“Stop it.” Jeff pulled the quilt over his head. Buster clawed at his chest as if
digging for a bone. The wind played frantic tunes with the chimes and hurled rain
against the window, drumming a cadence, which had kept Jeff awake for hours.
“Hon,” his wife, Lois, moaned. “If he rips....” She planted her feet on his thigh with
curled toes, stabbing him with her nails. “Go on, the girls are calling you. And, be
sure to check Judy. She’s getting close.”
He reached down and slid his hand up Lois’s bristly shin, heading higher towards
a long shot.
She rolled over. “Go slide those rude hands up your heifers’ legs.”
Jeff tossed the blankets off. “Come on, boy. We’re not wanted here.” Buster
jumped down.
“Don’t you dare turn on the light.”
He dropped his hand from the switch. “I wasn’t.”
***
He held his cowboy hat as the cold rain ran down his sleeve. He took short
strides. Mud oozed from under his boots. The impatient moos grew louder.
Buster barked, announcing their coming.
Jeff entered the milking room, and the dog ran to the rear door, clawing it. Jeff
turned the lights on, which began to buzz. He grabbed Buster’s snout and gave it
a friendly shake. “You eager dog, you’re a better dairyman than me.” He slid the
bolt and walked the door open.
When the cows entered, their hooves clobbered on the concrete, and steam rose
from their wet hides. “Good morning, Sara, Jodie, Rebecca, Lori, and my delicate
little Ester. It’s another fine day. Easy, girls. No shoving. We have our order here.
You know that.”
Buster stood just inside the door, out of the rain, blocking the entry, barking at
the new milkers when they tried to nose in.
The pain from their distended utters frightened the young cows, Jeff thought, as
he tested the water temperature, spraying his cold hand that held the cleaning
brush, which he would use to dip in the germicidal solution and scrubs the cows’
udders and teats.
Lined in a row, they had stuck their heads in between the smooth, iron Vs of the
feeding trough, munching on hay. He washed each one, then began attaching
the milking machines.
“What’s the latest from the stock yard?” He paused. “Where’s my manners, you’
re trying to eat.” When he finished hooking up Ester, he said, “Sorry about the
rain. It came early this year. It’ll let up tomorrow, so I can get those storm walls up
on your overhang. Please accept my humble apologies.” He took a bow.
“What was that?” Jeff stood by Sara. He thought he’d heard a voice. He looked
towards the front door. Sometimes, Lois would bring coffee, but never in bad
weather. The lights hummed, rhythmic exhalations of compressed air, splattering
rain, howling wind.
Buster stared at him. He seemed puzzled. “What was it, boy? The wind? It has to
be the wind.” Sara lifted her head from the V of the feeding trough and gazed at
Jeff with her bulging right eye. She heard it too, Jeff wondered?
“Okay, everybody relax.” He mostly meant himself. “I’m sure it was the wind.”
Overhead, corrugated tin, rattled, and screeched. Jeff jumped and leaned
against Sara’s rump. “Now, that was just the roof.” Buster barked. Jeff’s heart
thumped in his chest. “Don’t do that!” The dog ran outside. Jeff looked at the
black portal, wishing he’d replaced the burned out floodlight, so he could see
outside.
“Go on,” a voice said.
Jeff fell to his knees. He held Sara’s leg. “Sara, was...was that you?” She shook
her leg, as if to shake him off.
“Go on.”
The same voice.
He stood, backing away from Sara. “I’m going crazy...or...or you spoke.”
Buster began barking, as if something was wrong.
The new milker darted inside, bawling, as if spooked.
Jeff grabbed a flashlight. The beam of light shook on the cows’ white faces. He
zipped his coat and held his hat. He followed the barks.
It was Judy. She was calving. “Oh, no.” A red stream was gushing from her
uterus. Jeff knew he couldn’t save her. “Judy, I’m so sorry. Don’t worry, I can save
your calf.” Jeff knelt and lifted Judy’s head. He took off his hat, placed it in the
mud, and gently laid her head to rest. “Hey, boy, go get Lois.”
Buster ran towards the house, barking.
“It’s a bull, Judy.”
The dying cow said, “Name him Jeff.”
Jeff
(2007) (Unpublished)
A Short Story by Russell Traughber
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