“It’s the only place they’ll fit. Trust me.”
“There’s a cow on the driveway.” I lean my elbow on the door.
Maybe she’s allowed to roam here. There’s a cattle guard at the road, so she’ll be stuck on the ranch at least.
Zane whips his head around to look at the cow stepping off the driveway to hide behind a small group of trees. “That witch,” he grinds out.
He mutters a curse quietly, but I still hear it.
“What’s wrong? It’s not like she can getout, out, right?”
Zane puts the car in park and takes off his sunglasses. “She has a calf, and she’s constantly leaving it behind. She got out of the pasture somehow. I’ll have to put her back in.”
“Want me to help?”
Zane glances behind us. “Yeah, can you back up and open the gate? We’ll turn her in right there. I’ll try to walk her down to you.”
With that, he climbs out and jogs down the edge of the driveway toward the cow.
I climb into the driver’s seat and back up thirty feet to the gate. I jump out and swing it open wide, using a large rock from the driveway to prop it open when it tries to swing closed again.
When I turn to check on Zane’s progress, I see that he’s waving his baseball cap at the cow. She seems unimpressed. She paws her hoof at him. He’s trying to shoo her my way, but I can see she’s having none of it.
I hear a soft bawl from the grass, and so does the mama cow. It makes her angry enough to storm toward Zane. Soon, they’re running in and out of the trees, but it’s the cow doing the herding.
“Do you need help?” I call.
“No, I got it!” he yells back as he runs around the tree again, the cow hot on his heels.
He does not have it. That cow wants to make a grease spot out of him, bless his heart.
Another bawl from the grass has the mama calling back. Sheesh. I’m torn between being helpful and pulling out my phone to record Zane’s merry-go-round dance with the cow. I opt for both. I pull out my phone and take a video of them running in circles as I walk into the field. I find her calf ten feet down the fence line, bedded down. He looks like he was just born in the last couple of days; he’s so fresh.
I pocket my phone and bend down to lift him. He bawls loudly as I scoop him into my arms and carry him to the gate. He’s a healthy calf, but probably no more than seventy-five pounds right now.
“You’re just a cutie, aren’t you?” I tell him.
He promptly poops all over my arm as a thank-you for the compliment.
“Ugh.” I feel the warm splatter all down my side, all the way down to my shoe. “Thanks for that, little buddy.” I set him down next to the gate and hurry to the other side of the 4Runner.
He bawls loudly this time, catching his mother’s attention. She stops chasing Zane and looks at her baby standing in the open gateway. She runs toward him, calling loudly for him, sticking her tongue out each time she does.
The cow stops to sniff him, moos one more time, and then walks calmly into the field with the calf tottering behind her.
I roll my gate-holding rock out of the way and swing it closed. Grasping the chain, I double-check to make sure it’s latched when Zane stops next to me, breathing hard.
“I would have had it eventually, but thank you.”
“Yes, I saw that you had it all under control,” I reply dryly. “By the way, the gate wasn’t latched. She probably just waltzed on out of here.”
“That sounds about right,” Zane admits.
He looks at me then, staring at the smear of poop all down my side. “You know, Bliss, I don’t think that’s an old stain.”
The teasing glint in his eye holds a challenge.
“That’s all right. I’ll run back up to the house and get changed. I’ll be able to text the video I took to Max while I’m there.”
