One Wasted Life and One Not

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Rarely do I go to the farm by myself. I wouldn’t want to go by myself all the time. But the few times that I do, if I’m not in too much of a hurry, under the dome of whatever sky that happens to be presenting itself, I learn something.

It was already hot last Tuesday when I left to get there early, thinking all the hour drive, how miserable the heat and drought was making my animals.

Pulling into the gate, the grass unbelievably dry, it crinkled and blew in a wind that only served to push the heat around, a stark reminder that it’s been weeks since it rained. I parked the car and saw the girls headed up from the lake.

They had to be hungry.

I counted. Six big black bodies, udders swaying under them, their babies galloping around them and one big, manly bull. 9 wasn’t with them. I looked back toward the southern part of the lake and she was down, on the other side. Despite it being early she was in the full sun and it was hot, her black hide soaking up and holding heat. She was looking at me, or at least towards me.

The pit of my stomach turned.

I paid attend to the her