Audrey (cow) Read online

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  So, no, that didn’t work out. And that’s when I decided we should try the sheep instead. They discussed it all evening, and then they slept on it, and then they woke up and discussed it some more. And then they agreed to do it. And then they didn’t. But then they absolutely agreed, and then they discussed how they would do it, which took another couple of hours, and jeepers creepers, I think I would rather bite off my own tail than go through that again! We were down to less than a day, but in the end, the sheep settled on a distraction that involved a move rarely done. Gosh, they wouldn’t even tell me what it was. So …

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  It was done. Eddie had managed to organize all the elements of Buster’s plan. Now we just had to wait until noon of the next day to put it all in motion. The quiet before the storm, as they say. Mother’s spirit seemed to hover beside me, guiding my heart to a slow, steady rhythm and my mind to an inner peace.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  I could finally catch my breath. And that’s when it really hit me that no matter whether the plan worked and Audrey escaped, or the plan failed and Audrey … didn’t escape, the one thing that would be the same either way was that I’d never see her again. Just understanding that made me hurt so much inside. I couldn’t imagine a day when I wouldn’t see Audrey or catch a scent of her on the wind. That last night, I went over to the barn and we lay together for a while. Heck, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t whimper. I was losing her. Even if it was for the best, it didn’t make the hurt any less painful.

  When I headed over to Farmer’s house, Dad was waiting for me. “You’re breaking all the rules,” he said. “Everyone has their place; everyone plays their part. What you’re doing is going against the natural order.” I looked over at Dad, but I didn’t say anything.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Gossip spreads through Bittersweet Farm like brush fire. It’s a small community. I suppose that within a few hours, everyone other than Farmer family knew that something was up. In the cowshed, it was quiet that evening. Eddie came and stayed a while. We didn’t speak. I just gave him some licks around the ears; that’s what calms him when he’s upset. In my heart, I was sending him all my good wishes, trying not to dwell on our separation.

  After he left, I made the rounds of all the ladies. I said good-bye to each of them and wished them nothing but happiness in their lives. I meant it. They were my family, after all. Greta started wailing with big, inconsolable sobs. Agnes became confused and asked if she could just stick to saying good night like she usually did at bedtime. Norma couldn’t look me in the eye, but I did hear a quiet “good-bye, child” just as she turned away.

  The hardest was saying farewell to Madge. I think for her it brought up memories of her son, Lon. “Mother always felt closest to you,” I told her. “She said you were like a walnut fresh off the tree.” That got Madge’s attention. “Why would she say something like that, Audrey?” she asked. I explained, “Mother said you were hard on the outside, but inside, you were soft and sweet.” Madge’s eyes got all watery and she came close. “I so want to help you, child, but I can’t. I couldn’t help my boy either.” I was touched that in that moment Madge put me on the same level as her son and that maybe she saw me as a daughter. “It’s okay,” I said. “Just wish me luck.”

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Nothing new beneath the sun

  You’ve seen it all or so you say

  But then a special moment comes

  That blithely takes your breath away

  Hmm? The inspiration for that poem? I think Norma is the one you probably should ask.

  NORMA

  (cow)

  Oh, for heaven’s sake! Must we talk about it? I’d rather not. I did what I did, and if I knew I’d be scrutinized about it later, I’d quite certainly not have done it … well, maybe not.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  How is it that horrible things happen on beautiful, sunny days? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate, if you’re going to be miserable or frightened, that it be on a terrible day: a gloomy, gray, wet and cold day? That would then allow the good days to remain untainted, so they can be enjoyed to their full potential.

  The day of my escape was probably one of the nicest days that we’d had on Bittersweet Farm that year. The sky was completely clear but for one single cloud, and the breeze being so weak, the cloud stayed in place as if it were pinned there. Mother and I used to interpret cloud shapes when I was little. My imagination was feeble compared to hers, but Mother could always spin my ideas into colorful stories. “Audrey,” she’d say, “look at that small, fluffy one. What does it remind you of?” I could have said a half dozen interesting things. I could have said it looked like Middle Boy Lester’s toy sailboat that he floats on Artificial Lake, or the humongous mustache on Old Man Farmer who comes visiting from Sky View Farms. But instead, I’d proclaim the most boring and obvious. “It looks like a sheep.”

  Mother would take it in stride. “Well, yes, Audrey, it is a sheep. That’s what happens sometimes to sheep if they get too happy. The happiness fills them up like a balloon and makes them lighter than air. The next thing you know, the sheep is lifting off the ground and floating away. Farmer must always take the precaution of tying a string around a happy sheep’s leg, so that if it starts to rise, he can grab that string and attach it to a fence post. Some days there are so many happy sheep up in the air that you’d think Farmer family was celebrating a birthday.” I would have taken her tales as true facts if I hadn’t learned to spot the twinkle in Mother’s eye. Then we’d share the joke, although I couldn’t look at a sheep the same way for quite some time afterward.

  By the time of my escape, my imagination had improved, but today it was colored by fear. What I saw in that single cloud against the powder-blue sky reminded me of an angry wolf with its mouth wide open and sharp teeth ready to snap. Hardly what you would call a good omen.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  None of us met that final morning. See, we figured it might raise suspicion. We all went about our business like it was a regular day. Only when Roy gave the signal would we put the plan into action.

  ROY

  (horse)

  High noon was when we were to get the show started. I stood in a clearing beyond the orchard, watching my long shadow get smaller and smaller as the morning progressed and the sun rose higher. When finally there was nothin’ more than a pony attached to my hooves, I moseyed over to the entrance gate all casual-like, pretending to graze but really there to anticipate the truck’s arrival. By golly, it was not long before I heard the grunt and growl of its engine. Then it reared its ugly, scarlet head as it climbed up the steep grade about a hundred yards yonder. I turned and made the rounds of notification; first past Audrey in the cowshed, then Buster, then finally the sheep and young Eddie.

  KASEY

  (human)

  Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what I saw. But jumpin’ June bugs, I’ve been getting nothing but grief for this since it happened. I’m an independent businessman—hardworking, don’t you know—and my reputation is everything. I’d had the delivery contract for the Daisy Dream Abattoir for nearly a decade. I covered all the farms in the Maple Valley—all of them. And there’s a lot! My Red Bessie isn’t the biggest truck by any stretch, and she isn’t new or fancy by an even longer stretch, but she’s well-maintained and has been reliable, just as I have been too.

  I pulled into Bittersweet Farm at noon, as scheduled. Nothing looked out of the ordinary; everything A-okay. I just had the one pickup, a Charolais. Now, they are one of your bigger cows, so I deliberately didn’t book any other pickups for the afternoon. I can fit two regular-sized cows in the carriage comfortably, but if it’s a tight fit, it can stress them out. And the Daisy Dream Abattoir owners want a calm cow upon arrival. I can tell you now, though, that once I saw this particular Charolais, I realized that I c
ould probably have fit another one on the truck without any problem and made myself a little extra coin, don’t you know. Then again, I might have ended up with two embarrassments instead of one, so I’ll just count my blessings.

  BUSTER

  (pig)

  The truck pulled onto the farm and, uh, yes, yes, it turned so that the back was facing the cowshed. Farmer was alone that day. He came over to greet the driver. I saw them shake hands, yes, and then the driver swung open the truck’s back gate. It made a terrible squeal. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, I don’t like that sound. I hide when I hear it. But, uh, no, no, no, not this time! I stood tall, yes, yes, I did. I told Eddie to signal the sheep to get ready to move.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Farmer and the driver were heading toward the cowshed, so I ran over to the sheep as soon as Farmer’s back was turned. Something didn’t feel right. There was a lot of chatter among the sheep, a lot of grumbling mainly. But jeepers, I had no time to ask. I told Clark to get everyone to move into position beside the cowshed door as soon as possible, and then I rushed back to Buster’s pen where we had hidden the screw mounted in wood. I grabbed it in my mouth and headed over to the truck. I was supposed to stand it upright, just in front of the tire on the passenger side of the cab. The driver wouldn’t likely pay attention to that corner of the vehicle before he drove off. The screw point had to be positioned under one of the grooves in the tire so it could go in deep. Buster knew that the back axle had two tires on each side, so flattening one wouldn’t draw much attention. The front axle has just a single tire on each side, which means the driver would be forced to stop to fix a flat. But after I set the screw in place and backed up from under the cab, there was Dad waiting for me, and not looking happy, no sirree.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Being stuck in the cowshed, I knew nothing of what was happening near the truck. I heard Farmer and the driver, though. I heard the scrape of boot soles along the gravel and their conversation getting louder as they approached the spot where I awaited my fate. I was put off by their dull subject matter: talk about gas prices rising and grain prices falling and whether they’ll finally put a traffic light at some intersection. Here I was, about to be taken to Abbot’s War, in theory, anyway. The least they could do would be to talk about the beautiful weather we were having or the musicality of the word amaryllis—talk about something meaningful or say nothing at all and allow my departure to be handled solemnly. In any case, I quickly stuck Buster’s twisty thingamajig in my mouth, thus making me the solemn one. Hiding that metal piece rendered me as silent as a centipede that accidentally walked into a rooster meeting.

  CLARK

  (sheep)

  Ahem. Most everyone is acquainted with our group loitering technique, I assume? Briefly, that is when we stand around in a tight bunch, remaining stationary and dense for as long as possible. There’s little call for it here on Bittersweet Farm, but it plays well if sheep are being herded along a road and a car comes by. We gather in the middle of the road, blocking traffic and showing what can be achieved by our collective will. Drivers will not test our resolve, and it isn’t until the sheep-dog is set upon us that we are forced to disperse. However, there is another tactic we can use in nonviolent protest. We call it “the white tornado,” although it has also been referred to as “the sheep cyclone” by some. It is a highly advanced move that requires speed, agility and, above all, cooperation. It’s extremely difficult to do, and nearly impossible to stop, so is used very sparingly. Once we agreed to get involved, we all voted, after long debate, mind you, to use “the white tornado” as our method of distraction in the Audrey rescue plan, which we code-named Operation Urgent Fury or OUF.

  BUSTER

  (pig)

  I could see Max—Eddie’s father—heading toward the truck while Eddie was still underneath it, yes, yes, putting the screw in place. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, I should have taken all the variables into consideration: the stuff that, uh, no, no, you can’t control or predict, like behavior by other animals. Max was angry. He barked at Eddie, “Just what on earth do you think you’re doing, son?” I thought that Eddie might crumble, getting yelled at by his dad, and the plan would be ruined, oh dear. Before I realized what I was doing, I opened the gate to my pen and rushed over. Eddie wasn’t backing down though, oh, no, no, no. He, uh, he stood up to Max. He said, “I’m doing what I have to do. I’m doing what needs to be done.” Eddie had never spoken to his father like that before. I think it surprised Max, put him back on his heels. Max wasn’t yelling now so much as pleading. He said, “We have a job here, son. We work for Farmer. You have to put your feelings aside.”

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  I told Dad that I couldn’t, not when it concerned Audrey! Gosh, I could have said a lot more too. I could have told him about friendship and love and … and doing what’s right, yes sirree. But I didn’t, because … well, jeepers creepers, why should someone have to explain those things? They just are. They’re inside all of us, and if someone can’t feel them, then how the heck can you even start to make them understand?

  BUSTER

  (pig)

  Now Eddie was supposed to jump in through the window on the driver’s side, so he could, uh, yes, yes, put the gearshift into neutral. That way, the truck would be free to move when we pushed it, and we could get the tire on top of the screw. But if, uh, if Eddie moved away from the tire, then Max could have at it. Max said, “I won’t let this continue any further.” He was just about to dive under the truck, but before he knew it—before I knew it—I was there blocking his way, yes, yes, I was! Can you believe it? I was standing up to Max too! I was awesome.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Out of nowhere, Buster appears, all three hundred pounds of him! He nudges Dad to the side and plants himself in front of the truck wheel like a giant pink boulder. Dad’s not sure what to do. Does he try to slip around Buster or chew his way through him? I couldn’t hang around to find out. I had to trust that Buster could handle it. So I snuck around to the other side and signaled for … (sigh) my “assistant” to follow me into the cab.

  BUSTER

  (pig)

  Why did Eddie need an assistant? Well, because in order to move the gearshift, you, uh, yes, yes, you have to perform two operations at the same time. It’s easy for humans, but not so easy for us. Who did he have to help him? … Um … do you really need to know?

  CHARLTON

  (rooster)

  I would be delighted to enlighten you in regards to the heroics that I, Charlton the Third, did humbly perform on that illustrious day. You see, when I heard the desperate whispers riding the breeze concerning the escape by one poor, forlorn cow … whose name presently eludes me … well, I naturally did not wait on ceremony for the concerned parties to come and beg my assistance. Why, that would be unconscionable. I thrust myself in front of those ragtag desperados and declared, “Charlton the Third is at your service!” I daresay they were speechless, and that was quite understandable. Had I been in their hooves and paws, I would have been stupefied and in awe of what stood before me too.

  You see, I was a game changer. A deus ex machina as the Romans would call it. The odds for success had spiked from zero—no chance—to ninety-nine point nine percent yes chance. That was allowing for a one-tenth percent failure rate, on the remote possibility that I should be struck down by a wayward meteor and rendered unable to complete my mission. How fortunate that cow … Amy, was it? … how fortunate she was that I was there in the nick of time to save … Mandy? No matter, to save that poor cow’s life. It’s all true. As enthusiastic-but-grossly-unqualified Eddie even said himself, “Charlton, we need you in the clutch!”

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  No, what I said to Charlton was that I needed him on the clutch. Jeepers! A clutch is a pedal that humans press down with their foot while changing gears. And the only reason I asked Charlton was because he caught wind of our p
lans early on, and he’s such a bigmouth we were worried that he might spill the beans to Dad, or start crowing at the wrong time during the escape and draw Farmer’s attention. I used him where it seemed least likely for him to mess things up. And he was fine, at first, managing to flap up and join me in the cab. Meanwhile, I see Roy heading toward the back of the truck. I tell Charlton to stomp down hard on the clutch while I bite down on the gearshift, ready to move it. But Charlton isn’t doing the one simple thing he’s supposed to do! Jeepers creepers! Instead, he starts shouting out some crazy speech!

  CHARLTON

  (rooster)

  Why yes, indeed I do remember every word of my soliloquy. I said, “They will talk of this day for years to come! Our names passed down from generation to generation! If we, who go bravely into war, should die upon the battlefield, let our actions not be in vain. Carry the torch ever onward! For General Buster! For much-too-young Eddie! For valiant and noble and handsome Charlton! And let us not forget our dear, dear sister. Let us not forget dear, dear … uh … is it Daphne?”