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My Heart to Greater Loyalty

based on a true story

By Lindsay RaePublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 8 min read
6
image from my father's 4H record book

January, 1978

From the moment Pa pulled him from his mother, I knew he was the one. He'd plopped unceremoniously onto the straw in the barn, deaf to the pained mooing of his mother.

"He won't last the night either, son." Wiping the blood off his hands on his coveralls, he gave a slow shake of his head as the momma cow faded away, but there was no hint of sadness in his voice. Life on the farm was like that; survival wasn't given or assumed, and death was a frequent visitor. Pa had grown up on a farm. It was all he'd ever known. He was numb to the comings and goings, however short and fleeting, and no longer felt the sting of pain when he watched the light fade in an animal's eyes.

At thirteen, I still felt it all. "I can look after him."

He shook his head. "I don't have time to waste on this runt."

"I'll take care of him, I promise." I looked up into my old man's eyes, brow furrowed, pleading.

He stared back at me, the hard lines of his weathered face unmoving. Finally, he let out a sigh, too tired to argue. "Fine. But I don't want to hear no complaining. Got it?"

I tried to suppress my smile as an elated bubble rose in my chest. I wanted to jump up and down, to hug him tight, to thank him for giving me a chance, for giving the calf a chance, but Pa was a hard man whose only form of physical love was the occasional firm handshake.

Despite the frigid January temperatures and the tall snow drifts outside, I made a bed of hay bales and slept in the barn next to the tiny bull calf. Every hour I woke and fed him, mixing together formula with some thick, creamy milk borrowed from another cow who seemed to have plenty for both her calf and another.

Pa was right. He probably wouldn't have made it through the night. But with my gentle care and attention, he did. At three in the morning he stood for the first time and toddled towards me. I'm glad Pa wasn't there to see it, since he'd have also seen me cry. I'm careful not to show my tears to Pa.

For a whole week I slept in the barn next to him. I stroked his face as he drank the formula I mixed, paying for it from my meager savings from helping Mr. Belevance down the road with his harvest last summer. I relished every incremental increase in his strength, gaining as much from him as he did from me.

I loved stroking his soft velvet face as he drank deeply from the bottle I proffered. He grew eager and hearty, bunting as he ate and flicking his long, black tail. Impossibly long eyelashes batted at me, bulging blue eyes a stark contrast against the rich roan color of his fur.

I named him Barney.

From then on we were inseperable. The snow melted, giving way to the soft green grasses of spring. Gardens were toiled, crops were sown, precious rain fell from the sky and soaked into the earth. Barney followed me from paddock to paddock as I mucked the stalls, filled the troughs with fresh water, and distributed hay to the hungry animals. He sucked on the sleeve of my jacket, nibbled on my rubber boots, and pressed his nose into my hand for pets. He started small, but with my hard work and dedication he grew, and grew, and grew.

The world turned, summer came and went, and fall was upon us. When it was time to choose my 4H calf, Barney was my obvious choice.

"Choose another calf, son." Pa pointed out towards the fields of weaning young steers, all of them bigger and stronger than Barney. All with a better chance of winning.

I shook my head. My mind had been made up months ago. "Barney's the one, Pa. I'm gonna win."

Pa gave me a long stare, but didn't argue any more than that.

At his first weigh-in he was the smallest of the lot. But there was more to 4H than having the biggest steer, and that's what I was counting on.

Unfortunately, Barney was just as sweet as he was stubborn. While he enjoyed being brushed and fawned over, lead training went against everything he thought was right in this world. As soon as I managed to slip the halter over his head he turned into a giant ornery buffoon, fighting with me every step of the way. At only a six months old, he was already triple my weight and I didn't stand a chance against him.

I was counting on the showmanship win; without it, I'd likely leave empty-handed, proving everyone right about Barney. Proving Pa right.

Luckily, Pa had experience with bull-headed steers like Barney. Pulling up the tractor, he tied Barney to the hitch. With me walking next to him, he drove the tractor in slow circles around the old house. Ma even took out the videocamera, her laughter jiggling the machine up and down. Barney pulled and tugged against his lead, but he was no match against the tractor. Begrudgingly, he began walking, me next to him every step of the way.

After that I was able to take him with wherever I wanted. We practiced every day, walking across the short summer-scorched crabgrass covering the prairies, an endless blue Saskatchewan sky overhead.

After over a year of raising Barney, training with him every day, grooming him, and often feeding him by hand, it was time. The final weigh-in was tomorrow, along with the show with the judges. I had Barney all shined up, the hair trimmed along his ears and legs, the fur on his rear-end fluffed and hairspraid into place to give him a poofy, round look.

Late in the evening I led him around one final time, and then loaded him into the trailer. We'd be leaving before sunrise. Pa watched, leaning on the fence, a beer in his hand. I could feel his eyes on me, watching.

"He's looking good, eh, Pa?" I asked, dusting off my hands and walking back towards the house.

Pa's intense blue eyes bored into mine. "Still think you should've picked another calf. A lesson every boy must learn." With that, Pa got up and walked away.

At the 4H show I unloaded Barney from our trailer and led him down the rows of paddocks to the arena. The other boys from the club where there, all showcasing the steers bred by their families. Some boys came from hours away, their distant town too small for their own showcase. Even Freddy Radville was there, the boy who used to trip me on the curling ice and pull my sister Suzie's hair at church. He gave me a snide look, evidently assuming his steer was superior. His was a big brute, sure, but Freddy's control over him was lax and he fought against the lead.

The judges looked each boy and their bull over with care, measuring every square inch. I held my breath at Barney's turn, keeping my eyes forward, my back straight. Barney stood as proud and tall as any of them. He walked with a sturdy, determined countenance. He obeyed my every command, without having to raise my voice in the slightest.

When the judges announced the winner I didn't immediately hear my name. It wasn't until I saw my family cheering and clapping that it registered; Pa's usually stoic features broken by a smile. Barney wasn't the tallest, or the thickest, but he was the best built and the most behaved. We won Reserve Champion.

Pa stood next to me as Ma took our photo, Barney at our side. His rough hand gripped my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. It took every ounce of effort not to cry. He looked at me, his twinkling eyes saying more than he was capable of putting into words.

As Reserve Champion, Barney garnered a lot of attention at the auction. My pulse beat faster with each increase in price. One thousand... two thousand... three thousand... going once... Going twice...

Sold.

To Wagner's Butcher Shop.

My stomach plummeted to the earth.

On shaky legs I walked to the paddock where Barney was held, pushing past a small group of admirers leaning over the fence.

Barney turned and stuck his nose past the wooden boards separating us, pressing his face into my palm.

Lifting my trembling chin, I patted him slowly, and then bid him goodbye.

The empty trailer bounced and jostled on the uneven roads on the drive home. The sun was beginning to set, turning the horizon to cotton candy in the distance. The rocky road ice cream from the shop on the hill didn't taste as sweet as I remembered, and was melting in the cup on my lap. Janine by Trooper played on the tinny speakers of Pa's truck, but even my favourite song couldn't lift my spirits.

The farmhouse was a black sillhouette against the last rays of sun when we arrived home. Mom and Suzie went into the house, but I walked the opposite direction towards the paddocks, one steer less.

I sat atop the fence and watched as the sky faded from navy to black, tears streaming freely down my face.

Pa appeared beside me, but I did nothing to hide my pain.

His sturdy hand rested on my back, calming my shuddering breaths. When he spoke, his voice was thick, strained.

"I told you to pick another calf."

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This story is for my dad, and based on true events from his life. He showed me the value of raising animals, along with all the love, triumphs, and sadness that comes along with it.

another image from my father's 4H book

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You can follow me on Twitter and Instagram, or visit my Website to read about my upcoming novel!

Short Story
6

About the Creator

Lindsay Rae

I'm a romance and comedy writer from BC, Canada. My debut novel (Not) Your Basic Love Story came out in August, 2022. Now represented by Claire Harris at PS. Literary!

I'm on Twitter, Instagram, and Tiktok

https://lindsaymaple.com

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