Moo (7 page)

After spending a morning over at Birchmere Farm where Beat and Zep let us help as they trained and groomed their cows, we returned to Mrs. Falala's, eager to practice what we'd learned.

No sign of Mrs. Falala when we arrived, but Paulie the pig was snorting in a mud hole behind the barn and the parrot was squawking from the barn roof. The fat cat stood watch over a bush, its head darting left and right,
tracking something. No sign of the snake.

Zora was standing in the shade beside her favorite bush on the far side of the pasture. I wondered if Zora got tired standing around all day. Was she bored? Was she lonely? What did she think about?

Hey, Zora!
I called.
I'm back! Did you miss me?

We climbed the fence rails and dropped to the other side and crossed the pasture.

It wasn't until we were within five feet of her that she suddenly let out a

            
loud

                    
bellowing

                               
Mooooooooo

startling us so that we stopped in our tracks.

Zora?

Another

            
loud

                
belligerent

                            
bellowing

                                  
Mooooooooo

and with that she turned around and butted Luke with her enormous head and knocked him to the ground. She then butted her head at me, knocking me backward.

            
Mooooooooo. Mooooooooo.

She swung that big head from side to side, turned her back to us, and moved off.

We tried once more to approach her, but she whipped her head around, swished her tail like a whip, butted me in the stomach, and bellowed angrily.

            
Mooooo, mooooooooo

            
Mooooo, mooooooooo.

Luke had attached himself to my arm.
Come
on, Reena, let's go back to the barn. Please, Reena?
Please?

We stepped slowly away from Zora, backtracking across the pasture, keeping our eyes on her the whole way.

When we reached the barn, Mrs. Falala was standing in the open doorway.

So
, she said,
how's your little Zora friend today,
mm? Not so friendly?

I was mucking out Zora's stall

scooping up manure patties

and

        d

             u

                 m

                      p

                           i

                                n

                                     g

them in the wheelbarrow.

Luke and Mrs. Falala were sitting

                    
side
        
by
        
side

on a hay bale

with their notebooks open.

When Luke drew, his small hand moved

                    
f a s t

his pen gliding across the white paper.

When Mrs. Falala drew, her gnarly hand

crept along

            
s l o w l y

so very very

            
s l o w l y.

For three days she had been drawing

                    
the head of a cow—

at least that is what I thought she was drawing

but there was not enough of it to be sure.

Luke's lines flowed smoothly.

There was movement in the figures.

Mrs. Falala's lines were stiff.

Maybe the cow was dead.

Along the roads

the lupines grew

tall spears of color

pink and white and blue

and beyond lay vast carpets

of buttercups

and up and down the roads

we rode our bikes.

Hello, lupines,

hello, buttercups,

hellooooo, Maine,

we love you.

What were these tiny black things

that flew into your eyes and ears

and slipped up your sleeves and

down your socks

and

            
BIT

you?

They were not mosquitoes

they were barely visible

but when the day was still

when the wind was calm

these tiny black bugs

sssssswwwwwwwaaaaaaarrrrrrrmmmmmed

and bit

and then you

            
ITCHITCHITCHITCHED!!!

We were covered with red welts

and we

            
SCRAAAAAAAATCHED

all

day

long.

One day I succeeded in haltering Zora and was trying to comb her with the sturdy metal comb that Mrs. Falala had shoved into my hands when we arrived. I thought Zora might like the feel of the comb through her fur, and for a few minutes it seemed that she did.

And then I hit a snag,

a tangled, matted knot of hair

and pulled hard and

that big head swung toward me

and knocked against my arm

scolding me

as a wide swath of mucus

dripped out of her nose

and down my sleeve.

Her wet slobbery tongue

slapped against my wrist.

She lifted her tail

unleashing a wide, steamy stream

of

urine

        
s
  
p

                
la
    
sh

                               
i
  
n
  
g

my pants and boots.

Oh, that's good!
Luke called from the fence.

I'm gonna draw
that
!

About that time, along came Paulie the pig. He dashed toward and beneath Zora, who kicked at him, and, missing him, Zora got me instead.

That pig! What good is that pig?
I yelled.

Mrs. Falala poked her head out of the barn door and said,
Paulie eez part of family. What if
someone ask your mama what good are
you
?

On my bike

riding to Mrs. Falala's

Luke ahead of me

bobbing his head

and singing a song

he made up as he pedaled:

            
Gonna ride, ride,

            
gonna fly, fly,

            
gonna zip, zip . . .

And I felt lucky

that Luke was with me

that I wasn't wandering

this new town

alone.

We pulled into Mrs. Falala's drive

stashed our bikes

put on our work clothes

and found Zora

still in her stall

standing against the rail

her head hanging low

and

something popped in my chest

sending bubbles floating up to my brain.

Luke
, I said,
Zora is
lonely.

Aw
, Luke said.

Aw, poor Zora.

I entered the stall

and approached Zora slowly.

Gently I stroked her neck.

You're lonely, aren't you, girl?

Zora moved her head

toward me.

She rested her head against

my arm.

That day I told Mrs. Falala

that Zora was lonely

that Zora needed company

that she must be very sad

to be all alone.

Mrs. Falala mashed her lips

together and said,

Zora eez not alone.

I am here.

Paulie the pig eez here.

So eez Cat, so eez Parrot,

so eez Edna Snake.

I said,

But there are no other cows.

No one for her to lean against.

No one for her to talk to.

Mrs. Falala said nothing.

She turned around and

walked back to the house

that long white braid

swinging slowly

left to right

right to left.

Down to the harbor

early one Saturday morning

Mom and Dad and me and Luke

before

            
the tourists swarmed

before

            
the stores opened.

Soft, gray

            
fffffffog

            
hovered

            
over the water

masking the moored boats.

We climbed down to the small

            
stretch of beach

seaweed and mussel shells

splayed across the rocks.

Fish smell and salt air

mast creaks and rope jangles.

And as we stood there

the fog rose

slowly, surely,

revealing first the hulls

and then the masts

of wooden vessels

their sails

            
rolled

            
into

            
cocoons

and lobster boats wave-rolling

and red-blue-yellow buoys bobbing.

My mother said,

Oh!

Did you ever see anything

like that

ever

in your life?

And I was thinking that

I never saw anything like

everything
I was seeing

never saw anything like

those everythings

ever

in

my

life.

Sometimes I had to

close my eyes

to rest them from

all the new everythings

pouring in.

At night I dreamed of Zora

of her wide furry body

and her giant head

and her huge black eyes

and in the dreams

I combed her

and talked with her

and she was warm

and comforting

and I smelled the sawdust

in her stall

and felt the softness of her fur

and in the dream

she talked to me.

She said

Yes, I am lonely.

Yes, I am.

So I stroked her

and combed her

and told her

that I would find

some company

for her.

I was nervous, nervous, but I geared up my courage and talked first to Beat and Zep and then to the owners of Birchmere Farm. I was afraid they would laugh at me, but they didn't.

Of course
, they said.
She needs to be around other
cows. Of course.

They said that I could bring Zora to their farm where there was plenty of room and plenty of other cows, as long as I took care of her.

Zora comes from a long line of Grand Champions
, Mr. Birch said.
Did you know that?

No, I did not.

And she should show well as long as you can keep
that temper of hers under control.

Beat and Zep would help me train Zora and they would train me, too, so that I would know how to show Zora at the fair.

A long line of Grand Champions!

That sounded impressive, didn't it? It sounded like a perfect plan, right?

Mrs. Falala was not so excited about the plan.

Move Zora? Take my Zora? That eez not happening.

But she would have company
, I said.
Lots and lots
of company.

Mrs. Falala waved my words away with one hand.

I
am the company of Zora
, Mrs. Falala said.
Me
and Edna and Paulie and China and Crockett. We
are plenty company.

Mrs. Falala sat on the hay bale that had become her regular seat for drawing with Luke. Patting the bale next to her, she opened her notebook and looked up at Luke expectantly.

But,
I persisted,
look how sad Zora seems. Look
how she hangs her head. Listen to those sad moos.

That eez not sad hanging head!
Mrs. Falala snapped.
Those are not sad moos. Those are
normal cow moos and normal cow heads.

I said,
I hear Zora comes from a long line of Grand
Champions.

Mrs. Falala clicked her tongue and tapped her pencil on her notebook.
You want to see Grand
Champions?
she said.
Go look in barn, past the
halters, go on, you go look,

Luke and I have drawing to do.

Along a wooden rail

at one end of the barn

near the halters and ropes

and rakes and shovels

and buckets and barrels

hung a row of photos

the images clouded over

with dust and cobwebs.

With a rag, I cleared away the glass.

In each was a Beltie

and a young woman

holding a medallion and blue ribbon:

            
Grand Champion.

I looked closely at the women and wondered if maybe they were all the same person, growing older.

I returned to Mrs. Falala and Luke, their heads bent over their notebooks.

That's you, isn't it?
I said.
In those photographs
with the Grand Champions—that's you.

Mrs. Falala said,
I lie down now
. Abruptly, she stood and returned to the house, calling behind her,
Don't take my Zora.