Audrey (cow)
Page 7
AUDREY
(cow)
My time for celebration was over. I needed to get away from the road if I hoped to make this freedom last. Well, I got my first taste of what the forest had in store for me. I’d never walked through brambles and broken branches before. They cut my legs and scraped my belly. And there were so many trees. Never-ending trees! I’d only ever rested under one tree, the big oak at Bittersweet Farm—a cool oasis on a hot day. But I’d never been under so many trees at the same time. They were extremely tall, with long limbs. I was tiny in comparison. I felt like one of Little Girl Elspeth’s plastic toy animals that could fit in her palm. I was walking among the legs of giants. To those trees, I was nothing more than a speck, barely worthy of notice.
TORCHY
(human)
“So what cow story is getting better odds than a bank robbery in broad daylight?” I asked Tom. He tells me that Kent, a junior reporter, was at a place called Connie’s Good Times Grill, which just happens to be down at Grover’s Corners. It’s karaoke night, and Kent starts chatting with a jumpy guy with a few too many root beer floats under his belt. Kasey is his name; he’s an animal mover, see, the Grim Reaper’s delivery boy. He takes cows and pigs to the slaughterhouse to be turned into steaks and cutlets. He’s a cow’s worst nightmare. But it seems the tables got turned. This luckless goofball tells Kent that he lost a prisoner in transit. That’s right; some cow flew the coop, skipped town and ditched her date with destiny. Can you believe it? There’s a cow in a forest, desperate and running for her life, and come morning, there will be a hunting party hot on her trail. Now that’s a story!
AUDREY
(cow)
Yvonne of Bavaria slipped into the forest never to be seen again. That’s how the tale ends. There are no additional chapters, no sequels; in fact, there are no words written down at all. But how I wished it had been otherwise. How reassuring it would have been to learn what Yvonne did afterward. Perhaps I could have used her actions as a blueprint for my own escape. The Perilous Adventures of Yvonne of Bavaria—both a story and a how- to manual for farm animals on the lam. But there wasn’t. So I continued on blindly, without any particular direction.
The land was hilly, although not high or impossible to climb. I was attracted to any rise because I could see sky peeking between the tree trunks. I craved open space. But it was always an illusion. The hills were no less covered in trees than the lower parts of the forest. What I did begin to notice, though, which proved a beneficial discovery as far as my poor legs and hooves were concerned, were thin lines of beaten-down undergrowth that suggested pathways. They must have served a thinner animal than myself, but I was grateful for even that slight comfort.
JUNE
(deer)
We heard her longtime before we seen her. But we knowed that whoever it was, it weren’t no forest creature. The way she stomped through them trees, snappin’ twigs and all, she might jes as well holler her location to every ki-yoot or cougar in the neighborhood. I was stumped. We deer had done created a fine network of useful trails. Why on earth would you avoid them to bushwhack instead? Went on for hours. Spooked the young’uns, ’specially Doris.
AUDREY
(cow)
Eventually, the sun began to set, and the darker the forest grew, the clearer I could see that I didn’t belong there. How could I have ever imagined that I would fit within those surroundings? How would I survive? I was unsure of what to eat. I noticed half-chewed leaves along the trails from time to time, but the plants were unfamiliar to me; I didn’t know how they might affect my digestion or, worse, whether they would poison me. Then the sky grew overcast, and the wind picked up. Tree trunks scraped against each other, creaking slow and ominous. Pinecones dropped with the gusts. The ones that fell close startled me, prodding my imagination and quickening my heart. I was terribly afraid. My stomachs were twisted in knots. It was difficult to breathe. And then the rain began. Cold, fat drops. I stood there ankle deep in the underbrush, wet and shivering in the wind, too afraid to lie down, and wanting so badly to be back at Bittersweet Farm, warm in the cowshed with Eddie and Madge and … oh, how I missed Mother that night. How I needed her to be close, to reassure me that everything would be okay.
BORIS
(skunk)
The forest can be cruel. It’s filled with hateful types and uppity sorts. There are the ones who turn their backs on you, and there are the ones who shut their eyes to avoid what’s unpleasant. They’re all the same in my book. And let us not forget evil. Oh, yes, the forest holds that too.… (sigh) She looked so pitiful. Miserable and pitiful. I am not one to get misty about such things, but to see that young lady all alone … my, my, my, sobbing and frightened, exposed to the elements, her head jolting about at the slightest sound, and her as plain to see as a bear cub in a snowstorm. Pitiful. Tugged at my heartstrings, she did. Played sad, sad music somewhere inside old Boris.… Thought I’d forgotten the melody long ago.
CLAUDETTE
(cougar)
Not in my nature to kill anything I haven’t tasted before. But it is in my nature to be curious. Never seen a creature like her. Looked pretty stupid just standing there in the open. Could smell her fear all the way from where I was bedding that night, even in the downpour. I stalked her some but didn’t attack. Stupid doesn’t mean she won’t still put up a fight. Needed to check her out some more. Thought maybe she was a moose at first. Heard stories of cougars taking down moose. Moose are big animals. More meat than on a deer. That girl was no moose though. She might have been big enough, but she had no antlers. And moose aren’t so stupid.
DORIS
(deer)
I had bad dreams that night. Oh yeah! I kept seeing the shadow of some scary, gigantic monster-blob-a-ma-jig stomping through the woods, making those exact same crashing sounds we kept hearing the previous afternoon and evening. I could only imagine what kind of face a thing like that would have, you know, with a thousand sharp teeth and claws longer than a crow’s beak. And it would be slobbering, with its tongue hanging low. Right? So I’d wake up all jumpy, and Mama would tell me to hush because she’s fed up with my way-over-the-top imagination, as she puts it, and so then I’d go back to sleep and have the same tootin’ nightmare! Oh yeah! It was an endless cycle of trauma that I can only hope will not scar me for life. But in the morning, we browsed the Red Maple trees and the Witch Hazel, and for a while I heard none of those spooky sounds, which was just fine with me. A fawn wants to eat her breakfast in peace. She doesn’t want no crazy monster-thing sneaking up on her while she’s nibbling on shrubs. Oh yeah!
AUDREY
(cow)
I didn’t sleep a wink that first night. I was grateful to see the first orange streaks of dawn smudged across the sky. I counted my blessings. I had survived and that was something to acknowledge and be grateful for. Before I left Bittersweet Farm, Roy told me that I should be on my guard. He said that there are creatures other than humans that a cow has to be wary of in a forest. So, as I said, I managed to get through one night, and it gave me a little bit of confidence, even though I was near starving. It was my hunger that gave me the will to keep moving. My muscles were stiff and cold, and the effort was not without pain. But every now and then, I came across thin puddles of water that had not yet drained into the earth. I lapped them up with deep delight. That was my morning: moving from one puddle to the next but keeping an eye out for something familiar to eat.
KASEY
(human)
Jumpin’ June bugs! My troubles were far from over after the flat tire. The cow disappeared into the woods and was gone in a flash. Once I got Red Bessie up and running, I had to tell the folks at Daisy Dream Abattoir that I had lost the cow. I tried explaining about the crazy farm animals, the cow opening the latch and the sudden crow attack. Mr. Ophal, the manager, checked my forehead for a fever! Then he refused to pay me or Bittersweet Farm for an undelivered cow.
So I phoned Bittersweet Farm. Glenn was none too thril
led either, don’t you know, insisting the deal was done once I left his property. Words were flying, and I feared that they were going to make me pay for the cow! But when emotions finally simmered down, we all decided that we should notify the authorities, so that if worse came to worst and the cow wasn’t found, the insurance company couldn’t claim we didn’t at least try to find her. Calls were made, plans discussed, and I’m shuttling between Daisy Dream, Bittersweet Farm and the regional police station, filling out reports and getting razzed by every officer on duty.
By the end of that day, I was as miserable and sorry as a man could be. I headed over to Connie’s Good Times Grill, ready to drown my sorrows in root beer floats and country music. I find myself sitting next to this guy who starts asking me about karaoke night. I was in no mood to answer questions. My nerves were frayed! But when he sees I’m down in the dumps, he lends me a sympathetic ear, and the next thing you know, I’m telling him the whole crazy saga. Of course, I’m expecting him to break out laughing at any moment, just like everyone else. But no, he’s real interested. He’s asking me questions. “What are you going to do about the runaway cow now?” he says. I tell him that the police have called in some forest ranger or something, and he’s going to track down that animal first thing in the morning. “And then what?” the guy asks. “And then what?” I repeat. “And then I’m going to get that darn cow over to Daisy Dream Abattoir and be done with the whole mess!”
Well, the guy just sits there thinking quietly for a minute. Then he pulls out his phone and calls his boss. He’s relating my whole story, including the part about the cow hunt, and it’s slowly dawning on me that he’s a reporter. “No, no, no,” I’m screaming at him. “You can’t be reporting this!” He says, “Why not? You didn’t say it was off the record.” So you want to know the reason I moved out of Maple Valley? I’ll tell you why: it’s having every man, woman and child within a fifty-mile radius read in the newspaper that you were the guy who lost a cow because you were too busy hiding under your truck, from a crow.
JIMMY D.
(crow)
Is that what happened afterward? Oh, man, that is so totally, totally wicked!
HUMPHREY
(human)
Hmm? Just speak into the microphone? Starting whe—oh, now? Ahem … AHEM! (cough, cough, cough) … I AM AND HAVE BEEN A WILDLIFE ENFORCEMENT OFFICER FOR—What was that? Too loud? I see.… Ahem, let me start again.
I am, and have been, a Wildlife Enforcement Officer for well onto nineteen years … Better? … Very good. To continue … I received word of the cow in question from my supervisor, who phoned me at my home the evening of the escape. In my capacity as a Wildlife Enforcement Officer these past nineteen years, I have, among many other duties, been assigned to hunt problem bears, cougars, coyotes and such. But up until that point, I had never been ordered to track down a domestic bovine runaway. I was not well-versed in the behavior of cattle gone wild. However, I didn’t foresee much difficulty in this assignment. As it was already dark, and I was deeply committed to the football game I was watching on television, I suggested to my supervisor that I retrieve the cow first thing in the morning. I anticipated no more than a half day’s effort at best.
When I arrived at our offices the next day, I was somewhat surprised to find a Miss Torchy Murrow waiting for me. She identified herself as a reporter for the Daily Planet and insisted on accompanying me in the search. I explained that in order to perform my job, there could be no interference from civilians. I would be carrying a rifle, albeit using tranquilizers rather than actual bullets, and would not want any mishap to occur should the cow in question attempt to bolt. Miss Murrow was not dissuaded. I then proceeded to explain that it was against department policy, which to be honest was not true, and that, besides, she was not dressed appropriately.
TORCHY
(human)
This frowning palooka in his spanking-clean uniform is telling me I ain’t got the duds for duty. Well, I nearly blew my stack then and there. I said, “Listen, mister, I’ve hiked through city sewers in a skirt and open-toed heels! You think I’m going to shirk from a patch of mud and a few fallen leaves because I’m sporting a dress and an uptown hairdo? Get used to me, Forest Copper, we’re so hitched together on this hunt, we’ll be sending out wedding announcements by the afternoon!”
HUMPHREY
(human)
Well, yes, I did let her accompany me. I, uh … ahem … Miss Murrow, you perhaps have noticed, is a very persuasive individual.
AUDREY
(cow)
When Buster was studying the map back at Bittersweet Farm and searching for the best place for me to escape, I had no idea that the patch of green on the paper translated into so much forest. My morning was no different than the first day. I pressed on and on, following the web of trails, moving forward but without any sense of getting anywhere. I was hungry and discouraged. For the first and only time, I considered giving up, walking back to the road—if I could ever find it again—and waiting to be picked up. It was foolish thinking, I admit, and it embarrasses me even now. Had I not been wallowing in self-pity, with no regard for the heroic efforts of all my friends at Bittersweet Farm, I’d have noticed earlier the swath of light behind a row of trees in the distance. And this time it wasn’t atop a hill but straight ahead on flat ground.
I approached with caution, not so much in fear of danger, but in an attempt to curb my hope and not be overly disappointed. There was no need. As I neared, I discovered a beautiful meadow dotted with the blues and reds and yellows of wildflowers! I gasped. “Mother, do you see?” I whispered. “It’s paradise. I’ve found Yvonne of Bavaria’s hidden paradise.” I half expected to see Yvonne herself, grazing on a patch of clover. She wasn’t, of course. But when I did step into the open field, which was deliciously thick with grass, and felt the full force of sunlight wash over my body, I soon discovered that there was someone else.
BORIS
(skunk)
Two-leggers are infrequent visitors to our parts. The number of times I’ve observed them could be counted on the claws of but three of my four legs. In each case, they came into the forest with one purpose only. They were predators like Claudette, stalking their prey and killing it with shiny sticks that make loud bangs. Two-leggers carry out what they catch; they don’t eat it then and there. Strange hunters, they are. I don’t believe they hear very well, or smell or see well either, for that matter. My, my, my, two-leggers are a feeble sort. They rely on tracks. And scat. Maybe they’ve got other tricks, but if they do, I haven’t figured them out yet. But old Boris has a few tricks under his fur too.
HUMPHREY
(human)
As a professional Wildlife Enforcement Officer, I have maintained standards of performance higher than most. I was not willing to compromise the quality of my work in order to accommodate a member of the press. So I excused myself, telling Miss Murrow that I needed to gather supplies for the hunt and promising to return shortly. In actual fact, I left the building through a back door, snuck around to the front and stealthily slipped away in my truck. After a few navigational errors, I arrived at the reported location of the cow’s escape.
Surprisingly—although less so now, in hindsight—I was greeted by Miss Murrow, who had managed to finagle the truck driver’s report from our office clerk and was waiting by the side of the road with two coffees. I refused her gesture at first, concerned that it was a bribe. However, as the coffee was still hot and smelled strongly of … well, excellent coffee, I felt that in an effort to maintain good media relations for the department, I should accept the peace offering. Ahem. Shortly after that, I got to work.
Cow tracks were evident, both outside the border fence and inside as well. They were not hard to spot; therefore, as suspected earlier, I didn’t foresee any difficulty in pursuing the animal. Only her removal from the forest might be tricky, should she prove stubborn upon capture. I had my rifle at the ready to tranquilize her if necessary, which in turn w
ould allow time to radio in for support. What I didn’t anticipate was that after a half hour of following very clear and obvious tracks, they would suddenly and inexplicably stop.
BORIS
(skunk)
My, my, my, that’s crazy talk. Impossible for big ol’ animal tracks to suddenly stop. However … should a tree branch full of leaves be dragged along a trail several times over, it’s possible for those tracks to be erased. Heh, heh, heh.