Born To Breed And Die

I reach out and pet the calf on the nose, his tongue stretches out, and tries to pull my hand towards his mouth. He’s hungry and he thinks that I have a bottle. I scan the pasture for his momma, she’s nowhere in sight. The only evidence that she was ever here in the first place is her famished baby crying out for nourishment. The velvet on his bridge is soft beneath my fingertips as I assure him that I’ll bring him some food soon.

We lost another cow earlier this week; cow number 18. We don’t name them but I still knew her well enough to know that number 18 was gone when I looked out at the herd. The one gone now is 24, she’s a better mother than the rest. I’m not sure if there’s a way to truly measure that with cows, but I know that she is.

It wasn’t until last night when Hamish and I were taking an evening stroll down by the creek that we found number 18. I would have liked to think that she made it out of the pasture on her own, that she wandered off in search of something greener and died from exposure. But as I let number 24’s calf nuzzle my hand, I can’t help but worry that his momma has suffered the same fate.

When we found 18 she had been mutilated. Her tits were meticulously chopped off and an incision ran up her soft underbelly. Her organs had been rearranged and spread out across the ground to be inspected. Hamish tried to turn me away before I saw her, but it was too late the image was already filed away deep inside my brain in a folder labeled things I wish I’d never seen.

The dirt that had become her final bed was dry and dusty beneath her heavy body. The earth was questionably void of any blood, I would have thought that whoever or whatever did this would have left behind more of a mess, but it was almost as if she had been placed there after the fact.

I hope I can find this little guy his momma before we stumble across her discarded and left for the vultures to find. Hamish is already searching the property for her as I tend to her calf.

This is about as close to a motherly instinct as I will get. Hamish hopes I'll change my mind but every time I think about having a child I start to think of myself as no better than cattle -- born to breed and die, that's it. My stomach churns as I realize he may get his wish after all. I threw up this morning, I blamed it on what I saw last night, but then I looked at the calendar and saw that I was late and I wasn’t so sure.

"Born to breed and die," I whisper to myself as I pull away from the calf.

“Wolves probably got her. I saw some prints down by the bullpen and the bull seems pretty agitated,” Hamish says dismissively when he returns. It’s as if he hadn’t seen the extent of the injuries sustained by number 18. That was no wolf, I am sure of it. He’s saying it to convince himself more than me so I don’t object.

When night falls, I worry about the safety of the cows. I toss and turn as Hamish snores beside me. How can he fall asleep so peacefully when our critters are in danger? It makes me angry with him even though I know he needs the rest. He has an early morning and a lot of work to do tomorrow. I can’t help but resent him though. What if I am with-child, will he fall asleep when the baby and I need him as well?

I slip out of bed and find myself in the kitchen putting on the kettle. I stare out to the pasture where the cows are huddled together under a tree to sleep. It’s not until the wind carries their faint moos to the porch that I realize they’re not huddled together to sleep; they’re huddled together out of fear. I quickly run to the gun safe, my fingers fumble with the lock so I spin the dial to reset it and try again. I pull out the .22, I’m not much of a gun person but when I married Hamish, he made sure that I was at least comfortable wielding the rifle to protect the animals.

My nightgown billows in the wind. If Hamish looked out the window I’d look like an ethereal ghost as I rush towards the pasture. Once I’m over the fence I can feel twigs and rocks on the pads of my feet. I forgot to put on shoes, and I regret it as my flesh becomes shredded and tender with every step. I’m grateful when I finally start to run on plush grass and the moos become louder as I approach.

The cows have formed a circle with their bodies, the calves placed near the center as they try to cower from an unseen enemy. I raise the butt of the .22 to my shoulder and lean my head into the sight as I whip around the pasture to protect our cattle. I swear I hear the motherless baby crying louder than the rest as if he needs me to come and save him.

I can hear the bull bash his full weight into the side of his pen, it sounds like he’s trying to break it down. He’s trying to get out and protect his herd, he knows that there is something out here too. I want to go over and unlatch his gate, but I worry that he’ll take me down in the process. He sounds dangerous so I wouldn’t dare.

From the night sky, a green light emits from the darkness and illustrates the positions of the cows. They start to panic, bucking their hind legs as they try to get away. They scatter throughout the pasture, babies follow their mothers and leave behind only one, the calf without his momma. It’s like he’s frozen in the light unable to run for his life. The bull that sired him continues to ram at the gate as the calf’s little hooves start to hover from the ground.

I follow the light up into the heavens, camouflaged in the stars I can see the outline of a ship. I can’t make out any details, if I didn’t have the green light to follow, I wouldn’t even have known it was there but the way the sky ripples like water tells me exactly where the ship begins and where it ends.

I raise the .22, I don’t think it’s powerful enough, but I try and bring the ship down anyways. Bullets spin out into the night sky and rain back onto earth as a forcefield keeps them away from the ship. I look to the house in hopes the gun woke up Hamish but not even a light flicks on from inside. He's sound asleep unaware that his livelihood is under attack.

I can’t let the ship take the baby whom I bottle-fed just this morning. I drop the rifle and run towards him. The calf is almost above my head, and I jump to grab hold of his legs. I hope I will weigh him down and bring him back to the earth. For a moment we stand suspended from the ground together before the light blinks away and we fall. I roll to not get crushed under his weight but a searing pain shoots up my wrist as I try to break my fall.

The calf cries out just as the bull bursts free from his prison and herds the calf into the crowd of cows that have huddled together once again. The bull turns back, a heavy huff falls from his lips, and he paws the ground with his front leg like he’s about to charge at me. I try to move and get out of the pasture when the light emits back down from the sky and blankets an eerie green color across my body. My limbs become rigid and I’m only able to move my head as the light breaks my contact with the ground. The bull stands down now that he realizes his herd is safe.

I slowly float up to the invisible ship, unable to escape to safety. If I could move, I'd be shaking out of fear. I’m not scared for myself, but I am scared for Hamish. He won’t know what happened to me until he finds me dissected by the creek, with my tits cut off. When he finds me, I’ll be no better than cattle; born to breed and die but at least I saved the calf.