STOP!

STOP!

I bellowed, "Stop!" But, unfortunately, the puny-looking hatchet quivering in my extended right hand did not add to my feelings of safety.

It was a beautiful sunny late summer day, and my chores on the farm were clean-up and a treat for Lucy and the herd of cows. I decided to work for the food and milk for my family almost a year after having a major stroke that took me to death and return just over a year before.

I was building up strength and bringing in the needed groceries for my children. They had been spoiled by my buying fresh produce, eggs, and farm-fresh milk. Without a job, we couldn't afford it. But my labor bought the food they craved and put me back in the class of survivor and thriver.

I was greeted by the girls who knew I was their food source, as I had been yesterday.

I petted and talked to each of them, then realized Lucy was missing. So, laying the hatchet, I took to the woods to find the wayward girl who likes trampling through the woodsier portions of the property. Lucy and I had loved one another for several years. Usually, she was the first to greet me when I arrived. Still, she was impatient, and today I was later than expected, so she decided to lead me on a merry chase.

"Lucy," I called out as I walked, but there was no response. I thought she can not get over the fence, but I don't want to walk the twelve acres back here either. "Lucy, come out, and let's go eat!"

There was a thump into my back, almost pushing me over. I quickly turned to grab Lucy around the neck, giving a big kiss on the snout, looking into her velvety brown eyes. I could see she was ticked with my being late. I attempted to mount, but she sidestepped, so we walked rather than rode the way back.

Lucy was the madame of the group, with the cows giving her respect as the leader since she was older and the only horse on the farm.

The herd seemed to snicker when they saw she was back, bumping me the last ten yards to them.

"All right, Ladies," I said, picking up the hatchet from the barrow, overfilled with the excess. I started chopping the overgrown zukes and yellow squash into smaller pieces, stepping back so they could eat. Lucy stayed by my side rather than going forward for food.

I felt earth tremors. Trying to determine what is causing, which direction it is coming from, the cows did not seem to be alarmed. If this was another unexpected thunderstorm, I would need to move the herd swiftly into the barn. Still, they were placidly chowing down while Lucy was standing in a guard formation.

We were in the valley surrounded by trees – very secluded, but lightning strikes were not a respecter of trees, yet these cows were dining as if nothing was wrong. Lucy, however, was acting like a guard dog.

The tremors were getting heavier, and I decided to take the girls inside when over the crest of the hill came a huge black bull who skidded to a stop as I held out the hatchet and yelled, "Stop!"

I'm looking up into glaring black orbs. I slowly walked towards the bull, closing the gate with one hand while holding the quivering hatchet in the bull's direction. My heart was thumping, and I was surprised the bull did not smell the fear. I was more surprised the animal had stopped. Perhaps, Lucy had something to do with it, too, as I realized she was still by my side.

I hear the tractor heading in our direction. The farmer shuts down the vehicle, saying, "I saw Ben heading for the herd and figured I'd better get here. It looks like you got it under control. He heads for the gate, unlocking it, reaches in grabs a couple of zukes, laying them in front of the bull. He turns and says, "Ben is only a baby and smelled the food. He's harmless."

That baby was giant to me and the closest I want to be with anything with horns.

Several years later, my family and I were invited to dinner at the farmer's home. After we said thanks for the meal, we were told the steak was Ben. I find I have an aversion to knowing the animal I am eating. I will make a lousy farmer.