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by
J. K. Holmes
January 16, 2006
Published in Oracle -- Vol. V, Iss. 1, Spring 2007
I heard the rumble of the blue Dodge Ram long before I saw it. Mary was coming to take me home and I wasn’t ready to leave yet. Daisy, the one I had come to court, stood on the opposite side of the fence staring at me with her big brown eyes. She casually tossed her head to one side and the warm afternoon sunlight turned her short brown hair to copper. My breath caught in my throat. The love song I had been singing to her ended in a strangled gargle.
“Red!” Mary’s voiced was pitched high to carry across the field as she tapped a bucket held in one hand with a stick. The distinctive sound of dried corn rattling against metal drifted through the openness, echoing off the barn and then the house across the road.
I glanced at her, saw her mouth moving, and knew she was saying something that I couldn’t hear. I shook my head, trying to discourage a stinging fly from landing near my eye. Turning my attention back to Daisy, I took a step toward the fence. I ignored the buzzing of the fly and Mary’s shrill voice as I took another step.
Pain shot through my legs as they made contact with the newly installed electric fencing. I bellowed and pulled back. Daisy jumped, startled by my outburst, and trotted away. I stamped the ground, alternately cursing the fence and pleading with Daisy to come back, but she only glanced over her shoulder and kept walking away.
“Red, you dumb shit.” Mary’s strained voice drew my attention. She was striding across the field, back straight as a board, jaw set, and still holding the bucket of corn and stick. Her pace slowed as she came closer until she finally stopped a few feet away. Holding the bucket out in front of her, she spoke softly as she inched forward.
A breeze rustled the treetops across the road and drifted toward us. Dust from the red clay and gravel road mingled with the smell of new growth and corn. My nose twitched when Mary shook the bucket, adding more of the corn’s heady scent to the wind. I looked after Daisy, who raised her head briefly with a clump of dandelions hanging from her perfect mouth, and sighed.
“Red, she’s not worth it,” Mary said soothingly.
I looked down at her and snorted. It was easy for her to say. How could a human possibly understand a young bull losing his first love? I nudged Mary’s arm with my head and she held the bucket up for me. I took the offering of corn, savoring its texture and aroma as I consoled myself.
Mary dropped the stick at her feet and patted my neck. “Come on, big fella, let’s go home,” she whispered. She pulled the bucket away and started walking backwards, shaking it occasionally, as she led me toward her truck.
I waited as she got in and started the engine. Her hand and the bucket appeared out the open window as she pulled out into the road. With a final glance over my shoulder at Daisy, I silently trudged home behind Mary.
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