Dairy Cows

I stood on the platform, the morning chill nipping at my fingers. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Ant, the guy I was supposed to meet. We'd be driving together to Nutton Farm for a story. Though I'd never properly met him, Ant was known for filming feature pieces rather than being in the newsroom. When I pitched the farm story, the bosses decided to bring him on board for the video while I handled the article. They also mentioned a photographer would be joining us. I felt a sense of accomplishment; as an intern, it was pretty cool to be working on a story that warranted such a team.

“Hey, could you grab me a black Americano? My car didn’t start this morning,” Ant asked over the phone.

“Sure, no problem,” I replied as I reached the station's car park. “I'll see you soon.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Thirty minutes later, Ant pulled up. My coffee was lukewarm by then. The early October air hinted at the coming winter, and I gratefully hopped into the warm car, handing Ant his coffee.

“Just pop it in the holder,” he said, eyes on the road and fingers tapping the phone mounted above the steering wheel. I placed the cup between us as we drove off.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ant apologized, navigating through the morning traffic while checking his phone's map. “Had to jump-start the car. Luckily, the hotel had cables. Would’ve been in trouble otherwise.”

We hit the main road, and the navigation app estimated a thirty-minute drive. We'd be fifteen minutes late, and I braced myself for a long drive ahead.

As we drove, Ant shared snippets of his life. He had been in Liverpool the day before, had a shoot on the Isle of Man the previous week, and had recently finalized a divorce from his journalist wife. His openness made me feel at ease, and I found myself genuinely liking him.

“We still get along,” Ant said as we navigated a narrow lane. “She usually calls in the morning.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I replied.

“We’re just too different,” he continued. “She’s a planner, and I’m more laid-back.”

His messy hair and stained jumper seemed to confirm his description of himself, and I found his relaxed demeanor comforting.

“Do you guys have kids?” I asked.

Ant shook his head. “It never happened for us. I think it would’ve been good for us.”

We continued chatting about relationships, work, and life in general as we drove through the countryside. Ant's stories were captivating, and before I knew it, we arrived at Nutton Farm.

As we parked, a woman waved from a gate. It was Sally, the farm owner. After introductions and an awkward handshake through the car window, we parked in front of the fields stretching out under the vast sky. Ant grabbed his camera, and I made sure I had my phone before stepping out into the chilly morning air, the scent of manure filling my nostrils.

Sally led us to a shed where five dairy cows were lounging in the hay. They were the last of a once two-hundred strong herd. Sally shared stories of the farm's history and the cows' personalities, and Chris and Ant busily snapped photos and videos while I took notes on my phone.

After a while, Sally's husband brought us tea, explaining how the cows helped him cope with his anxiety. We chatted, sipping our tea, when suddenly Chris began gasping for air. Panic ensued as Sally and her husband rushed to his aid. Ant called for an ambulance while I stood there, feeling helpless.

Thankfully, the paramedics arrived just in time, and Chris was okay. Ant and I decided it was best for me to head back to the office while he stayed with Chris. Sally gave me a biscuit for the sugar and saw us off with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

The drive back was quiet, the morning's events weighing heavily on both of us. Ant occasionally broke the silence with a comment about Chris or the job, but my responses were short. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving me drained.

Once on the train to Manchester, I sank into the window seat, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. My phone's notes page had enough material for the article, but the morning hadn't gone as planned. I scrolled to my girlfriend's contact and dialed her number, eager to hear her voice and share the day's events.

As the train sped northward, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected stories happen when things don't go according to plan. And while the morning had been challenging, it had also been an unforgettable experience that taught me the unpredictability of life and the importance of being prepared for anything.