A Scene without a Story -- fiction

“You ever see a calf born?”

She took a deep breath. “Never saw anything born.” And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She thought births involved lots of blood and pain. Neither high on her bucket list.

 “Should I get out with you? Or would you rather I wait in the truck?”

 “Suit yourself. I’ll set my galoshes out in case you decide to come in. Those shoes won’t do you much good in the barn.”

She winced. Her good shoes. One heel already broken.

“Won’t it bother the mother to have strange people there?” she asked.

“I doubt it.” He climbed out of the truck. “If you’re quiet, she won’t pay much attention.”

She did not wait well. Not for seating in restaurants. Not on line for movies. She wore a slinky little black dress, its daringly low neckline now hidden under Jack’s rough canvas barn coat. Which also covered her expensive jasmine scent with his smell of sweat and hay and heaven-knew-what-else. She’d planned on dinner and dancing with Drew, not delivering a calf on a farm in the middle of nowhere with Jack.

A cold wind rocked the truck. The barn or the truck? At least the barn would be warm.  She hoped,

Jack was right. His rubber boots were better than gimping in on one high-heeled shoe.

A man wearing a coat like the one she wore, led a large, black and white cow into the brightly lit barn.

“This is Trey. He’s the boss.” Jack inclined his head toward her. “This is Gina. She’s riding shotgun with me tonight.”

“Hey, ma’am.” Trey looked her up and down. “I’ll fix you a clean place to sit.”

Jack nodded toward the cow. “Get her into the chute first, so I can examine her.”

The cow walked into a metal contraption. Trey pushed a lever causing it to close firmly against the cow.

“She doesn’t mind being restrained?” she asked.

“She’s used to it.”

Jack washed the cow’s rear end with soap and water, then his hands. He was drying his hands when Trey brought a clean white bucket and tipped it upside down for her to sit on.

The cow didn’t seem interested in what any of them were doing, not even Jack. He pulled on a plastic glove long enough to reach his shoulder. He rubbed some kind of clear oil or lotion on his gloved hand and arm and curled the cow’s tail up over her back. He then put his hand into her backside.

Oh, my God. What was he doing?

The cow shifted back and forth on her back feet then stood still and seemed to tense up.

“It’s breech,” Jack said. “I’ll try to turn it.”

She didn’t know how long he worked trying to turn the calf. Probably not as long as it seemed – the whole time up to his shoulder inside the cow, sweat beading on his forehead. The cow, stoic, quiet.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. The clean white bucket sat forgotten. “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked.

“Doesn’t seem to hurt her, but I can tell you it’s not comfortable for me. The contractions . . .”

Finally he withdrew his arm from the cow and peeled off the glove. “Calf’s alive. Too big, though. We need to do a c-section.”

The cow washing and hand washing started again. This time on the cow’s side.

Gina needed a cigarette.

Back at the truck, she retrieved a cigarette and her lighter from her purse. With the wind, she couldn’t get the cigarette lit. It would be easy if Jack would let her smoke in his truck. She decided she’d rather see what he was doing anyway. Maybe she wanted to see a newborn. Even a calf. She put the cigarette back in her purse.

 As she hurried into the barn, Jack lifted the calf out of the cow by its back feet. It was so big. How could a cow carry something so big inside her?

Covered in a thick, pale membrane, the calf hung limp from Jack’s hands. He lay it on a bed of hay.

“Trey, hand her one of those gunny sacks.”

“Is it dead?” she asked. Her chest so tight it hurt. She’d been afraid of what a birth might involve, but she’d never imagined this. This was horrible. She’d never touched anything dead before.

Jack tore the tissue away from the calf’s face and cleared its nose and mouth of mucous. The baby lay unmoving.

“Amniotic bag,” he explained. “It’s a heifer. Trey’ll show you what to do while I finish with momma.”

“A heifer? Is that good?” she asked.

Trey laughed. “On a dairy farm, girl’s are always good.” He scrubbed the baby with the coarse bags. “Like this to get her started.”

As big as it was, the calf felt small under Gina’s hands. Its warm body covered with soft, wet, black and white hair. She thought it would smell bad, like manure and urine, but it didn’t. And there wasn’t a lot of blood.

“Breathe, baby, breathe,” she whispered.

The creature sputtered and struggled. It cried out. The cow, though she’d seemed disinterested throughout the process, mooed back. The feeling in Gina’s chest transformed from shrinking in horror to the swell of wonder and pride. Her face was going to be sore, she was smiling so hard.

Jack finished with the cow and let her out of the chute.

The three of them watched without a word as the cow licked her calf all over. The new baby got her rear end up and wagged her tail like she knew she’d done something amazing. Then she fell in a heap. After several failed attempts, she stood, wobbling on tip toe. So lightly touching the ground she looked like she might float away.

“She’s beautiful.” With the rough fabric of Jack’s barn coat, Gina brushed away tears.

“And healthy,” Jack said wiping off his instruments.

“Want a beer?” Trey asked.