Moo (9 page)

The next day at Mrs. Falala's

Luke and I were

            
a g i t a t e d

bombarding her with

            
Q Q Q Q Questions Q Q Q Q

about Zora.

What will happen to her?

Will she die?

Are you going to eat her?

Mrs. Falala smiled wickedly.

Yes
, she said,
I am going to

                    
CHOP

her up and make a

                    
ZILLION

            
HAMBURGERS . . .

but she stopped talking

when she saw Luke crying—

his fists against his eyeballs

his shoulders heaving

tears

running

down

his

face.

She took Luke's hand.

No,
she whispered.

I am not going to chop up Zora

and eat her.

I am not going to turn her into

hamburger.

I was kidding.

Really.

Really.

Luke tapped his chin.

What about Paulie?

Are you going to eat Paulie?

Oh
, Mrs. Falala said.

Well, now.

He would make such very good

                    
BACON . . .

No, no, no, don't cry!

I don't mean it!

I'm not going to eat Paulie.

Promise?

Promise.

Once we were satisfied that Mrs. Falala was not going to eat Zora and that Zora would be saved for breeding more Belted Galloways, and once we understood that Paulie was a pet—a runt pig to whom Mrs. Falala had become attached—we calmed down.

And then Zep arrived and we started in on him:
What will happen to Yolanda? Will she die?
Will she become hamburger? What about the other
cows at the farm?

In Zep's slow-moving, slow-talking way, he explained that Yolanda, like Zora, would be used for breeding more Belted Galloways, but that the calves born
without
the white belt of fur around their middles would be sold for beef and most of the steers (the males) would as well.

People eat meat
, Zep said.
Face the facts. It's a
hard thing to adjust to, I realize. But I'm going to
be a farmer and raise the best beef cows in Maine.
I love cows, and I'm going to treat them good as
long as I can.

Luke walked the length of the barn

and lay down on a hay bale

and stared up at the sky.

He didn't say anything.

He just lay there

looking up at that sky.

And when I was done with chores

I joined him

and the two of us

lay still

looking up at that sky.

One day Mrs. Falala handed me

                        
a

                        
long

                        
thin

                        
lightweight

                        
metal

                        
rod

                        
with

                        
a

                        
short

                        
L-shaped

                        
molded

                        
hook

                        
at
    
one
    
end.

Eez show stick
, she said.
You need for fair.
Watch.

Usually it was Zep who worked with me and Zora, teaching me how to lead her in the ring, my back straight, eyes on the judge, attentive and calm, gently keeping Zora by my side, one hand firmly gripping the halter.

But on that day, Mrs. Falala held up the show stick and said,
Watch.

She stood in front of Zora and with the hook end of the pole, she gently stroked Zora's chest and on up her neck, rhythmically and slowly, up and down, down and up.

You see how calm eez Zora?

Zora stood perfectly still, lazily blinking, calm, calm. Mrs. Falala moved to Zora's side and with the show stick, she tapped one of Zora's hind legs, urging it back a few inches. She reached behind the other leg and coaxed it forward slightly.

See? Good stance. All gentle. See?

Mrs. Falala ran the show stick beneath Zora's belly, back and forth, forth and back, softly, gently.

See? Calm.

When Zep arrived, Mrs. Falala handed me the show stick and said,
Practice
. She headed for the barn, her long braid swinging, and there
was Zora

her tail swishing

                                  
left to right

                                  
right to left

the braid

and

the tail

            
swish

                            
swish

            
swish

                            
swish.

Animals needed
primping
for the fair:

            
shampoos

            
clipping

            
pedicures (hoof-i-cures?)

I am not kidding!

Zep declared
Beauty Day
for Zora and Yolanda.

            
We lathered

            
we scrubbed

            
we rinsed

            
we dried them with a blow-dryer.

I am not kidding!

            
We clipped

            
we combed

            
we brushed.

            
We cleaned and polished hooves.

You'll have to do it all again at the fair,

Zep said.

This is just round one: preparation.

It made us laugh.

            
Beauty Day
for the heifers!

They looked SO good when we were done!

And then Zora tromped through

a mud puddle

and lay down

and said

            
Moo.

At five a.m. on the day of the fair, Dad and Mom drove us to Mrs. Falala's. We were haltering Zora and Yolanda when Zep and Mr. Birch from Birchmere Farm arrived with a cattle van. Inside were six other cows haltered to the rail, blinking lazily.

Zep led Yolanda up the ramp and into the van and returned for Zora, who balked.

Talk to her
, Zep said to me.
Tell her it's okay.

Leaning in close, I stroked her head and whispered,
Zora, girl, we are going to the fair. All of us. I'll be there with you.

            
Moooooo.

I took the halter from Zep and tugged at it, and eventually, after a little more snorting and stomping and swinging her head, Zora followed me up the ramp and settled in beside Yolanda.

My parents looked at me as if I'd just done a triple flip in the air.

Zep and Mr. Birch locked up the ramp and we returned to our own car, ready to follow them up to the fair, about an hour away.

Wait!
I said.
Where is Mrs. Falala?
I realized we hadn't seen her yet that morning.
Isn't she
coming?

We all turned toward the house. No lights on, all dark, all quiet.

She's probably still sleeping
, Dad said,
like
most
people at this hour. Let her sleep.

As our car turned to follow the van pulling out of the drive, I noticed that the attic window was open, but I heard no music, no flute.

On the way to the fair, Luke said,
Did anyone
actually
ask
Mrs. Falala if she wanted to go to the
fair?

I hadn't even thought about it.
I just assumed she
was going
, I said.

Wouldn't she want to see Zora in the ring?
Luke asked.

I guess not.

Rows of cattle vans

    
people swarming, old and young

            
cotton candy! fried dough! fudge!

            
hot dogs! tacos! doughnuts!

    
beef cattle and dairy cows

            
sheep and chickens

                        
pigs and rabbits

    
moos and baas

            
oinks and neighs

    
flowers and crafts

            
show rings and bleachers

                        
games and rides

                        
Such a world of its own

                        
this fairsweet fairswarm

                        
    haven.

Rows of cows being groomed:

            
sudsing, fluffing, drying,

            
combing, spraying, polishing.

A loudspeaker crackled:

Thirty minutes, Group One!

Along the rows the older teens

quickened their pace.

Zep and Beat tucked in their shirts

wiped off their boots

slipped cow combs in their back pockets

grabbed their show sticks

did a final once-over of their heifers

            
Yolanda and YoYo

and off they marched into the ring.

Instead of sitting in the bleachers, we stood by the arena rail with Mr. Birch, who explained what was happening. This part was for showmanship: the judges were studying both the animals and their handlers, but final judging in this round centered on the handlers. How well were they showing their animals?

The teens led their animals clockwise around the ring, and then reversed. The judge lined them up, parallel to each other, and walked back and forth, pausing to study the setup of this or that animal, and pausing to question the handlers.

We overheard some of the questions:
How
much does she weigh? When was she born?

I panicked. What if I were asked these questions about Zora? I didn't know the answers. Sensing my agitation, Mr. Birch reminded me that Zora was a fall heifer and now weighed about eight hundred pounds.

The judge moved over to Beat, who stood tall and confident by her heifer, YoYo, and then along the line and finally to Zep and Yolanda.

I had been watching Zep closely, the way he used the show stick to calm Yolanda, the way he adjusted Yolanda's stance, moving one foot slightly back, the other slightly forward, all while keeping his attention on the judge. He was so at ease and so gentle with Yolanda, and so at ease with the judge, who, after asking
Zep several questions, nodded appreciatively before moving on.

The judge walked up and down the line one more time, studying, until at last he called out the first and second place showmanship winners. We didn't know them.

Third place showmanship went to

            
oh yes

                
it did

                    
it went

                            
to

                               
that redheaded boy

                                  
with the long legs:

                                      
Zep.

Oh, that Zora!

She let me halter her

and lead her to the ring

so perfectly obedient

and calm.

She stood there with me

as we waited in line

with eleven other novices

and their heifers or steers.

She let me stroke her neck

with the show stick

and she let me comb

the hair along her back.

When our group was announced

the entrants in front of us

moved forward.

Okay, okay, I can do this.

Just walk
, I told myself.

Stand straight.

Smile.

I was excited.

I loved everything about it:

the ring, the sawdust,

the cows, the handlers,

the men and women and kids

on the bleachers and along the fence.

I was looking for Zep.

I wanted him to see how well I was doing.

I wanted him to see how I held the show stick

and how straight my back was

and how calm I was and

how loosely I could hold the halter.

We were near the entry gate.

Zora looked into the ring

and snorted

and then she