Audrey (cow)
Page 9
GLENN
(human)
Oh, yes, we were kept well-informed regarding the Audrey caper as it progressed. I was in touch with Kasey and the folks at Daisy Dream through daily phone calls. However, my youngest daughter, Elspeth, was particularly caught up in the story as told by that Daily Planet reporter, who seemed intent on turning Audrey into some kind of folk hero. Elspeth insisted on reading every news report out loud at the dinner table. And the way Roy, her horse, was regularly sticking his head in through the kitchen window each evening, you’d think he was trying to catch the latest information about Audrey too. I’m joking, of course, but on several occasions I did find that a bunch of animals had gathered beside Roy near the window, something that I’d not seen before or since. Strange days: must have been that full moon.
I would say that by the end of the week the phone was ringing nonstop. There were requests for interviews and visits to the farm from television stations all across the globe. I said no, of course. It would have been too disruptive.
HUMPHREY
(human)
With more officers assigned to the task, my supervisor was certain that the cow, uh, that is to say Audrey, as Miss Murrow insisted I refer to her by name, would be cornered and captured within the fifth day. This, as it turned out, was not the case.
Whereas earlier, when I would follow cow tracks that suddenly stopped without explanation, we were now encountering another curious set of circumstances. Not to say that we didn’t still find cow tracks. Indeed, we found an abundance of cow tracks. It’s just that the cow tracks we found did not stop … ever. In fact, whenever we followed cow tracks along a trail that hit a fork, we would discover that those cow tracks continued in both directions, as if, um … as if Audrey had suddenly split into two cows. And when we divided up officers so we could follow both sets of tracks, we would discover upon reaching another fork that the tracks had divided yet again. Many of the trails we followed ended up looping in on themselves. We were quite literally walking in circles.
TORCHY
(human)
So whaddaya know, Bobby Joe? Ol’ Humph ain’t the Dumb Dora I took him for after all. See, a half dozen wildlife officers were added to the mix, but they were still no closer to putting the net on that half-ton runaway. It was loony tunes, a joke and a half, I tell ya! Audrey was playing with those fellas like they were toddlers. Now you see her, now you don’t. Did she go this way or that way, or maybe she’s standing right behind you! If I was a betting gal, and I most soitenly am, I’d have said to put your money on that heavyweight heifer. Audrey’s peekaboo strategy was beating the odds. She was outwitting and outlasting each and every one of them forest coppers.
LUCILLE
(beaver)
Okay, fine, I’ll tell you what I know. Boris the Skunk, he approached me three days after word spread about this cow’s arrival. He said, “Please, Lucille. I’d like your professional opinion on a particular matter.” Okay, fine. I’m down with that. I’m not like all those other folk in this forest who stick up their noses at Boris, who find him repulsive, or who say he doesn’t know his place. Who he is, what he does, blah, blah, blah, none of that is of any interest to me. You like him, you hate him—okay, fine, whatever. I could care less. You hear what I’m saying?
But he and I have history. Boris the Skunk once used his smelly “power of persuasion” on my behalf when a pack of wolves started making advances. So frankly, Boris is someone I was indebted to. You do hear what I’m saying, right?
So I followed Boris, and he took me to a spot along a deer trail where there was a muddy indent of a footprint. I’d never seen one like that before. It kind of reminded me of a pair of lips I saw on a two-legger who was rowing past my dam last summer. Whatever. “Is that from the stranger?” I asked. Boris nodded. Then he looked at me. “Do you think you could make me a stamp of that, Lucille?” He pulled a piece of wood out from under a nearby fern that he must have stashed earlier. Okay, fine, shouldn’t be too hard. I figured an hour’s work tops. After all, we’re only talking about an oversized pair of lips. I gave him a nod and I added a toothy grin. I said, “A favor for a favor, Boris.” Then I got to carving.
BORIS
(skunk)
Lucille is a master carver. I respect her work, and to judge the quality, you need only consider how long the two-leggers chased the phantom cow around the forest.… (sigh) I admit it was a lot of effort on my part, inventing a record of where Audrey might have been roaming. But that’s alright. Old Boris doesn’t sleep as well as he used to. I had time.
Now, the two-leggers were one thing; Claudette was another. I heard her screeches and growls echo through the woods that fifth night. I feared the worst for Audrey, but when I checked on her, I was relieved to see she was fine, although shaken. The next morning, I discovered five or six long whiskers on the ground by the barn entrance. And no sign of Claudette, neither that day nor the day after. My, my, my, poor Claudette. It would seem that her first encounter with a vicious Charolais didn’t go as well as she hoped. Claudette was licking her wounds. But I knew she’d be back. And angry.
DORIS
(deer)
One morning we went down to the meadow to pay a social call on Audrey, but that girl didn’t look too good. I’d say she was as white as a ghost, but that was her natural self already. Audrey was spooked, and as it so happens, I was too, on account of some horrible dreams I had the night before. There was a monster growling and screeching, and I was cornered, and Mama wasn’t around to rescue me, and when I awoke, I just knew positively for sure that this time I had been emotionally scarred by my vivid and overactive imagination. Oh yeah! Audrey and I ate breakfast in silence that day. She was jumpy. She kept looking over her shoulder as if she might get attacked by my dream monster!
AUDREY
(cow)
How my emotions swung like a pendulum during my time in the forest—from the euphoria of escape to hopeless despair, then to happy optimism and back to unsettling fear. This was not the me that I knew and depended on. I was never so changeable, so erratic back at Bittersweet Farm. Perhaps I was a dreamer, but at my core, I was solid.
The truth was that after my midnight encounter with the velvet-voiced beast, I was quite simply unnerved. I was afraid of my own shadow. I began to have doubts about Yvonne of Bavaria’s existence. Imagine! She was my guiding light, my hope and trust that there was a future for me in the woods.
How I envied Doris with her mother. I watched how June always kept a protective eye on her, but a cautious one on me. Where was my mother? Why was I orphaned? Fear was sapping my resolve. Toughen up, I would tell myself. Thicken your hide, Audrey. So I did, or at least I tried. I reminded myself of what there was to be grateful for. That I was still alive, still surviving. That I had a roof over my head and food enough to eat. That I had Doris and her family, and even if they weren’t my family, I was allowed their company and perhaps, in time …
HUMPHREY
(human)
After three more days of being led on a wild cow chase, several things arose that caused me to reconsider the tactics we were using. First, Torchy’s news reports went national, and that brought in television crews from all over. In general, they were a nuisance, and several more officers had to be brought in to keep them from obstructing our search. However, one network had hired a helicopter to give their viewing audience a sense of scope, as they put it. The reporter in the helicopter claimed to have caught a glimpse of a large white creature in the woods that would certainly have fit Audrey’s description. But where she spotted it was a fair distance away from where we were following cow tracks.
The second thing that was … unusual was that from time to time we would encounter animals and birds that would attack. What I mean is … we were not exactly accosted by wildlife but … there were occasions when twigs or pinecones were … they were dropped on us. I’m not suggesting that these creatures were trying to do us harm, but it did seem as if they were attemptin
g to get our attention.
TYRONE
(badger)
Finally! It’s about time someone asked our opinion about that Audrey problem. So how did the rest of us forest creatures feel about her living among us? We hated it! When she came into our neighborhood, she brought trouble along with her. We had two-leggers patrolling through the woods all day, every day. You couldn’t step out of a hole or climb down from a tree without wondering if you might get stomped on. Then their flying doohickeys came swooping low over the treetops, terrifying the bird folk, sending everyone scurrying for cover. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing personal against cows. I don’t care for them, but I don’t wish them any harm, as long as they live where they’re supposed to live and stay away from our neighborhood. Riling up Claudette didn’t do us any favors either. That cow was disruptive to our way of life. We have work to do, you know, and bellies to feed.
THELMA
(squirrel)
Hmm, how should I put this … cows are not like us. They’re different. They have different ways of going about things. They’re grass eaters, for one, and although I, personally, find that thought repulsive, maybe someone else wouldn’t mind so much. But please, the whole cud chewing thing? That’s just very, very off-putting. And I don’t think I’m being out of line saying that, right? If one of my children was invited over to a cow’s place to eat—I mean, to, you know, re-eat? Uh-uh, no way, that isn’t going to happen on my watch.
Really now, we’re expected to be tolerant, I know; we’re expected to be understanding. But what about them? How come they can’t make a little effort to be more like us? Why can’t they eat like us? I’m not saying I would send them all to that Abbot’s whatever to be killed, but then again, we only have Audrey’s word on that, right? Is there really such a place? She could have been making it all up, to get our sympathy. She’s a cow! She’s different! Lying might be in her nature. We didn’t know what was going on in her head. We didn’t know if she had some, you know, ulterior motive. Maybe she’d done something bad to the two-leggers, you know?
I’m just saying, maybe they had good reason to catch her. Maybe she was dangerous. Maybe she carried a disease. Who knows what she was capable of doing. Was I supposed to stick my neck out for her? Was I supposed to let her cause trouble in my forest? I’ve met a few two-leggers in my time. They pass through. They look nice enough. I’ve heard they sometimes leave a nut or two lying around. I don’t know why Boris was all about saving Audrey. It was reckless, I say. The smart thing would be to help the two-leggers. There could have been a reward. A nice bunch of free nuts would come in handy, you know? I’m just saying …
BORIS
(skunk)
They meddled! The Tyrones and the Thelmas and their like. They interfered! Cowards! Collaborators! Yes, you heard me! Old Boris doesn’t mince his words. Audrey came into our home desperate and alone, and we were obligated to help. They turned their backs on her, they colluded, they … My, my, my, how their paws are stained with guilt. (sigh) … It was over. I could no longer help her. I could no longer stamp the trails. Wherever I was, they would warn the two-leggers and bring attention to my whereabouts. I had to rush. I had to constantly hide. Finally, I stumbled. Barely escaped, and left the stamp behind. It was too late to retrieve it.
HUMPHREY
(human)
On the eighth day, I came across a crudely made stamp of a cow’s hoof. It was clear that someone had taken it upon him or herself to obstruct our search in an effort to keep Audrey from capture, or to make the Department look foolish, or perhaps both. What was also now clear was that we were looking in the wrong part of the forest. I studied the maps and discovered a likely location for Audrey to be living, assuming that the helicopter sighting was accurate, and that she was still alive after all this time. Let me add that as a professional Wildlife Enforcement Officer, I find no amusement in childish pranks.
TORCHY
(human)
Don’t look at me, sister! I may add a few colorful adjectives to the mix, but I’m a newshound to the bone. I just report the news; I don’t make it myself.
BORIS
(skunk)
I had failed. I heard the two-leggers talking. They knew where to go now. I had to warn Audrey.
GLENN
(human)
Kasey phoned me at dinnertime, shortly after the search entered its second week. The Wildlife Department had a new plan, he said. He then explained it to me. I didn’t like it. But I agreed to assist in the hope of putting a stop to all the phone calls, and the reporters sneaking onto the property. Kasey said he’d be by with the truck just before dawn the next morning.
MADGE
(cow)
Oh, we weren’t scared. We knew exactly what the truck was all about, plain and simple. Since the day after Audrey left, the whole farm was following the events. Eddie taught himself to fetch the paper from the mailbox at the end of the drive each afternoon, and then drop it down at Little Girl Elspeth’s feet just as she got off the school bus.
Poor Eddie was so desperate to know Audrey was alright, so eager to learn if she had eluded those hunters another day. But then, so were we all. A lot of the animals couldn’t even wait for Roy to make the rounds. Those who had the freedom to move about, or were able to convince Buster to open their gates, would head over to Farmer’s house and stand under the kitchen window to hear the latest. We were all rooting for her, even Norma; even Max, I suspect. So when Farmer came and got me and Agnes that morning and loaded us up on the truck, we knew why we were being taken—okay, maybe Agnes was a bit confused—but I knew, and I was not happy about being used as an accomplice in Audrey’s capture.
CLAUDETTE
(cougar)
Nasty creature, Charolais. Nasty and vicious. Ruined my face. Talked of friendly meetings, and then ruined my face! Vicious creature. But still stupid. Still prey. Hunting her would be a pleasure. No more caution. No more waiting. Stupid Charolais was going to be my dinner. And after I took her down, I was going to eat her slow.
AUDREY
(cow)
When I look back, I can say that I made the best of things. I can say that I even found moments of small joy. I spent my days with Doris and her family, learning more and more about the forest and observing the creatures that made their life under its leafy canopy. If I stopped to listen, I could hear a symphony of sounds around me. From above, there were warbles, twitters and love songs. From the pond, there were croaks, peeps and trills. From the burrows and brambles, there were chitters, squeaks and hisses.
All these languages were new and unfamiliar, but my ears grew accustomed, and quickly I could make out a word here or phrase there. I discovered how truly universal our conversations are. “Let us look for food together.” “Did you see what the so-and-sos built their nest with?” “How I love a sunny afternoon.”
The desire to jump right in and add my thoughts to these easy, breezy exchanges was hard to resist. But I continued to be polite, as Mother had raised me to be, and I attempted a hello only if I deemed it safe. I cannot say that my greetings were returned in kind. I suppose I was still viewed suspiciously, as a stranger. Some scurried away in fear while others, I felt, were outright hostile to my advances. I kept reminding myself, in time they will see that I mean no one any harm. In time.
And in the evenings, I would help put Doris to bed, telling her gentle stories to ease her into sleep. But when her mother gave me a curt nod, I would return to the meadow on my own. Back into the darkness of the stuffy, broken barn, remembering to always push the door closed and lie against it, to prevent any more attempts at entry by unwelcome guests. My nights were not pleasant, and I courted sleep by imagining a bigger barn full of all the cows I had known and cared about, eavesdropping on their gossip and complaints and jokes until sleep finally overtook me. But on the eighth day, on a rare occasion when I was in the meadow all by myself, I was met by a creature that up until then I had not seen.
BORIS
(skunk)
She did not back away when I approached. For an animal like old Boris, much used to seeing expressions of revulsion, it was both a surprise and a pleasure to be greeted with genuine civility. I introduced myself. She responded accordingly. “It’s a lovely day,” she said. “Yes, it is,” I agreed. “I heard a birdsong this morning,” she offered. “One that I had not noticed before. A series of sharp whistles—peerda, peerda, peerda. Very pretty. Do you know who it belongs to?” “Sadly, I do not,” I replied.
We continued on in this fashion, turning those few short moments into a waking dream. Old-time feelings washing over me like floodwater. I was engaged in polite conversation, as I had always wished for and imagined: me and a young lady discussing the simple details of a summer day, comparing observations, laughing at the vagaries of forest society. My, my, my, I could have, at any moment, wept tears. Oh, how cruel to taste the happiness I had longed for my whole life, yet knowing that I must end it. I had to. Time was of the essence. “They are coming for you, dear lady.”