A commitment to raising stock that can be sold as organic isn’t only about avoiding steroids, pesticide-contaminated food, and antibiotics. It’s about giving the animals a good, healthy life, free of disease and free to roam.
“Mark her tag,” I call to Wes over the noise of the chuteopening to release the cow, then closing again once her calf is inside.
I cap the used syringe, grab a new one, and inject the calf, all within about thirty seconds. By the time Wes releases the calf to join it’s mother, Donna’s got the next pairs in the alley. My brothers and I—Cassidy, too—have done this sort of thing with the Stevens and our parents since we were kids. IBK is a constant worry when dust is high and flies swarm like a plague.
If Hayes were here, we’d talk while we worked. He’s all energy, but somehow that translates to a presence around animals that immediately sets them at ease. Wes moves fast and efficiently, but with a tight, firstborn energy that doesn’t leave much room for joking around when there’s work to be done. Only focus. The animals pick up on that vibe and are restless, but they recognize Wes is the Alpha. They’re not uncooperative, but they shift their feet and bellow uneasily as he guides them into the chute.
I get it. I don’t have a problem taking direction from people, except when it comes to Wes. We’re barely a year apart, but he’ll always be my big brother. And most of the time he’s my best friend, no matter how much I buck against him telling me what to do. In a situation like this, though, the fact we’ve spent most of our lives together works in our favor. We move in rhythm with each other on instinct. No words needed.
After an hour or so passes, we’ve made a lot of progress, but we need a break, and so do the cows. I know Wes senses it too when he doesn’t send another cow through the alley to the chute.
He takes off his hat and wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “I’ll water the alley. If we can keep the dust down and the flies off, maybe we’ll slow the spread.”
“You read my mind.”
“I’ve got sodas in the truck,” Donna calls from the corralwith the untreated cows before heading across the pasture to where her Chevy is parked.
While Wes drags the hose off the tank trailer to give the alley a quick soak, I lead the cow I just treated with ointment instead of antibiotic into the pen we’ve created for the animals with less serious IBK. After shutting her in, I stretch to my full height and straighten the kinks out of my back and neck.
“I’d better head home to help there,” Wes says walking to me.
“The rest will be okay with ointment. We can handle it.”
I pull my phone from my back pocket. I keep it on silent when I’m working. Don’t want any noises startling skittish animals.
“Careful.”
I bristle at Wes’s warning tone. We’ve all had to replace a phone or two after dropping it around animals and having it stepped on. But cleaning a phone after it’s landed in manure is even worse.
Doesn’t mean I need my brother to treat me like a kid.
“Just checking on Junie.”
“And Frankie Forsythe?” His mouth quirks in a way that pushes my mild bristling to quilling like a porcupine.
“Just Frankie, actually. She’s the one with the phone. And Junie doesn’t know how to text yet.”
I’m not taking his bait. He gave me the same stupid grin when I’d told him Frankie was watching Junie. I’d pretended not to hear him when he said, “’Bout time you used the single dad angle. Your looks aren’t going to attract any ladies.”
I prepare to ignore any more of his comments while I scroll to the text from Frankie. When I open it, the words punch me hard enough to stop my breath.
Recognized at Merry’s. Viral video. At Flo’s in the back with Junie.
For a beat, the pen noise falls away—the bawling, the metal, the dust—and all I hear is my own pulse, too loud and too fast.
Wes glances at me like he’s done all morning between cows, but his big brother air shifts from bossy to protective. “What is it?”
“Frankie’s in trouble.” I push call and head toward my truck.
“What kind of trouble? Is Junie okay?” Wes’s stride matches mine, and we walk side-by-side.
“Not sure about the trouble, but she'd say if there was something with Junie.”
Frankie answers on the first ring, and I stop. Just hearing her voice settles my nerves.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Junie’s fine,” she answers.
