yes! You should send Yolanda,
definitely Yolanda.

Yolanda was smaller than Zora, quiet and sweet. She didn't bump us or slobber on us or whack her tail at us.

We were excited to tell Mrs. Falala about this offer, so excited that we didn't wait until the next morning. We found Mrs. Falala walking up her drive, trailed by China, the golden fat cat. We told her the news—that Zep had offered to bring Yolanda over to keep Zora company.

Luke was clapping his hands to try to contain his excitement.

But Mrs. Falala was not excited. She carried on walking.
I am telling you that Zora already
has company and besides who would take care of
that extra animal? You think I want that extra
work? And who would pay for the grain?

Luke and I stopped. We turned our bikes around.

And then we heard a loud

                    
Mooooo

and then more

                    
Mooooo, mooooo, mooooooooo.

Luke said,
Zora is calling us, Reena. We can't just
leave without saying hello.

We left our bikes and walked up to the barn where we found Zora nudging her huge nose against a rail.

                    
Mooooo. Mooooo.

It was a friendly sound that day, and when we reached her, she leaned her head against my arm.

Luke patted her side.
There, there
, he whispered.
Don't be lonely, Zora. We are here.

Mrs. Falala came up behind us.
Okay, okay,
okay
, she said.
The friend cow can come but only
for a visit, only a week or two, and you have to take
care of it. Are you hearing me?

Yes, yes! We are hearing you!

We stayed longer and cleaned out the bay

and refilled the grain bin

and led Zora around the pasture

and hosed her off

and combed her hair

and told her about

the new cow friend

            
Yo
    
land
    
a

who would come the next day.

As we were leaving, Mrs. Falala

clicked her tongue and said,

Paulie will be jealous.

The pig?
Luke said.

Why would Paulie be jealous?

Because he'll want a friend, too,

Mrs. Falala said.

She turned her back on us

and swung that long braid

left and right

and disappeared into her house.

Zep and Beat and Mr. Birch from the farm brought Yolanda in the truck to Mrs. Falala's. Yolanda was all cleaned up for the occasion: her fur shiny and smooth, her hooves clean, and her head and neck boasting a new green bridle.

Zep led her to the outdoor pen where Zora was standing, munching on a bit of hay. Both Zora and Yolanda lifted their heads but did not make a sound.

Zora flicked her tail.

Yolanda flicked her tail.

We stood by the fence watching, me and Luke and Zep and Beat. I looked back toward the house and saw Mrs. Falala at the kitchen window, but she quickly ducked out of the way.

Zora seemed confused. Her head moved slowly, taking in

            
Yo
    
land
    
a

and all of us at the fence. She backed up.

I was so nervous. I feared Zora would kick Yolanda or bellow at her or butt her with her big head.

The two of them

stood there

and

stood there

and

stood there

and

stood there.

It was so frustrating

so nerve-wracking

the watching

and waiting.

A mud ball emerged

from around the back of the barn:

Paulie the pig

snorting and snuffling

covered with mud.

He squeezed under

the bottom rail of the fence

and into the pen

and straight over to Yolanda

snorting and snuffling

and sniffing

while

Yolanda stood perfectly still

and then China the cat

her back arched

her fur on end

zoomed into view

and under the rail

circling Yolanda

while

Yolanda stood perfectly still

and then

Crockett the parrot

flapped and squawked

up and over the fence

and onto Yolanda's back

while

Yolanda stood perfectly still.

And at last Zora moved.

She approached Yolanda.

She nudged Paulie and China away

and she batted her head at Crockett

sending the parrot flying off.

Zora sidled up to Yolanda

and the two stood there

side by side

making no sound.

They just

stood there

and

stood there

and

stood there.

For an hour each day, Zep joined us at Mrs. Falala's to work with Yolanda and to show me how to train Zora for two events at the upcoming fair. One event would judge the cows and one would judge the people showing the cows. I asked Zep if the judging was done in front of an audience.

Zep leaned his forehead close to mine. He said,
Well, you're not going to show Zora in a closet. You
afraid of an audience?

No, I am not. I just have no idea what to expect.

You don't think you can handle it?

I can handle it, Zep
. And even if I couldn't, I wasn't going to admit it to him.

You'll have to work really hard to get Zora ready
and to learn what to do—

—I can work hard—

—and I'll help you.

My mouth flopped open like a thirsty dog.

Zep smiled his slow, full smile and turned his head to one side.

I was embarrassed down to the tips of my boots. I wanted to be able to train Zora right
and show her well, and I needed his help.

We practiced out in the pasture, the heifers tethered to us by their halters.

Heads up
, Zep said,
you
and
Zora. Back straight.
Follow me. Watch.

Zora was not cooperative. I tugged. I pulled. Three steps forward. Stop. Tug. Pull. Five steps. She was being stubborn and ornery. Meanwhile, Zep and Yolanda moved on smoothly, walking a wide circle with no stopping and no tugging.

Luke and Mrs. Falala were sitting on the hay bales drawing. From time to time they glanced up at us and then back to their paper.

Zora moved forward and, mid-stride, dropped a
plop
of manure.

What if she does that in the show?

They
all
do it
, Zep said.
It's natural.

But everybody's walking round and round and
stepping
in it?

Nah, there'll be pickers there. They scoop it up.

Well, then: manure plops and pickers and scooping. It was natural, right?

The training was harder than I expected. Most days it was hot and dusty, and after coaxing Zora to let me halter her and lead her around, my arms and legs were weak with fatigue. Then I still had to tend to her food and water and clean out her pen. But the surprising thing to me was that I
liked
doing it. I liked the hard work. I liked seeing Zora respond a little more each day, and I liked feeling stronger.

Luke helped me with cleaning out the pen and brushing Zora, and I could tell that he liked it, too. He wanted to be in charge of cleaning out the buckets and hanging up the brushes and halters. He talked to Zora and Yolanda all the time, letting them know that they were good cows.
Not lumpy at all
, he told them.

Luke was less afraid of Mrs. Falala now, too. He wasn't flinching when she sat beside him on the hay bales, and she wasn't barking so many orders at us. Often, I saw her and Luke talking while they drew, side by side.

Little changes, day by day.

One day as Luke and I were halfway to Mrs. Falala's

the rain began

in straight torrents from the skies

drenching us

our shirts plastered to our skin

our hair flattened on our heads.

We raced to the barn

just as lightning

            
cracked

and

            
F L A S H E D

and thunder

            
booooooooomed

and

            
rumbled

overhead.

We cowered in the stall beside Zora and Yolanda

who were lying side by side in the sawdust.

It smelled of cows and rain and piney chips

and their fur was warm and soft

as we leaned against them.

And I thought I could stay all day

right there

cradled

by

cows.

Zep arrived one morning looking limp—

as if someone had let the air out of his body

no trace of a smile

sad, sad, droopy mouth

eyes swollen and red.

He went quickly to Yolanda and Zora

and rubbed his hand across their heads

and sides

and looked into their eyes

and touched their wet noses

and turned to us and said

that one of the cows at Birchmere

had died

in the night.

He found her lying on her side

in her stall

her head against the wall

her legs tucked daintily beneath her.

Died?
Luke said.

Died? How could a cow die?

Zep blinked

once
    
twice
    
three
    
times.

Well, this one, she caught something—

something respiratory probably.

We're not sure yet.

You mean like pneumonia?

A cow can get that?

Yes, something like that.

Both Luke and I patted Zora.

But Zora's okay, right?

And Yolanda, right?

Luke stared into Zora's big black eyes.

Cows shouldn't die.

Zep put his hand on Luke's shoulder.

Zep opened his mouth, closed it

opened it again.

The cows at the farm—

Zep said—

some we keep for breeding,

and some for showing, sure,

but you know where the rest go, right?

Luke and I shared one last moment of

mutual innocence.

No. Where?
Luke said.

Zep looked up at the barn rafters

and then down at the straw on the floor

and then he scratched behind one ear

and finally he said,

Hamburger.

How did we not know this?

What did we think that whole field of cows

at the farm was going to do?

Keep on happily munching grass

in the rolling green field

for all the days of their lives?

And Zora?

And Yolanda?

Were they going to become—

I

can't

say

it—

urkkkkkk

h a m b u r g e r ????

Noooooooooo.

At home that night, we had soup for dinner. Luke eyed his suspiciously.

What kind of soup is this?

My mother said,
chicken noodle, you know that.

Is there any hamburger in it?

Noooo
, my mother said.
Just chicken and noodles
and carrots and celery, like always.

Do you
want
hamburger in your chicken noodle
soup?

Luke clapped his hands to his cheeks.
No, no,
no. No more hamburger.

My father tapped Luke on the head.
What's up
with you tonight? What's with the sudden aversion
to hamburger?

The cows!
Luke said.
The poor, innocent cows!

Ahh. The cows
, Dad said.

I felt queasy.
Let's be vegetarians
, I said.

My parents considered this, nodding, studying the ceiling.

So, no more steaks?
my father said, wincing painfully.

Or pot roast?
my mother said.
Or chili? Or tacos?

In a very small voice, Luke said,
But I really
like tacos.

My mother halted her spoon on its route to her mouth.
Vegetarian? What about this soup then?

What about it?
asked Luke.

It's chicken noodle
. Chicken
noodle.

Luke's spoon clattered into his bowl.
From
chickens? You mean like
real
ones?

I pushed my bowl away. Luke did the same.

My dad said,
And then there's bacon. You love
bacon, Reena.

Uh-oh.

What's wrong with bacon?
Luke asked.

Dad said,
You know where bacon comes from.

Luke thought.

His face contorted.

The horror!

Pigs!
he said.

Paulie!

Poor, innocent Paulie!

My parents looked at each other.

Paulie?
they said.

Who's that?