wander. I don’t mind the extra legwork, bringing them up to the shed from here.’
‘Four wires, Ian. Happy to make it five, however, if it comes out of your wages.’
The herd grazed in the next paddock. Most of the cows had rushed over to the tractor when Ian had arrived, hopeful for hay. They’d hung around for a few minutes, then drifted away again when they saw the load was wiring and tools.
‘Another couple of weeks, we’ll have our first calves,’ said Jack. Ian pretended not to have heard him. He felt sick, thinking about it. About what he knew about calving. Nothing.
One of the cows was bellowing. It stood away to the left. Its spine was buckled and its back legs splayed. Ian looked again. Two slimy thin black legs protruded from the beast’s back end.
‘Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.’
Ian looked at Jack. Jack threw his cigarette on the ground.
They ran through the mud to the cow. Its eyes were white and rolling back in its head. Ian didn’t know what to do. He stopped short of the beast, his arms hanging at his sides.
‘Turn it around,’ Jack yelled at him. He’d grabbed the heifer around the neck and was holding it tight. The cow put up no resistance but kept up a low keen.
Ian couldn’t see the point of turning the cow around, but followed instructions and moved towards the rear of her. Then he saw what it was he had to do. Not turn the cow around. Turn the calf. Turn the calf inside the heifer, so it came out head first.
He rolled up his sleeve and grabbed the spindly, hairy legs. He clutched them together like a handful of kindling. Then, pushing, he eased the legs slowly back inside the cow.
The calf was alive. Its legs slipped out of his grip. They slid apart. He thought about the time he’d tried to eat with chopsticks, the time Bridie and he had gone to the city and, drunk, visited a Chinese place for dinner. They had a life of their own, those chopsticks, flicking themselves and the salty sauce from the dish all over the table.
‘Fucking get on with it,’ Jack yelled at him.
The calf was alive, that was the main thing. He regained his grip on the legs and kept pushing. His arm was almost entirely inside the cow. He felt the legs buckle and bend away from his hand. He’d managed to force it back into the uterus.
‘It’s alright,’ he called out. ‘I’m turning it. It’s turning now.’
He let go of the legs as he felt another part of the calf brush up against the back of his hand. Repositioning himself behind the cow, he turned his arm and grabbed. An ear, he was pretty sure it was an ear in his hand. His hand felt its way down the back of the calf’s head to the neck.
Slowly, he pulled. There was a tiny pulse under his hand. The head moved, inch by inch, towards him.
He grinned over the back of the heifer at Jack. ‘I’ve got it. It’s coming now.’
Jack didn’t smile back. ‘Hurry the fuck up,’ he said.
He saw then that the cow was shaking. Convulsing. It was ready to collapse.
One last tug and the calf slid out of its mother. It lay on the ground in the mud, twitching. ‘We’ve saved it,’ Ian said.
‘Saved what ?’ asked Jack. ‘Saved a half-baked fucking calf? Fuck it.’
The mother lay next to the calf. Her breathing became shallow. Her eyes were all white, no pupils to be seen.
‘What have you got?’ shouted Jack. ‘What have you got with you?’
‘Nothing. I only came out for the fences …’
‘Grab your gun then. We’re not going to save her. Grab the gun.’
Ian had no gun. Not on the tractor. Not anywhere.
‘It’s not here either,’ he said.
‘ Jesus .’
Jack marched over to the tractor and picked up a fencing post. He strode back. Then he stopped. In those few seconds between walking away and returning, the cow had stopped shaking. Its eyes were wide open, glassy. It was dead.
‘ Jesus ,’ Jack said again, shaking his head.
The calf was barely moving. Ian bent down beside it, pulled away the placenta, clearing its
‘Four wires, Ian. Happy to make it five, however, if it comes out of your wages.’
The herd grazed in the next paddock. Most of the cows had rushed over to the tractor when Ian had arrived, hopeful for hay. They’d hung around for a few minutes, then drifted away again when they saw the load was wiring and tools.
‘Another couple of weeks, we’ll have our first calves,’ said Jack. Ian pretended not to have heard him. He felt sick, thinking about it. About what he knew about calving. Nothing.
One of the cows was bellowing. It stood away to the left. Its spine was buckled and its back legs splayed. Ian looked again. Two slimy thin black legs protruded from the beast’s back end.
‘Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.’
Ian looked at Jack. Jack threw his cigarette on the ground.
They ran through the mud to the cow. Its eyes were white and rolling back in its head. Ian didn’t know what to do. He stopped short of the beast, his arms hanging at his sides.
‘Turn it around,’ Jack yelled at him. He’d grabbed the heifer around the neck and was holding it tight. The cow put up no resistance but kept up a low keen.
Ian couldn’t see the point of turning the cow around, but followed instructions and moved towards the rear of her. Then he saw what it was he had to do. Not turn the cow around. Turn the calf. Turn the calf inside the heifer, so it came out head first.
He rolled up his sleeve and grabbed the spindly, hairy legs. He clutched them together like a handful of kindling. Then, pushing, he eased the legs slowly back inside the cow.
The calf was alive. Its legs slipped out of his grip. They slid apart. He thought about the time he’d tried to eat with chopsticks, the time Bridie and he had gone to the city and, drunk, visited a Chinese place for dinner. They had a life of their own, those chopsticks, flicking themselves and the salty sauce from the dish all over the table.
‘Fucking get on with it,’ Jack yelled at him.
The calf was alive, that was the main thing. He regained his grip on the legs and kept pushing. His arm was almost entirely inside the cow. He felt the legs buckle and bend away from his hand. He’d managed to force it back into the uterus.
‘It’s alright,’ he called out. ‘I’m turning it. It’s turning now.’
He let go of the legs as he felt another part of the calf brush up against the back of his hand. Repositioning himself behind the cow, he turned his arm and grabbed. An ear, he was pretty sure it was an ear in his hand. His hand felt its way down the back of the calf’s head to the neck.
Slowly, he pulled. There was a tiny pulse under his hand. The head moved, inch by inch, towards him.
He grinned over the back of the heifer at Jack. ‘I’ve got it. It’s coming now.’
Jack didn’t smile back. ‘Hurry the fuck up,’ he said.
He saw then that the cow was shaking. Convulsing. It was ready to collapse.
One last tug and the calf slid out of its mother. It lay on the ground in the mud, twitching. ‘We’ve saved it,’ Ian said.
‘Saved what ?’ asked Jack. ‘Saved a half-baked fucking calf? Fuck it.’
The mother lay next to the calf. Her breathing became shallow. Her eyes were all white, no pupils to be seen.
‘What have you got?’ shouted Jack. ‘What have you got with you?’
‘Nothing. I only came out for the fences …’
‘Grab your gun then. We’re not going to save her. Grab the gun.’
Ian had no gun. Not on the tractor. Not anywhere.
‘It’s not here either,’ he said.
‘ Jesus .’
Jack marched over to the tractor and picked up a fencing post. He strode back. Then he stopped. In those few seconds between walking away and returning, the cow had stopped shaking. Its eyes were wide open, glassy. It was dead.
‘ Jesus ,’ Jack said again, shaking his head.
The calf was barely moving. Ian bent down beside it, pulled away the placenta, clearing its
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