Audrey (cow)

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

  My sudden shift in tone startled her. “Who are coming for me?” she asked. “The two-leggers,” I explained. “The predators. I’ve tried my best to keep them at bay. I’ve used all the tricks that I have at my meagre disposal, but I fear I have failed you.” Her face sagged, but she did not crumple. I suspect she had experienced similar news in the past. “You say that you’ve been protecting me?” “Yes,” I replied, “from your first night in the forest, when I spied you alone in despair.” I went on to explain all my ruses. She nodded slowly; for a moment, she was lost among thoughts no doubt turbulent.

  But then her eyes softened, and she looked at me—she looked at me and smiled. “Thank you, Boris. Thank you for allowing me these days of freedom. Thank you for granting me days of life that I would never have had otherwise. Thank you.” And this time I did weep. How could I not? This child, this beautiful child … yes … I wept. She came over to me, leaned down and nuzzled my fur. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “It’s alright, Boris. It’s over. I’ll prepare myself to meet them.”

  What? Surrender? “No!” I shouted. “What I mean is, no, that’s not what I—I mean, you must get away, not give up. I have contacts. Trustworthy, as far as such creatures go. I will ask them to help. Yes! They will smuggle you out!”

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  “Smuggle me out? But to where?” I asked him. “Where else is there for me to hide?” Boris was insistent that I not lose hope. “This forest is vast, young lady. It stretches beyond the two-leggers’ roads. You’ll see. But getting away will be difficult if they are looking for you. It must be done under cover of darkness. There are professionals who can guide you. I’ll arrange for them to escort you this very night. Be ready. Please, be safe.” And then Boris, who had been my protector all along, who nobly and secretly kept me safe for no other reason than out of the decency of his dear, dear heart; that generous yet ferocious soul took his leave as humbly as he had come to me.

  I stood alone in the meadow, wondering what was to happen next. Could I continue on to someplace else, a place without a clearing or barn or Doris and her family? How could I carry on without any of these things? How could I possibly make a home elsewhere?

  Then I looked at the house at the far end of the meadow, collapsed and rotten, hollow and sad, and I laughed at my foolishness. I had no home. I was only pretending this was a home, the way Little Girl Elspeth served imaginary tea to her dolls when she was smaller. Homestead Meadow was not Bittersweet Farm. My nights were spent in a cage, not a barn; and they were populated, not with real friends and family, but only with memories of them. And Doris, as much as I had grown to love her like a sister, could not be my sister if my presence might lead to her harm. I had to move on. I had to believe that there was a home for me somewhere out there.

  Evening was approaching. I headed into the woods. I needed to tuck Doris in and say my good-byes, and then wait for Boris’s friends.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Righty-right, Boris and us go way back. Can’t get into the particulars, mind you, because—and stop me if I get too technical—one is beholden to the statutes of limits regarding laws upheld in certain places and jurisdictions. Ipso facto, any discussion might be deemed as a confession of sorts. So you might say we’d be self-incriminating ourselves, if you follow my train of thought. Ask Stan if I’m correct in my summation.

  STAN

  (raccoon)

  He most certainly is, my Oliver.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Righty-right, there you go. But to the point: if something needs to be smuggled in or smuggled out, Stan and me, we’re the ones to get the job done. As to the job in question, we were to pick up a “package” at the far end of Homestead Meadow a couple of owl hoots past midnight.

  DORIS

  (deer)

  Audrey gave me an extra-long story time that night, full of funny bits involving Eddie, who is a creature called a dog but sounds awfully like a wolf, and Buster, who I don’t even know what he is. And there’s this bird called a rooster, who can’t fly but has to holler every dawn, which I would personally find too stressful because a fawn needs her mornings quiet. Oh yeah! I loved Audrey’s stories. That girl could spin a tale like no one else. And after she said “happily ever after,” then we both recited the poem she made up just for me.

  My forest bed is veiled and soft

  It keeps me safe, it keeps me sound

  I close my eyes and gently sleep

  Toward my dreams I now am bound

  JUNE

  (deer)

  I was hard on the girl. I suppose I was afeared to let her into my heart, in case I might make reckless decisions. In the forest, you only get yourself but one chance. But on that evenin’, after she tucked Doris in, I took her aside. I told Audrey that I wished her luck and happiness on her long journey. I told her she was a good girl and that her Mama would done be proud to have such a kind and courageous daughter. Weren’t much to say, but I felt it was somethin’ important for her to hear.

  HUMPHREY

  (human)

  There was an old abandoned farmstead deep in the forest that I discovered in some old maps we had on file back at the office. It belonged to the Doolittle clan, an early pioneer family. Standard tracking methods were getting us nowhere in this hunt. What was required was to get into the head of a cow, to think how a cow thinks, and figure how she might cope in her new environment. That is what led me to the conclusion that the old farm was where I’d find Audrey. Whatever cleared fields there were had likely grown over decades ago, but the general layout of the farm might be familiar to a domestic bovine. To make it irresistible for Audrey, I decided to plant some decoys to lure her in. And then, like a duck hunter waiting in a blind, I would set up a position on the edge of the clearing, ready to take her down just past dawn.

  CLAUDETTE

  (cougar)

  Not in my nature to hunt in daylight. Make an exception for stupid Charolais. Can’t take her when she’s in her barn-cave. Wait for her to come out. Wait silently at the meadow edge. Wait for morning to break. Then I take Charolais down.

  TORCHY

  (human)

  The Audrey escapades were reaching the end, see. Ol’ Humph grew all steely-eyed and determined, the hunters were closing in, and the curtains were about to come down on this show. If that brave bovine had another ace up her sleeve, this would have been the time to play it. Sure, I wanted the story to continue. I got a job to do, but then, I suppose, so does Ol’ Humph. But had I a minute alone with the lady, I’d have told her to scram, to beat it, to hit the road.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  I sat in the barn half the night waiting for my escorts to arrive. My senses were so sharp that I was alert to every sound, sight and smell that a forest offered. Hour upon hour, my range broadened: the owl hoots, the cricket chirps in the meadow, the frog choruses from the nearby pond, the distant howls. Breezes prodded tree branches and grasses, making their shadows dance and bow. Breezes also brought the heavier scents of moss and mushroom that I ignored during the day, in favor of the flower perfumes that I prefer. But now the flowers were asleep and unconcerned. So I waited and waited, yet did not tire. How surprised I was to hear the scraping and whispers of those two fellows, who had somehow managed to enter the barn undetected, despite my vigilant attention.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Well, of course she didn’t hear us slip in. We’re grade-A, top-notch professionals, we are, and as such, me and Stan possess the qualities of stealth and cunning that allow for sneaky movement. It would hardly do, to be picked off by “the package” prior to arriving at the rendezvous. Ask Stan if I’m correct in my synopsis.

  STAN

  (raccoon)

  He most certainly is, my Oliver.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Righty-right, then. So, upon meeting “the package” at the aforementioned place as specified by o
ur old and dear friend, Boris, a.k.a. “The Skunk,” we were immediately smacked in the face by two details. Details that, as pertaining to the successful hush-hush transportation of goods, would be significant problems.

  STAN

  (raccoon)

  She was huge and white!

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Indeed she was, indeed she was. Righty-right, then, we got ourselves a smuggling liability. Can’t perform any easy alterations in the size department, if you follow me. But as pertaining to the bright color adorning “the package,” making undetected travel difficult if not impossible, me and Stan reached into our wily bag of craftiness and came up with an inspired plan for camouflage that did the trick, if I do say so myself.

  STAN

  (raccoon)

  We covered her in mud, we did!

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Always to the point, my esteemed colleague Stan, always to the blunt point. But yes, indeed, we plastered “the package” in a covering of moist dirt attained from the bank of the nearby pond. Our scheduled time of departure was appreciably set back, as you can imagine, on account of the sizeable “canvas” we were working with. To take advantage of whatever darkness was still available, we needed to move fast if we were to reach the far side of the forest before dawn.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  They wanted me to bushwhack through the forest in near total darkness, and they wanted me to do so at a hurried pace. I couldn’t see as well as they could, and I was neither small enough nor agile enough to keep up. “Stop,” I finally said. “This will not do. At this rate, I will break a leg. Find me another route.” My escorts were not pleased with my demand, but even they could see that it was reasonable. There was a wide path marked by two bumpy furrows that led away from the meadow. I had been warned by Doris’s family to never walk along it. After some debate between Oliver and Stan, we shifted our escape route to that path, even though it was not as safe.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  The first rule of smuggling is to avoid all routes that offer two-leggers ample access to your personage. To put it another way, if they can see you, they can catch you. As such, the route we were forced to use, which at one time served to connect the Homestead Meadow to the more often used two-legger road, was a big, red-flag no-no.

  But righty-right, “the package” made her argument, and the sun was itching to rise, so I said to my Stan, “Stan,” I said, “our options are few and fraught with challenges; we are tormented by conditions undeserved. The forbidden two-legger road, on this occasion, offers our only salvation. But let us take comfort in the fact that this thoroughfare is long past its practical days, and the likelihood of anyone using it is near to nil.” That is what I said. Ask Stan if I am correct in my citation.

  STAN

  (raccoon)

  He most certainly is, my Oliver, word for word.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  So, righty-right, off we go, traipsing down the long-abandoned, weed-infested, barely-a-shadow-of-its-former-self two-legger road, and you’ll never guess what happened. But take a guess anyway, just for a bit of fun.

  KASEY

  (human)

  Phew, what a day that was. I went over to Bittersweet Farm with Red Bessie around four-thirty in the morning. It was dark and cold, and I was in no mood to be dealing with any crazy animals, don’t you know. Glenn Parker was already out there in the open area beside the cowshed with two of them sneaky creatures and his sheepdog. Glenn isn’t talking to me much, on account of the whole Audrey thing, but them two cows were calm and cooperative, not dancing or anything, and that’s all that mattered to me. We loaded them up the ramp onto Red Bessie, Glenn gets into the passenger seat, and we head off.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  It was much easier using the abandoned road. I still had to be careful because the furrows were uneven and rocky, requiring me to be sure of each step before pressing down. But as dawn approached, the dark lifted slowly until I could safely mark the route. Of course, no matter how fast I went, I was never fast enough for my escorts, who grumbled out loud almost continuously, only stopping to shush me, who wasn’t saying a peep. We were very close to reaching the main two-legger road when suddenly both my escorts stopped talking, stood up on their hind legs and shushed me again with more urgency. They had heard something, and a moment later, I heard it too.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  So have you had yourself a little guess yet? Have you figured out what happened to me and dear Stan and “the package,” who insisted we take the easier route? I’ll give you a little hint. The second rule of smuggling is that if anything, even something a whisker’s breadth away from impossible, has the possibility of happening, then more than likely it will happen. Keeping this in mind, what do you think we could possibly have come across, while going our merry little way along an all-but-forgotten, nothing-to-have-a-worry-about, abandoned two-legger road?

  STAN

  (raccoon)

  We saw a truck, we did!

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Took the words right out of my mouth.

  KASEY

  (human)

  I had my map out because I was instructed by the Wildlife Enforcement Officer to take the cows to some long-forgotten field somewhere in the middle of the forest, and the only way to get there was by an unmarked service road. Forty-five minutes of driving and we’re getting close. It’s lighter outside but still not daylight, so we nearly miss the turn. But Glenn thinks he sees it; he points and shouts. I take a sharp right, and jumpin’ June bugs, I plow Red Bessie along the bumpiest road imaginable. Barely a half second in and my bouncing headlights catch two raccoons frantically pushing what looks like a giant black boulder off to the side. Now, other people might find that weird, but after what I’ve seen, nothing really surprises me anymore.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Righty-right, we hear a noise, and it doesn’t sound too friendly. Me and Stan, professional smugglers that we are, break into evasive maneuvers. I turn to “the package” and I shout, “Duck!”

  Sadly, my unfortunate choice of words confuses both “the package” and Stan, who immediately begins to look for the waterfowl in question. I try again, yelling, “Hide!” and pushing “the package” off to the edge. Because with only a second to spare, a hideously large and loud vehicle was coming barreling down the never-ever-used road and straight at us, promising extensive damage to our persons upon impact. I shout out for a third time, returning to the very fitting verb “Duck!” yet again. This time, my partner Stan takes my point, and following my example, throws himself to the ground, allowing the truck to pass over our terrified and wobbly but still-in-one-piece bodies.

  AUDREY

  (cow)

  I knew the sound of that truck as soon as it came into earshot. You don’t quickly forget the contraption meant to take you to your demise. After it rocked and bounced past us, snorting and belching like some angry bull, I lifted my head, and to my horror, saw Madge and Agnes hanging on for dear life in the back. It was both alarming and confusing. Why were they in the Abbot’s War truck? They were milk cows, and there was no reason to take them … unless it was some kind of punishment, to teach the other animals a lesson perhaps because … because of me.

  Were they being punished because I escaped? But why take them to the meadow? Is that what they did with milk cows? Did their lives end there instead of at Abbot’s War? None of it made any sense. But my eyes met Madge’s, and they looked so scared. I took a step back onto the road, and she started to bellow. They drove off toward the meadow, and soon she was too far away for me to hear what she was saying. But it couldn’t have been good. I was frantic. Meanwhile, my escorts insisted we continue across the road up ahead and carry on to the other side of the forest. But what about Madge and Agnes? I couldn’t just abandon my friends in their time of need, espe
cially if their trouble was my fault.

  MADGE

  (cow)

  I saw her. It was Audrey; I was sure of it. I recognized her dear face and soft eyes. But her hide was so blackened and cracked, I thought perhaps she was ill. Then she got up and moved toward the truck, so I bellowed a warning. As she receded behind us, I yelled, “Stay away, Audrey! It’s a trap! Stay far away!” In moments, we were out of view. I didn’t know if she had heard me, but I wished so deeply that she had.

  OLIVER

  (raccoon)

  Righty-right then, the two-legger vehicle was out of sight, out of mind. I checked my limbs—all accounted for—and Stan’s self-appraisal reached the same conclusion.

  Up on our feet, we’re breathing fine, life is good, time to get back to work. Our destination is but a few dozen steps away. We need only deliver “the package” across the smooth road yonder, point her in the right direction, and our contractual obligations with dear and old friend Boris, a.k.a. “The Skunk,” is a foregone conclusion.