Nothing But Blue
Page 19
“Yup. We always name them that, just so we don’t forget what they’re here for.”
“You really eat them?”
“Sure. What did you think?”
“I don’t know. It just seems so sad. You don’t”—she paused—“you don’t eat the goats, too, do you?”
“Of course we don’t eat the goats! How could you even think of such a thing? Petunia gives us milk. We drink that. You eat meat, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you just buy yours in the store and you don’t see where it comes from. That meat was once a cow or a pig or a sheep. It’s the same thing.” I tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, and usually it wasn’t. It was just a part of the farm. How could I explain this to Melita when just looking at her pretty face made me feel ugly?
Lambchops and Patty sauntered over. Lambchops was slightly bigger and had a black muzzle, but otherwise they looked the same.
“What’s the matter with this one’s tail?” Melita pointed to Lambchops, who had his rear end toward us. I put my hand on his back, and he skidded a few feet away.
An elastic was wrapped around the base of his tail. My father had put it there because the tails get dirty and gross and there is no way the sheep can clean itself. Eventually the blood stops circulating and the tail falls off, making it easier and more comfortable for the sheep. I don’t know why Dad bothered doing this, since we eat the sheep anyway. Maybe it was just courtesy. I told this to Melita. Her face scrunched up like she was going to puke.
I bent down to pull Lambchops’s little tail to show her. As I lifted the tail up, Lambchops ran off. I looked at my hand. Clutched between my fingers was the tail, a fluffy, gray thing sodden with poop and urine.
Melita let out a scream and then said, “Gross, gross, gross,” over and over.
I was stunned for a second, then burst out laughing. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. It doesn’t hurt him. It’s like Eeyore. Now we get a tack and just tack it back on.” I thought that was pretty funny, but Melita just stared at the tail.
“That is totally and utterly gross,” she said.
“I suppose, if you aren’t used to things like this,” I said. The tail, which looked like a piece of dirty cotton, hung limp in my hand.
I remember when I first found out about this rubber-band technique. Dad explained to me about cutting off the circulation slowly so the sheep didn’t feel anything. He told me the same thing would happen if I wrapped an elastic around my finger. I wanted to see if he was right, so I tried it on my thumb. I wound the rubber band so tight that in less than a minute my thumb turned from red to purple to blue. I panicked and took it off. Then I tried it on one of my braids and left it there until bath time came and we had to cut the elastic to get it off, but my braid was still intact.
“Can we go back?” Melita asked.
“Sure. Here, do you want this?” I dangled the smelly tail in front of Melita’s pretty face. She shirked away.
“Uh, no. No thanks.”
I tossed the tail on the ground. It lay there, barely noticeable, a dirty spot in the tall grass.
“You’re just going to leave it there?” Melita said, bending down and moving the grass away to expose the tail. “Maybe we could use it for something.”
“Take it then,” I challenged her. To my surprise she reached out to pick it up. Was she actually going to touch it? Maybe she wasn’t as chicken as I thought. But before her fingers could grasp the fluff, she drew her hand away.
“I can’t. You do it.”
I picked up the tail, wiped it in the grass, and put it in my jeans pocket. I smiled at her. She smiled back.
“Let’s go,” I said and latched the fence behind us.
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About the Author
LISA JAHN-CLOUGH has written and illustrated a number of books for young children, including Alicia Has a Bad Day, My Friend and I, Missing Molly, Simon and Molly Plus Hester, and On the Hill, as well as her debut young adult novel Country Girl, City Girl. She is the chair of the illustration program at Maine College of Art and also teaches at the Vermont College Writing for Children and Young Adults program. She lives in Portland, Maine.