Audrey (cow)

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

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  “Jump on the clutch!” I barked. I can hear Farmer and the driver coming out of the cowshed with Audrey. “Charlton, jump on the clutch—now!”

  KASEY

  (human)

  Hey, you can believe me or not; I don’t care. I saw it all with my own eyes. Me and Glenn Parker are walking the Charolais out of the cowshed. The cow is calm and quiet; it’s all as easy as pie. But as soon as we’re in the driveway, there’s an animal convention happening around my truck!

  Jumpin’ June bugs, there’s a big, angry dog and a fat pig at the far end. They’re squared off, and the dog is growling and barking, and it looks as if they’re both about to have at it. Meanwhile, there’s another dog and a rooster in my cab, don’t you know! That dog is barking angry like the first one, and the rooster is crowing like dawn just broke. Then, I see a big old horse at the back end, standing where we’re supposed to load the cow. He’s staring at us, all friendly at first—I could have sworn he was smiling—but out of the blue, he starts pushing up against the truck with all his strength. And the truck starts rolling forward.

  So I leave the cow and rush over to stop the crazy horse and get rid of all these other animals. But suddenly, we’re getting swarmed by sheep. I am not making this up! There’s three dozen at least! And I’m not talking about a bunch of them standing in our path. No, I’m talking about a whirlwind of sheep circling around us at the speed of sound, like some crazy country fair ride—just a blur of bleats and spinning wool. We were pinned in place. I’d never seen anything like it, well, until my nephew showed me a YouTube clip a week later of something similar, from somewhere up in England. But at the time, it had us spooked. And then, as if nothing had happened, the sheep stopped. Just like that, they stopped and all started yakking at once.

  BRIGIT

  (sheep)

  It would be inaccurate to say that it happened all at once. Even before Operation Urgent Fury began, certain members of the herd had concerns about the plan.

  LIONEL

  (sheep)

  Brigit is quite correct. It wasn’t about the use of “the white tornado,” which, for the record, all the sheep wholeheartedly endorsed. No, the disagreement was about whether we should spin in a clockwise direction or counterclockwise. Some might argue that such a detail is pointless, and to that, I can only repeat what I said at the time: “We stand on principle, and we spin on principle too.”

  BRIGIT

  (sheep)

  Yes, well put, Lionel, well put. To spin clockwise or to spin counterclockwise, which direction would make the strongest statement? It was an issue that we obviously hadn’t debated long enough, so we stopped mid-operation to work it out.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  There was so much to take in all at once. Obviously the plan wasn’t going nearly as well as it should. I couldn’t understand what Buster was doing there, not only out of his pen, but standing snout to snout with Max. I could hear Charlton screaming out some speech as if he were rousing the animals to grab pitchforks and attack. But what was most distressing was that the sheep had suddenly stopped their distraction. We all knew that without those few extra seconds, my escape plan was doomed to fail, and my ride to Abbot’s War was all but a sure thing. And then …

  BUSTER

  (pig)

  And, oh dear, then …

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Gosh, and then …

  KASEY

  (human)

  And then (sigh), I know you won’t believe me. Glenn Parker says I’m exaggerating, but that’s just because he’s in denial. I saw what I saw, don’t you know, and he sure did see it too! So then … this cow … comes dancing out of the cowshed. You heard me. I mean she was d-a-n-c-i-n-g—DANCING! Sashaying her hips side to side, spinning in little circles, doing little tippy-toe steps, and mooing like she was at the Tuesday karaoke night at Connie’s Good Times Grill. Jumpin’ June bugs, me and Glenn just stopped in our tracks. My jaw was hanging down so low you could have used my mouth as a breadbox. And I’m thinking, what in the world is going on at Bittersweet Farm?

  BUSTER

  (pig)

  You probably want to know which cow it was. I’d tell you, but, uh, well, she scares me. Yes, yes, she does.

  NORMA

  (cow)

  As I said earlier, I’d rather not discuss it. Simply stated, I could see from where I stood inside the cowshed that the sheep were in disarray, and Farmer was making a beeline to the truck. A distraction was required, so I did the first thing that came to mind. That’s all there was to it. Let’s move on, shall we?

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Norma was my guardian angel that day. Mother would have been smiling and laughing, not only at the beautiful spectacle of a cow performing modern dance, but also for the fact that of all the cows, it was Norma who came to my rescue. Norma looked radiant, and she was so brave, knowing that the rest of the ladies would never see her in quite the same light again. I was just as caught up in the distraction as Farmer and the driver, so by the time I was finally led toward the truck, Buster was already slinking back to his pen with the bits of wood that had held the screw. Roy gave a whinny and shook his mane while backing away from the scene. Eddie was on the ground now, with Charlton. He looked my way. When our eyes met, he gave me a nod. Mission completed.

  EDDIE

  (dog)

  Farmer was flustered. He yelled at Dad to get the sheep back to their pen. I joined in to help because I owed Dad that much, although I knew it would still be a while before he’d let me off the hook. But I kept Audrey in sight out of the corner of my eye. I saw the driver slide out a long metal slat from the truck’s back and drop the end on the ground with a thud. Then Audrey was led up the ramp in the same way as I had once imagined she might climb to the top of one of the fences and jump to freedom. The driver swung the metal gate shut. Then he slid the latch bolt to lock it in place. While Farmer pushed the ramp back into its sheath, the driver got a clipboard with some paperwork for him to sign.

  All that time, Audrey stood up there so still at the back of the truck, with the noon sun lighting her so that she glowed a dazzling white. She looked like a statue, a beautiful statue. It was quiet on the farm, just as it always is during these Abbot’s War departures. The sheep didn’t make a fuss. They all went along without complaint. Then the driver got in the cab and started up the motor. Suddenly Audrey shifted, turning herself around so that she faced the back, faced us. All the cows began lowing a sad good-bye, Buster joined in with snorts and sobs, and Roy whinnied and raised himself high on his back legs over and over. Even Charlton started crowing. And as the truck began to pull away, away from Bittersweet Farm, away from me, I found it near impossible to let Audrey go, as if there was a cord connected from her heart to mine.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  Eddie chased after the truck for a while, keeping pace through the gates and down the road. We held our gaze the whole time, squeezing every last drop from the fruit of our sweet friendship. And then, second by second, Eddie began to slow, and he grew smaller and smaller until he was nothing but a dot on the horizon, and I was completely alone.

  I watched the gray ribbon of highway spill out from under the truck as if a big spool of it was unraveling behind us. The road was hilly, climbing high, rolling down into dells, and then cresting yet again, over and over. I was reminded of Middle Boy Lester playing with his toy boat at Artificial Lake, tossing it up and down, talking about storms and crashing waves and calls for rescue. I felt like I was in a storm too, thrown about in a gale, trying to keep balance, trying to stay afloat and not give up hope.

  As I grew accustomed to the shifts and concentrated on putting weight to one side and then the other, the shock started to wear off, and I began to take in the surroundings. For the first time in my life, I was off of Bittersweet Farm, the only place I had ever known. I had heard that there were other farms, and I
could see Sky View Farms from Viewing Hill, but I had no idea just how many there were. Three Oak Farm, DeLancy Farm, Copper Hill Farm. I passed farms with fancy signs and big metal gates, and simple farms with nothing but a small hand-painted sign next to a gravel road entrance. There were silos and pointy spires sprouting up in the distance in every direction. I saw a giant metal snake running alongside us for a while; its head was roaring louder than Farmer’s tractor, and there were clanging bells and flashing lights announcing its arrival at every road crossing. I heard the roar of children rushing about in a play yard, and then more loud clanging bells telling them to stop. I smelled alfalfa and fresh cut grass and blueberry. It was intoxicating. My fear had transformed into excitement.

  I confess that for a moment I wished that the truck would never stop. But that foolish thought jarred me into remembering that of course I wanted the trip to end—the whole point was for the trip to end, preferably how and where it was supposed to, with a flat tire next to the large forest. I turned my focus inward again, trying to sense anything different, trying to notice if the truck was leaning or acting up. At first I could find no change whatsoever, but as we continued on, the bumps in the road began to be felt harder from the front end of the truck. It continued to get worse and worse, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen a farm for quite a long while. All I saw was forest on both sides.

  KASEY

  (human)

  That day was cursed, I tell you, cursed. As if the animals at Bittersweet Farm acting all screwy wasn’t enough, my dependable Red Bessie went on the fritz too! As I’m driving along, I’m feeling the occasional clunk and then a louder clunk and then finally it’s all clunk-dilly-clunk-dilly-clunk-clunk-clunk. A flat tire! And of course it couldn’t be at the back. No, it had to be the front. And of course it couldn’t be near one of the gas stations we went past. No, it had to be in the middle of the longest patch of forest on the whole darn trip!

  So I pull over to the side and take a look at the problem. Just my luck, I drove over some screw. It’s big, and it’s wedged in one of the grooves real tight. I mean, it couldn’t have been more perfectly placed if it had been done on purpose! Now, I’m working against the clock here. Sure, the cow is calm and docile at the moment, but as the day goes on, she may get cranky, and that’s a half ton of cranky, a thousand pounds, so I’ve got to deal with the situation. But I don’t know how! I can’t fix the flat with her on the truck adding all that weight. But there’s no way I’m going to take her off because I don’t have any assistance to make sure I’ll be able to get her to go back in afterward.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  After we came to a stop, I listened as the driver came out to inspect the problem. Then I heard him cursing up a storm, stomping about and kicking the truck, followed by some hobbling and even more cursing. I didn’t waste any time. I slid Buster’s latch-catcher out of my mouth and kept the end grasped tightly with my teeth. I slipped the noose-end between the slats of the carriage wall and carefully maneuvered it down toward the locking bit on the bolt. I fiddled and fiddled until finally I snagged it.

  Suddenly, the driver is walking to the back of the truck, and he’s getting himself more and more worked up. I quickly slurped the latch-catcher back into my mouth while he’s shouting, “What am I supposed to do now, cow? Hmm? You got a plan? Because I sure don’t have a plan!” This was what Mother called a rhetorical question because it didn’t require an answer. Humans often talk to us four-leggers without any expectation of a reply.

  I remained still and calm, and hoped he didn’t notice the bolt’s locking bit out of the groove. Lucky for me, he sees a car approaching, so he attempts to flag it down so he can ask them to send a tow truck from the last garage we passed. I go back to my work, catching the locking bit and using it to slide the bolt sideways and out of the latch. As I’m performing this delicate operation, I can hear two voices above me. One of them says, “Check it out! That is so awesome. The cow has got some moves.” The other voice is saying, “Totally,” over and over.

  Once I’ve finished opening the latch, I look up to discover that the commentators are two crows sitting on a telephone wire. Judging by their vocabulary, I took them to be teenagers. But there was no time for pleasantries. Making sure that the driver was still out of sight and talking to the driver of the car, I nudged the back gate open. I took a deep breath. I imagined myself as light as a happy sheep. Then I jumped down from the truck. I wouldn’t claim that I was graceful, but neither was I injured. I was ready to make my escape. But I suddenly noticed that there were perimeter fences just inside the forest. How was I ever going to enter it now?

  MARLON

  (crow)

  So, like, this cow is doing some major tool use at the back of this truck, right? And I’m saying to my bud, Jimmy D., “Hey, check it out!” And Jimmy D. is like totally into it too. So the cow opens the latch, and she pushes open the gate, and she jumps off, like it’s some kind of prison break, right? And the human is a doofus; he doesn’t even notice!

  JIMMY D.

  (crow)

  It was totally, totally wicked!

  MARLON

  (crow)

  So true. But now the cow isn’t moving, right? And I figure it’s because of the fences, you know, because cows can’t fly, which is a real drag. But I know where there’s a gap she can get through, and I’m thinking maybe she and I can do some business, right, because that tooly thing would be awesome to possess.

  JIMMY D.

  (crow)

  Owning it would be totally, totally wicked!

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  The crow offered to show me a way into the forest in exchange for Buster’s latch-catcher. In all honesty, I had no reason to hold onto it, and I would likely have just dropped it on the ground anyway. But it was clear that he saw some use in possessing it, and if the trade allowed me to get some critical information, then all the better for me. I was just about to agree when the car drove off, honking a warning about my escape. This was quickly followed by angry shouts as the driver rushed toward me. I was so close to gaining my freedom, so close that I could taste it, as they say. How could all the planning and effort and sacrifice by so many animals be stopped short now at the cusp? It was unfair. I wouldn’t allow it. I quickly negotiated the terms of the exchange. I said to the crows, “If one of you can keep him busy while the other one takes me to the gap in the fence, then you have yourself a deal.”

  MARLON

  (crow)

  It was, like, bonus! We get the tooly thing and we get to annoy a human? Deal on!

  KASEY

  (human)

  Jumpin’ June bugs. You want to know why I made the switch to hauling furniture and appliances instead of cows and pigs? I’ll tell you why. One: possessed farm animals. Two: a cow that magically opens latched gates. And three: a crow attacking my head to the point where I had to throw myself under Red Bessie to keep from having all my hair plucked out. That’s why!

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  And so, my first step into freedom required some deception on my part. It wouldn’t be the last. The crow led me a short distance down the road to where a portion of fence was crushed flat by a fallen oak. Carefully, delicately, I picked my way across the mangled barrier, hopped over the tree using the skills I had honed a year earlier, and then walked past a curtain of ferns and low branches, finally slipping away into the dark, unknown forest.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  First breath … softer

  Second breath … deeper

  Third breath and fourth breath

  Freer and freer

  Each breath a new breath

  Each breath my own

  Each breath a whisper

  Of a future still unknown

  It would be misleading to suggest that I composed this thoughtful poem right after my escape. Oh, no. In reality, my state of mind was quite the opposite. I was not thoughtful in the least. To put it
mildly, I was a cow gone crazy. Giddy and elated, I giggled like a little calf, the way I used to when I was young and Eddie would tickle my nose with a bird feather. Freedom. I was woozy with it. All my worries? Gone. All my sadness? Gone. Imagine the spectacle. Me, in a big forest for the very first time in my life, completely hysterical with joy!

  And then, well … my feelings shifted. Just like that, giggles turned into guffaws, heavy and loud. They shook my body. They thundered. They echoed around me, as if to declare “Audrey is here! Audrey stands proud and defiant, afraid of nothing! Afraid of nothing! Afraid of …” (sigh) My emotions changed yet again. Laughter suddenly turned to tears—not full of pain, mind you, or sorrow, but tears of exhaustion, tears of relief. The noose around my neck finally came undone, and I could really breathe again. “Mother,” I said aloud, “I did it. I really did it.”

  TORCHY

  (human)

  I came onto the cow caper at five minutes past midnight. For a reporter like yours truly, a story doesn’t get much better than Audrey’s. But I didn’t know it at first because I came late to the party. See, I’m busy chasing leads on the big bank robbery in Metro when I get a call from Tom. Tom? He’s the Daily Planet’s senior editor. “Torchy,” he says, “drop the bank heist and get yourself down to Grover’s Corners double time. We’ve got a hot scoop, and it’s melting fast.” A hot scoop where? “Listen, Tom,” I yelled back. “What kind of lousy hand are you trying to deal me here?” Without missing a beat, Tom says he’s got a cow story he wants me to cover. So now I’m wondering if Tom has gone soft in the head. “What are you, bonkers? Have you flipped your lid? A cow story? That’s the wackiest thing I’ve ever heard!” Don’t get me wrong about Tom; I love the lug, but I wasn’t born yesterday.