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.
WHAAAAT?
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.
SYMPATHY?
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?
AGITATION
The next day at Mrs. Falala’s
Luke and I were
a g i t a t e d
bombarding her with
Q Q Q Q Questions Q Q Q Q
about Zora.
What will happen to her?
Will she die?
Are you going to eat her?
Mrs. Falala smiled wickedly.
Yes, she said, I am going to
CHOP
her up and make a
ZILLION
HAMBURGERS . . .
but she stopped talking
when she saw Luke crying—
his fists against his eyeballs
his shoulders heaving
tears
running
down
his
She took Luke’s hand.
No, she whispered.
I am not going to chop up Zora
and eat her.
I am not going to turn her into
hamburger.
I was kidding.
Really.
Really.
Luke tapped his chin.
What about Paulie?
Are you going to eat Paulie?
Oh, Mrs. Falala said.
Well, now.
He would make such very good
BACON . . .
No, no, no, don’t cry!
I don’t mean it!
I’m not going to eat Paulie.
Promise?
Promise.
FACE THE FACTS
Once we were satisfied that Mrs. Falala was not going to eat Zora and that Zora would be saved for breeding more Belted Galloways, and once we understood that Paulie was a pet—a runt pig to whom Mrs. Falala had become attached—we calmed down.
And then Zep arrived and we started in on him: What will happen to Yolanda? Will she die? Will she become hamburger? What about the other cows at the farm?
In Zep’s slow-moving, slow-talking way, he explained that Yolanda, like Zora, would be used for breeding more Belted Galloways, but that the calves born without the white belt of fur around their middles would be sold for beef and most of the steers (the males) would as well.
People eat meat, Zep said. Face the facts. It’s a hard thing to adjust to, I realize. But I’m going to be a farmer and raise the best beef cows in Maine. I love cows, and I’m going to treat them good as long as I can.
Luke walked the length of the barn
and lay down on a hay bale
and stared up at the sky.
He didn’t say anything.
He just lay there
looking up at that sky.
And when I was done with chores
I joined him
and the two of us
lay still
looking up at that sky.
SHOW STICK
One day Mrs. Falala handed me
a
long
thin
lightweight
metal
rod
with
a
short
L-shaped
molded
hook
atoneend.
Eez show stick, she said. You need for fair. Watch.
Usually it was Zep who worked with me and Zora, teaching me how to lead her in the ring, my back straight, eyes on the judge, attentive and calm, gently keeping Zora by my side, one hand firmly gripping the halter.
But on that day, Mrs. Falala held up the show stick and said, Watch.
She stood in front of Zora and with the hook end of the pole, she gently stroked Zora’s chest and on up her neck, rhythmically and slowly, up and down, down and up.
You see how calm eez Zora?
Zora stood perfectly still, lazily blinking, calm, calm. Mrs. Falala moved to Zora’s side and with the show stick, she tapped one of Zora’s hind legs, urging it back a few inches. She reached behind the other leg and coaxed it forward slightly.
See? Good stance. All gentle. See?
Mrs. Falala ran the show stick beneath Zora’s belly, back and forth, forth and back, softly, gently.
See? Calm.
When Zep arrived, Mrs. Falala handed me the show stick and said, Practice. She headed for the barn, her long braid swinging, and there was Zora
her tail swishing
left to right
right to left
the braid
and
the tail
swish
swish
swish
swish.
BEAUTY DAY
Animals needed primping for the fair:
shampoos
clipping
pedicures (hoof-i-cures?)
I am not kidding!
Zep declared Beauty Day for Zora and Yolanda.
We lathered
we scrubbed
we rinsed
we dried them with a blow-dryer.
I am not kidding!
We clipped
we combed
we brushed.
We cleaned and polished hooves.
You’ll have to do it all again at the fair,
Zep said.
This is just round one: preparation.
It made us laugh.
Beauty Day for the heifers!
They looked SO good when we were done!
And then Zora tromped through
a mud puddle
and lay down
and said
Moo.
TO THE FAIR
Zep led Yolanda up the ramp and into the van and returned for Zora, who balked.
Talk to her, Zep said to me. Tell her it’s okay.
Leaning in close, I stroked her head and whispered, Zora, girl, we are going to the fair. All of us. I’ll be there with you.
Moooooo.
I took the halter from Zep and tugged at it, and eventually, after a little more snorting and stomping and swinging her head, Zora followed me up the ramp and settled in beside Yolanda.
My parents looked at me as if I’d just done a triple flip in the air.
Zep and Mr. Birch locked up the ramp and we returned to our own car, ready to follow them up to the fair, about an hour away.
Wait! I said. Where is Mrs. Falala? I realized we hadn’t seen her yet that morning. Isn’t she coming?
We all turned toward the house. No lights on, all dark, all quiet.
She’s probably still sleeping, Dad said, like most people at this hour. Let her sleep.
As our car turned to follow the van pulling out of the drive, I noticed that the attic window was open, but I heard no music, no flute.
On the way to the fair, Luke said, Did anyone actually ask Mrs. Falala if she wanted to go to the fair?
I hadn’t even thought about it. I just assumed she was going, I said.
Wouldn’t she want to see Zora in the ring? Luke asked.
I guess not.
FAIRGROUNDS
Rows of cattle vans
people swarming, old and young
cotton candy! fried dough! fudge!
hot dogs! tacos! doughnuts!
beef cattle and dairy cows
sheep and chickens
pigs and rabbits
moos and baas
oinks and neighs
flowers and crafts
show rings and bleachers
games and rides
Ferris Wheel! Bumper Cars!
Such a world of its own
this fairsweet fairswarm
haven.
MORE PRIMPING
Rows of cows being groomed:
sudsing, fluffing, drying,
combing, spraying, polishing.
A loudspeaker crackled:
Thirty minutes, Group One!
Along the rows the older teens
quickened their pace.
Zep and Beat tucked in their shirts
wiped off their boots
slipped cow combs in their back pockets
grabbed their show sticks
did a final once-over of their heifers
Yolanda and YoYo
and off they marched into the ring.
Instead of sitting in the bleachers, we stood by the arena rail with Mr. Birch, who explained what was happening. This part was for showmanship: the judges were studying both the animals and their handlers, but final judging in this round centered on the handlers. How well were they showing their animals?
The teens led their animals clockwise around the ring, and then reversed. The judge lined them up, parallel to each other, and walked back and forth, pausing to study the setup of this or that animal, and pausing to question the handlers.
We overheard some of the questions: How much does she weigh? When was she born?
I panicked. What if I were asked these questions about Zora? I didn’t know the answers. Sensing my agitation, Mr. Birch reminded me that Zora was a fall heifer and now weighed about eight hundred pounds.
The judge moved over to Beat, who stood tall and confident by her heifer, YoYo, and then along the line and finally to Zep and Yolanda.
I had been watching Zep closely, the way he used the show stick to calm Yolanda, the way he adjusted Yolanda’s stance, moving one foot slightly back, the other slightly forward, all while keeping his attention on the judge. He was so at ease and so gentle with Yolanda, and so at ease with the judge, who, after asking Zep several questions, nodded appreciatively before moving on.
The judge walked up and down the line one more time, studying, until at last he called out the first and second place showmanship winners. We didn’t know them.
Third place showmanship went to
oh yes
it did
it went
to
that redheaded boy
with the long legs:
Zep.
He nodded at the judge.
He nodded at me.
SHOWTIME!
Oh, that Zora!
She let me halter her
and lead her to the ring
so perfectly obedient
and calm.
She stood there with me
as we waited in line
with eleven other novices
and their heifers or steers.
She let me stroke her neck
with the show stick
and she let me comb
the hair along her back.
When our group was announced
the entrants in front of us
moved forward.
Okay, okay, I can do this.
Just walk, I told myself.
Stand straight.
Smile.
I was excited.
I loved everything about it:
the ring, the sawdust,
the cows, the handlers,
the men and women and kids
on the bleachers and along the fence.
I was looking for Zep.
I wanted him to see how well I was doing.
I wanted him to see how I held the show stick
and how straight my back was
and how calm I was and
how loosely I could hold the halter.
We were near the entry gate.
Zora looked into the ring
and snorted
and then she
BOLTED.
CATCH THAT HEIFER
Zora had yanked the halter from my
carelessly loose grip
and took off
kicking and bucking
Moooooo
Moooooo
I chased her as she ran past the stalls
knocking over buckets
and brooms and rakes
Moooooo
Moooooo
People dodged out of her way
calling
Cow on the loose!
Cow on the loose!
Beat and Zep and Mr. Birch
joined in the chase
Cow on the loose!
Cow on the loose!
Moooooo
Moooooo
Who knew a cow could run so fast?
I turned back once to look at the ring:
the novices and the judge
&
nbsp; and my parents and Luke
all stood there
staring
at
the
cow on the loose
and the chaos erupting
around and behind
that
wild-eyed
heifer:
Zora.
SHOWMANSHIP
Zora raced down the chicken aisle
and careened past the rabbit cages,
nearly landing amid a pen of squealing piglets.
People leaped out of the way.
Zep and I finally caught her
and led her back to the stalls
where she snatched a clomp of hay
and chewed defiantly
and slurped water from the hose
as if nothing whatever was wrong.
The novice showmanship competition
was
over.
We had missed it.
BREED
Next up was the breed round.
What do you think? Zep asked me.
Willing to try Zora again for the breed event?
My parents and Luke joined us.
Luke moved up close to Zora
and placed his small hand on her wide neck.
Zora, you be good. You know how.
Mom and Dad looked surprised.
We had no idea you could do all this, Reena.
I had a quick glimpse of me in my room
in our old apartment back in the city
an inside girl
and now here I was
an outside girl
a
cow
girl.
When the Belted Galloway breed was called
I led Zora back to the ring
and we entered
like civilized partners
and circled the ring
without too much contrariness
and she let me calm her with the show stick
and she did not drop any plops of anything
and she did not kick anyone or anything.
As the judge moved along the row asking questions
I kept stroking Zora with the show stick
praying that she would stay calm
praying that she would not bolt.
When the judge reached us, he said,
You’re new at this?
Yes.
Are you nervous?
Yes.
Well, you don’t show it. That’s good.
And you did a fine job regaining control
of your animal earlier. I saw that.
What’s her name?
Zora.
And when was she born?
Fall of last year.
And how much does she weigh?
Eight hundred pounds.
And who were her parents?