Moo

by Sharon Creech

  be d

  me into the air

  so that I landed

  ungracefully

  on the other side

  where

  Mrs. Falala was standing

  with a sly little smile on her

  sly

  little

  face.

  That Mrs. Falala!

  That Zora!

  You didn’t do it, Mrs. Falala said, taking the halter from me and holding it aloft. You think it eez too hard?

  We didn’t answer.

  You babies?

  Luke stamped his foot. We are not babies. Don’t—

  What Luke means is that we—we—

  We are not babies!

  Then do it, said Mrs. Falala. Put halter on Zora. She dangled the rope in front of me.

  You could practically see steam rising from Luke’s head. He grabbed the rope, climbed the fence gate, and, sitting on the top rail, dropped the loop of the rope over Zora’s big head while she stood perfectly still.

  There! Luke said, tossing the loose end of the rope to Mrs. Falala. There!

  You catch flies with your open mouth, Mrs. Falala said to me.

  I couldn’t have been more surprised if Luke had suddenly grown wings. He roped the cow? That big-headed cow? And the cow didn’t object?

  Mrs. Falala opened the gate and handed the rope to me. Bring Zora in.

  To the stall?

  Yes, yes, of course the stall. What you think, we are taking her to the grocery?

  There stood Zora. I gently tugged on the rope. Come on, Zora, here we go.

  Nothing.

  Come on, time to eat.

  Zora moved backward, pulling hard. I dug in my heels, sliding in the muck.

  Come on, Zora.

  Luke said, Tell her you won’t hurt her. Tell her—

  I told her. I pulled. She pulled back.

  Tell her not to be afraid.

  I told her. Zora pulled. My heels slid in farther. I fell on my butt.

  That cow!

  MRS. FALALA’S PLAN

  The next day, Mrs. Falala was waiting for us at the barn.

  I tell you the plan, yes? You are not so good yet, but you practice. You do all things and then you will be ready.

  Ready for what? I asked.

  Mrs. Falala opened the pasture gate and ushered me and Luke inside. Ready to show Zora.

  What does that mean?

  She tossed me the rope. Show her. At the fairs.

  What fairs?

  Luke was standing there, swiveling his head from me to Mrs. Falala and back again, not saying a word.

  You don’t know about fairs? Mrs. Falala slapped her hand against her forehead. Where you eez coming from that you don’t know fairs?

  You mean like a carnival?

  Carnival? No! A fair. They show the horses, the cows, the pigs, the goats, the bunnies, the chickens. The judges choose best cow and best chicken and best piggy, like that. A fair. You got it now?

  Luke and I had never been to this sort of fair. In big cities, they don’t show the horses, the cows, the pigs, the goats, the bunnies, or the chickens.

  Mrs. Falala was waving us farther into the pasture. Go. You get Zora. You think you can do it today?

  I don’t think Zora likes us, I said.

  Of course not. She does not know you from nobody. What if you are bad person? You have to introduce yourself.

  On our way across the field, Luke practiced, Hello, Zora. My name is Luke. This is Reena. We are not bad people.

  I don’t think she meant like that, Luke. I think she meant that Zora has to get used to us.

  Zora was not in the mood for introductions that day. She knocked me over with a push of her big, fat head, and she stubbornly refused to budge from her muddy spot near the bushes. She startled us frequently with loud mooooos, she slobbered profusely, and then shook her head to splatter us with the slobber. She lifted her tail to let loose a long, smelly stream of urine and two runny dung pats. Flies zoomed around Zora and ventured over to us.

  We returned to the barn without Zora.

  Mrs. Falala clicked her tongue. You might have to come more often.

  But—but— I tried to think of a polite protest but was caught off guard by Paulie the pig rounding the corner squealing. Paulie tore past me and knocked Luke flat, sending his notebook flying from his satchel.

  Mrs. Falala retrieved the notebook. What this eez? She flipped through the pages.

  That’s mine.

  You make these pictures?

  Yes.

  You copy?

  No.

  How you do?

  Luke was looking up at Mrs. Falala, shielding his eyes from the sun. He staggered back, tugging at my arm. Reena, Reena, up there—

  Slithering across the barn roof was the snake, long and thick and black.

  Mrs. Falala followed our stares. Eez just Edna. She eats the mice.

  A DAY OFF

  We took a day off from going to Mrs. Falala’s and rode our bikes all around the town. The sun was sparkling off the water and the boats in the harbor, and people were strolling along with their kids and their dogs and lined up at the ice cream stands and the lobster roll shack. We stopped at one stand for the creamiest soft-serve ice cream and got a cup of corn to feed the ducks in the river below. It was the perfect Maine-y kind of day.

  Up Chestnut Street we rode and down the hill to the farm with the Belted Galloways, where we leaned our bikes against the fence. The girl and boy I’d seen before, Beat and Zep, waved from the barn.

  Where you been? Beat called. Haven’t seen you in a few days. She put down a bucket and walked up to where we were standing.

  Busy. Helping an old lady.

  What old lady is that? Beat was wearing the same orange overalls and tall black boots I’d seen her in before. She had sparkly black eyes and a kind smile.

  Mrs. Falala.

  Beat clapped her hand to her mouth. Oh! Really? Mrs. Falala?

  Yep. You know her?

  Everyone knows Mrs. Falala.

  Do you know her cow, Zora?

  Beat put her hand on my arm. Oh boy, do I know Zora! Hey, Zep, come here. Look who’s helping Mrs. Falala and zonky Zora.

  The tall, redheaded boy, Zep, ambled up to the fence. He nodded at me and at Luke. That riot?

  Pardon? His Maine accent seemed stronger today.

  He spoke louder, as if we were deaf.

  THAT RIGHT? YOU HELPING MRS. FALALA?

  Erm. Yes.

  Beat and Zep exchanged a look that maybe meant Are they crazy? or maybe Can you believe that? or maybe Poor kids.

  Beat said, And they’re helping her with Zora, too.

  Whoa! Zora! Whoa! Now that’s a stubborn one, that Zora.

  Yes, I said, we discovered that. Mrs. Falala wants us to show Zora. At the fairs.

  Again, Beat and Zep exchanged a look.

  But, I said, we don’t know anything about cows or fairs, do we, Luke?

  Nope.

  Beat grinned. Well, we can help you with that, can’t we, Zep? We know about cows and we know about fairs, don’t we, Zep?

  Ayuh.

  So just like that, we arranged that Luke and I would come to the farm for a couple hours each of the days we did not go to Mrs. Falala’s.

  We’ll train you! Beat said.

  Ayuh, Zep agreed. Train you riot up.

  THE OUTFITS

  One morning when we arrived at Mrs. Falala’s, she said, In barn, go see, now. She flicked her hand at us, shooing us toward the barn.

  There we found farm clothing intended for us: sturdy canvas overalls, long-sleeve denim shirts, tall black rubber boots, and thick suede work gloves.

  Eez not new, Mrs. Falala said, as if to let us know she would never consider something so extravagant, but eez good. Maybe a little big, but okay, eez good. Try. See.

  If, a few months ago, anyone had asked either me or Luke to wear these items, we would have refused. But now, Luke said, Hey, just l
ike Zep and Beat at the farm, and I was thinking the same.

  Mrs. Falala pulled on her braid. Better to wear those when doing the work, yes? The work gets messy.

  Yes, we’d noticed that, and so had our parents, who said we were extremely stinky lately. They made us change in the garage before even coming inside and said our shoes were foul.

  But now we had real farm gear.

  It felt good.

  But we tried not to show

  how good

  because we were a bit

  suspicious

  that Mrs. Falala had

  done

  something

  nice

  like

  that.

  She told us that we should leave the clothes and boots in the barn at the end of each day.

  But maybe we could take them with us and bring them back? I asked.

  No.

  We could use them at the farm—

  What farm?

  Luke jumped in, rattling on about Beat and Zep and the Belties at Birchmere Farm, and then he pulled out his notebook and showed Mrs. Falala some of his drawings of the farm and the cows.

  Sit here, she said. Wait. She made her way back to the house.

  Uh-oh, I said. Did we make her mad?

  Were we dis-suspect—what’s that word?

  Disrespectful.

  Were we that? Luke asked.

  Mrs. Falala emerged from the house carrying something pressed close to her chest. She sat on a hay bale beside Luke, and tapped on his notebook. Show, she commanded. Show how!

  In her arms was a white tablet, which she placed on her lap. From a pocket she withdrew a stubby pencil. Show!

  Maybe Mrs. Falala was not familiar with the word please. Mm?

  Show what? Luke asked.

  That, she said, tapping on Luke’s open notebook. How you do. Show to me.

  Luke cradled his notebook against his chest. I don’t—

  You draw. Show to me.

  Mrs. Falala had pulled her braid around to the front and was chewing on the ends. She looked like a child sitting there on the hay bale, hair in her mouth, her small feet crossed one over the other. Show how you do.

  Luke uncapped his black marker and turned to a fresh page. He looked around, his gaze settling on the open barn door. Quickly he sketched the outlines of the barn sides and roof and then the door frame. Mrs. Falala bent her head close, her eyes moving from his hands to the paper to the barn and back again.

  Luke added a pig to the top of the barn and a fierce eagle swooping down on the pig.

  I no see that, Mrs. Falala said.

  Luke drew a braided dragon curling around the base of the barn.

  That not there, Mrs. Falala said.

  I opened the gate to the pasture and went in search of Zora. She was not under her favorite bushes this time, but in the shadows of another corner of the pasture, near a small pond. Zora was facing me, standing completely still, the only movement the occasional swish of her tail. I approached her slowly, talking softly.

  It’s just me. I’m Reena. Remember? I won’t hurt you. It’s okay.

  When I got within two feet of her, she spoke: Moo. Mooooo.

  Yes, yes, I said. Look, I don’t even have a halter. I’m just here to see you.

  Mooooo. Mooooo.

  I eased up beside her and carefully stroked her back. Her ears flicked this way and that.

  Mooooo.

  Zora was about four feet high and two feet wide and five feet long from end to end. At Birchmere, a heifer that Beat worked with weighed eight hundred pounds. Zora seemed only slightly smaller than that one.

  Zora’s fur was deep black on her face, neck, shoulders, and forefeet. Around her middle was a foot-wide belt of pure white fur, and behind was the deep black on her hindquarters, hind legs, and tail. I stroked her head and neck.

  Mooooo.

  I stroked her shoulders and back.

  Mooooo.

  I stood in front of her and looked into first one big black eye and then the other. The eyes were so far apart, it was hard to look into both at the same time. Zora’s nostrils were

  (I believe I have mentioned)

  ENORMOUS

  and wet

  and

  d

  r

  i

  p

  p

  y.

  I stood there for some time, talking to her and stroking her head, and then I turned and walked away, saying, See? I didn’t want anything from you. I only came to visit.

  I was halfway back to the barn when I turned to look behind me, and there was Zora,

  following

  me

  about ten feet behind, big head swinging from

  sidetoside.

  I kept on walking, as if this was nothing

  extraordinary

  but inside

  I was

  BURRR SSSTING !

  Zora was

  F O L

  L O W

  I N G

  me.

  I was hoping Mrs. Falala would notice, but her head was still bent low over Luke’s notebook, watching him sketch. As I approached, she pointed at Luke’s drawing and said, I no see this or this or that. She squinted at Luke. Where this comes from?

  Luke offered his marker to Mrs. Falala. You try.

  She clapped her hands to her chest. No, no—

  Didn’t you ever draw before?

  Mrs. Falala sat up straight. No. I do not draw.

  Never?

  Never.

  I couldn’t imagine that. Never? How could a person live a whole life and never draw? Not a tree or a house or a stick figure or a cat or a dog or a flower? Nothing? Never?

  Mooooo. Moooooooo.

  Zora was pressed up against the fence, her BIG nostrils poking between the slats.

  Well, well, Mrs. Falala said. Now you have new friend?

  SETBACK

  After spending a morning over at Birchmere Farm where Beat and Zep let us help as they trained and groomed their cows, we returned to Mrs. Falala’s, eager to practice what we’d learned.

  No sign of Mrs. Falala when we arrived, but Paulie the pig was snorting in a mud hole behind the barn and the parrot was squawking from the barn roof. The fat cat stood watch over a bush, its head darting left and right, tracking something. No sign of the snake.

  Zora was standing in the shade beside her favorite bush on the far side of the pasture. I wondered if Zora got tired standing around all day. Was she bored? Was she lonely? What did she think about?

  Hey, Zora! I called. I’m back! Did you miss me?

  We climbed the fence rails and dropped to the other side and crossed the pasture.

  It wasn’t until we were within five feet of her that she suddenly let out a

  loud

  bellowing

  Mooooooooo

  startling us so that we stopped in our tracks.

  Zora?

  Another

  loud

  belligerent

  bellowing

  Mooooooooo

  and with that she turned around and butted Luke with her enormous head and knocked him to the ground. She then butted her head at me, knocking me backward.

  Mooooooooo. Mooooooooo.

  She swung that big head from side to side, turned her back to us, and moved off.

  We tried once more to approach her, but she whipped her head around, swished her tail like a whip, butted me in the stomach, and bellowed angrily.

  Mooooo, mooooooooo

  Mooooo, mooooooooo.

  Luke had attached himself to my arm. Come on, Reena, let’s go back to the barn. Please, Reena? Please?

  We stepped slowly away from Zora, backtracking across the pasture, keeping our eyes on her the whole way.

  When we reached the barn, Mrs. Falala was standing in the open doorway.

  So, she said, how’s your little Zora friend today, mm? Not so friendly?

  MUCKING ABOUT

  I was mucking out
Zora’s stall

  scooping up manure patties

  and

  d

  u

  m

  p

  i

  n

  g

  them in the wheelbarrow.

  Luke and Mrs. Falala were sitting

  sidebyside

  on a hay bale

  with their notebooks open.

  When Luke drew, his small hand moved

  f a s t

  his pen gliding across the white paper.

  When Mrs. Falala drew, her gnarly hand

  crept along

  s l o w l y

  so very very

  s l o w l y.

  For three days she had been drawing

  the head of a cow—

  at least that is what I thought she was drawing

  but there was not enough of it to be sure.

  Luke’s lines flowed smoothly.

  There was movement in the figures.

  Mrs. Falala’s lines were stiff.

  Maybe the cow was dead.

  COLOR

  Along the roads

  the lupines grew

  tall spears of color

  pink and white and blue

  and beyond lay vast carpets

  of buttercups

  and up and down the roads

  we rode our bikes.

  Hello, lupines,

  hello, buttercups,

  hellooooo, Maine,

  we love you.

  BUGS

  What were these tiny black things

  that flew into your eyes and ears

  and slipped up your sleeves and

  down your socks

  and

  BIT

  you?

  They were not mosquitoes

  they were barely visible

  but when the day was still

  when the wind was calm

  these tiny black bugs

  sssssswwwwwwwaaaaaaarrrrrrrmmmmmed

  and bit

  and then you

  ITCHITCHITCHITCHED!!!

  We were covered with red welts

  and we

  SCRAAAAAAAATCHED

  all

  day

  long.

  BODILY FLUIDS

  One day I succeeded in haltering Zora and was trying to comb her with the sturdy metal comb that Mrs. Falala had shoved into my hands when we arrived. I thought Zora might like the feel of the comb through her fur, and for a few minutes it seemed that she did.

  And then I hit a snag,