Audrey (cow)

by Dan Bar-el; illustrated by Tatjana Mai-Wyss

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  You bet I’ll tell ya, but I’m warning you it isn’t nice, no sirree. See, a truck comes to the farm every so often, and a few select cows are loaded in it. They never return. That’s what happened to Madge’s son, Lon. That’s what happened to Audrey’s mom too. We overheard Farmer and his family refer to the truck’s destination as Abbot’s War. None of us know what a war is, but the cows are convinced that it isn’t great.

  Jeepers, I never told any cow what I’m about to tell you, so it has to remain a secret, okay? There’s a smell on that truck, and, gosh, it’s horrible. It’s not strong, but it’s definitely there. I asked Dad what it was once, and he got very serious. He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before he spoke. Then he said in a quiet growl, “Son. That is the stench of death. Do not forget that smell because if it leads you to a sheep from the herd you were responsible for, it means you weren’t doing your job. As for the smell on the truck, you keep that knowledge to yourself, you hear? Farmer doesn’t need his cows spooked.”

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  I knew what Abbot’s War was. We all knew, all of us: the cows, the sheep, the chickens and even Buster. There wasn’t any mystery about it, except maybe for Agnes, but then a lot of things are a mystery for Agnes. It’s just that … no one wanted to know. Everyone pretended it was a mystery because it’s so hard to accept that life can be so precious and so fragile at the same time. I’m not one to judge, because when Abbot’s War suddenly became personal, I too chose to pretend ignorance.

  As for Mother, she knew where she was going. She heard it directly from the horse’s mouth. Roy always finds out first. Given a choice, you’d want to hear it from Roy because he brings solemn dignity to the announcement. That’s how Mother put it. Roy doesn’t gloat, and he isn’t caught up in feeling relief because it’s you and not him. Roy looks you in the eye and whispers the hard facts, but he isn’t cruel. Mother said that through his sturdy gaze, Roy could give you the courage to bear the news and not have your four legs collapse beneath you as if a carpet of moss was being pulled away beneath your hooves.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Darn tootin’, I like Roy. Everyone likes Roy! Well, maybe Dad doesn’t. That’s because Roy doesn’t really do any work on the farm. But I heard that he used to work on a ranch in the Rocky Mountains way back, and he did cattle drives. Gosh, that’s pretty swell. Now he’s retired. He’s the family horse, and he can go wherever he pleases on the property. He’s allowed to poke his head through the kitchen window if there’s food to be mooched. I mean, I know how to mooch too! But jeepers creepers, if it’s Middle Boy Lester handing out the treats, I have to put some effort into it, getting on my hind legs and dancing around or rolling on my back. I don’t do that with Little Girl Elspeth, no sirree, because she’ll just pat my head or rub my belly. But Roy, he only has to come over to say hello, and bingo, he’s getting sugar cubes or carrots or apples. Ah, heck, I’m not jealous. Roy performs a big service for all of us. By timing it right, Roy can duck his head in during Farmer family mealtimes and pick up useful information.

  ROY

  (horse)

  Heh, heh, heh, oh, I reckon I am a tad spoiled. Good food, comfortable stall, not many riding duties other than Little Girl Elspeth, and she don’t weigh more than a flea. Not like some of them city slickers I used to haul up and down the mountainside. So I’m mighty grateful for this ease in my senior years. I do like my sugar cubes, and I love a shiny, red apple now and then, but otherwise, I try not to get underfoot.

  And I try to offer some service to the others. Max wouldn’t see it that way, but Max takes his job a little too seriously, in my opinion. I’m the farm newspaper, you could say. I keep my ears open to the human conversations and pass on information to whomever might find it pertinent. Buster always wants to be reassured that his corn feed has arrived. In spring, the sheep are desperate to know when they’ll finally get to lose their heavy wool coats. And with the food cows … well … let me put it this way: in my life, I’ve seen my share of tragedy. I’ve seen horses hurt out on the trail that never got to say final good-byes to loved ones. So if I am privy to information that could give a parent a chance to say what needs to be said before heading off to Abbot’s War, then, by golly, I will pass it on.

  Not everyone wants to know, mind you. Some see me coming and head in the opposite direction. Shoot, sometimes I wasn’t even going to talk to them. I was just strolling toward Viewing Hill to see what the neighbors were up to. Most are grateful, though. They might be a tail-swat away from fainting at the time, but they still want to prepare. But Jeanine, Audrey’s mom, she didn’t flinch. And after I told her what I had heard, about the truck arriving the next day around noon and that she was on the list … Jeanine thanked me. Yes, she did, as graciously as if I had wished her a good day. She nodded and smiled and went to find her daughter. She was quite a lady.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Mother came to me shortly after she heard. She didn’t seem any different than usual. She wasn’t nervous or weepy the way Greta gets. She was her usual radiant, peaceful self. I was playing with Eddie. Well, playing isn’t the best description. Eddie can get so wound up and excited that I can barely keep him in sight as he darts all around me. But Mother came over and asked him if he would please excuse us because she wanted to talk with me privately. Poor Eddie. He probably thought he did something wrong. His tail was all tucked in when he left.

  “Stroll with me, Audrey,” Mother said. “Let’s head over to the grove. It’s been a while.” I didn’t suspect anything at first. But when Mother started talking, her topic of conversation was surprising. She told me that among cows there is an oral history of feats accomplished by cows in the past. These stories have somehow managed to be passed from farm to farm, from region to region and even across national borders. “You mean like France in Europe on the other side of the lake called Atlantic?” I asked. I could tell Mother was impressed with my knowledge because she took a moment to beam at me with pride, and I basked in her smile like it was summer sunshine.

  Then Mother proceeded to give me an example. “Yvonne of Bavaria managed to jump over an electric fence and onto a busy country road. They say she stared down a car until it screeched to a halt, and then, as casual as a Sunday promenade, Yvonne continued to the other side and into a thicket of trees.” I was astounded. A cow jumping over a fence? I had no idea we were capable of that. “So what happened to Yvonne?” I asked Mother. “They say Yvonne was never seen again,” she replied. Let me repeat that, at the time, I was not clear about why Mother was telling me this story. I thought it was a cautionary tale to keep me from getting too curious and running off the property and getting hurt or lost. I felt concern for this Yvonne cow and wondered why on earth she’d be so silly. But I also thought it was strange for Mother to be telling me something so morbid. It wasn’t what you might describe as her style.

  “Audrey, there was another famous escape, and this one happened not too far from where we are right now. There were two cows, April and May. They were being transported in a small truck. But as it made its way through the city, the traffic got heavy and everything came to a standstill. These two large ladies managed to push up against one side of the truck until their weight toppled it, and the metal gate broke open. April and May bolted out like rodeo broncos.” Oh my, I thought, how exciting! This story had action, maybe danger. “What happened, Mother?” I asked, with much more curiosity. “Well, Audrey, the humans brought in dozens of police. They came with lasso ropes and guns. But the cows were not deterred, dodging among the cars and trucks and bowling over anyone in their way as they searched for a way out. It went on for a very long time, but in the end, they were caught and herded onto another truck and taken on their way.” Mother paused and looked out in the distance.

  I was still taking in the tribulations of April and May, disappointed with the ending to their adventure
and wondering if I preferred the mystery of Yvonne’s disappearance instead. I know what Agnes would say.

  Mother turned back to look at me. Her voice changed. It was sharper, more determined. I was frightened, as she had never spoken to me like that before. “We are proud animals, Audrey. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. We may look docile, and perhaps most of us do accept our lot without complaint, but don’t think that we wouldn’t rush out into the world beyond the electric fences and find our place in the wild if given half a chance. Do you understand what I’m saying? None of us talk about it, but that’s because it’s buried deep inside, asleep and often forgotten. Most don’t even know it’s there.” Mother looked at me, and she was both sad and beautiful, and I loved her so much.

  “I think I do, Mother,” I said. “I think I know that feeling that you’re talking about. It’s hot and alive, and I feel it just after I wake up in the morning, but before I open my eyes, when I know there’s a new day ahead of me, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. Is that the feeling? Because if that’s what you mean, then I think I understand.” Mother came over and licked my face. She was smiling again. “I know you do, Audrey. I always did.”

  MADGE

  (cow)

  Yes, yes, I’ve heard those stories, but I remain doubtful. It’s all pie-in-the-sky wishing, plain and simple. These legends get passed on from cow to cow, farm to farm. But stories aren’t rocks. Rocks don’t lose their basic shape, but stories are bendable and twistable, and who knows which cow added a word here or an extra sentence there. Some so desperately want to believe that a cow in the wild can survive forever and not be found that they change the story to feed that desire. But I can’t live off false hope. I can’t pretend that Lon is—that he might … ahem, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t built to think that way. Maybe Yvonne of Bavaria did manage to stay free, but in my opinion, she was as likely to have been caught an hour later. Not that I had the heart to tell Audrey such cold truths just after they took her mom away.

  AGNES

  (cow)

  No, I never heard that one. Whoa! That is like so—whoa! Spooky, eh? But what do you mean, Yvonne just disappeared? Like “poof, she’s gone” gone? Holy human, that’s a mystery for sure! I once saw a spaceship fly over the farm, you know.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  They took Mother away the next afternoon. I knew something was not quite right, but as I said earlier, I would not allow myself to consider what that might be. Mother spent the whole morning in my company, nuzzling and grooming me like I was a newborn. She didn’t say much at all, and I, out of nervousness I suppose, talked up a storm. I explained about Eddie’s new mooching trick in which he performs a half flip in the air. I filled her in on the rift among the geese over a comment regarding a certain someone’s waddle that no apology could overcome. I described Little Girl Elspeth’s new Sunday dress with the bright floral print, and how half those flowers looked good enough to eat. Mother laughed at that, and I was relieved. But then the truck pulled onto the property.

  A hush settled around the farm. The chickens stopped their complaining, the sheep put an end to their latest debate, and all you could hear was mud sloshing as Buster tried impossibly to hide away in his pen as he always did in those situations. I could feel Mother’s heart speed up a notch. Everything sped up. I was confused and afraid, unsure of what was happening. The latch of the carriage door squealed open. Human steps shuffled closer. Before I even realized it, Mother was up. “Stay here with Madge,” she said. I did as I was told.

  In hindsight, I realize there were precious seconds before Mother was led from the barn and out of sight. I could have said something. I could have said “I love you, Mother” or “Wait for me” or … or “Don’t be scared.”

  The truck drove off, followed by a giant sigh, as if all the animals on the farm had been holding their breath.

  MADGE

  (cow)

  The poor girl stood in the same place for hours after that blasted truck took Jeanine. Heart-wrenching. The child was stunned for several days. She would barely eat, would barely move unless she heard a motor vehicle approaching. Then she’d bolt toward the yard, and you just knew she was expecting to see her mother back from whatever mysterious trip she’d been on. Yes, it was heart-wrenching, plain and … (sigh) simple.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Audrey was sad and lonely. She didn’t want to play or go exploring or any of the things we used to have fun doing together. I couldn’t do anything to cheer her up either. Dad said to leave her be, but I didn’t want to. Jeepers, Audrey was my friend! It hurt me to see her so miserable! I tried bringing some of her favorite flowers from the far hill. I’d drop them by her side, and she’d look at them and say thanks. But the next day they would still be right where I left them.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Nothing felt the same after Mother was taken away. My world was topsy-turvy. I could not make sense of life. It had suddenly become unjust and cruel—or indifferent. Yes, indifferent is the word, as indifferent as inclement weather. There were thunderstorms and hailstorms inside me. Thick fog patches filling up my head. Cold, stabbing ice running through my veins, and my heart shriveled up by a relentless drought. I was bereft of my mother’s nourishing love.

  In fairness, most of the animals were kind to me, and if not kind, then respectful. Farmer even came by with Little Girl Elspeth, who stroked my flank gently and sang a lullaby. I was touched, moved by such attentive gestures, even if I might not have been able to show it at the time. But strangely, it was an act of meanness that finally shook me out of my gloom.

  Norma was holding court with some of the ladies, as is her practice, going down her weekly list of animals deserving of ridicule. I was tucked away in a dark corner of the barn, unseen, and I might have paid them no mind, had it not been for hearing my name. “And what about little orphan Audrey?” Norma sniggered. “How many days is that girl going to wear a cloud over her head like a spring bonnet? I assumed that with her over-the-top imagination, she’d be thinking her mother had pulled an Yvonne and ended up in Cow Paradise instead of Abbot’s War.”

  Upon hearing Norma’s words, I was overcome by two conflicting emotions, both as powerful as water blasts from the nozzle of the barn’s cleaning hose. Up until that moment, I never allowed myself to acknowledge that Mother had been taken to Abbot’s War. Mother was absent, yes, but not gone; nothing so final as that.

  Of course it was obvious, but when you’re truly afraid, your mind can play tricks on you. Hearing it from Norma’s spiteful mouth finally woke me up. But the mention of Yvonne of Bavaria was like a magic spell. It was as though hearing those words allowed me to suddenly grow wings and fly above Bittersweet Farm and the thick sorrow that surrounded me, so that I could see farther than I ever had before. Maybe Mother did “pull an Yvonne” as Norma put it. Why not? Mother was clever. Why on earth would she tell me stories of cows who had escaped if she wasn’t intending to be one herself?

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Darn tootin’, it was great! It was as if someone had flicked a switch on Audrey! One second she was as silent and still as Corner Rock, and the next she was back to her usual Audrey self … well, mostly. Ah, heck, it was still swell because I had missed her. So it didn’t make any difference whether she was going on a mile a minute about the grass-tasting tour of Europe she was planning, or about how her mom escaped and was living the good life. All I knew was that Audrey was back to being her old, terrific self, and I was tail-wagging happy! I remember telling Dad about Audrey’s return to good spirits. All he said was, “Best not get too close to a cow of her category.”

  MADGE

  (cow)

  I couldn’t let it continue. Jeanine had put Audrey’s care into my hooves, and I wasn’t about to let the girl live in some fantasyland forever. She had to face the facts, plain and simple. Audrey had to come back to earth. She didn’t understand yet how the world worked.
Those stories about escape were offering nothing but future pain. She was probably thinking Jeanine tipped the truck like April and May, and now she was living in some cow’s paradise. Let me be clear here—I wasn’t trying to be cruel in order to get Audrey to accept her mother’s death. I was more concerned that Audrey should accept that her mother’s fate would also be her own.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Clover green, a tasty treat

  I’m grateful for each one I eat

  And there was Madge, giving it to me straight. I panicked. I admit it, I did. The truck will come for me as well? I too am destined for Abbot’s War? “You’re not a child anymore,” Madge said. “You need to know.” Not a child. Yes, I understood, but then is that what growing up is all about? Learning one piece of horrible information after another? Is there no joy or hope mixed in there too? How much pain and sorrow was my poor heart to bear? Eddie, bless his big, big heart, held onto hope like it was his favorite bone. “Don’t worry, Audrey,” he said over and over. “We’ll figure something out. You bet we will. Darn tootin’, I promise.” Oh, Eddie, what would I have done without my faithful, loyal friend?