Page 4 of Why We Break

Margaret joins in our laughter before looking down again. “So, Han, what’s next? Put us to work.”

“I can take it from here. You two have done enough,” I say as I make my way to grab an old towel to throw across the seat of the Polaris.

“Bullshit, Hannah. We aren’t leaving you with all this. So we can spend the next hour standing around and arguing about it, or you can just tell us what you need,” Caroline calls out over her shoulder as she walks to my back porch and grabs us all a bottle of water. “Let’s run these to the boys and see how the fence is coming.”

I roll my eyes at her, secretly grateful they didn’t take me up on my offer for them to leave as much as I hate having to ask for help. The girls pile in beside me on the old seat and we take off into the darkness toward the boys.

“I need to check on the calf and her momma on the way up, but it shouldn’t take more than a second once we find them,” I call out over the rattling of the ancient side-by-side.

Both of my friends nod at me and Caroline leans forward to search the compartment for the spotlight I keep handy. After pulling it out and turning it on, we search the area where we’d last seen the pair before looking further up the hill.

One thing I love about living this far out in the county is the fact that you can always see the stars thanks to the complete darkness that blankets the hills, but tonight I wish there was a bit more light. The moon is just a sliver in the sky, and aside from the yellow headlights in the distance where the boys are getting the other cattle situated, it’s almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of us.

After about ten minutes of riding, I finally see the small red calf and her mother lying on the edge of the woods. As we ride over, I smile at the calf feeding and happily nudging at her mother. I’m about to pull away, when I see a glimpse of blood out of the corner of my eye. Pulling closer, I realize immediately that once again something isn’t right. The large heifer is barely breathing, and after further examination, I realize she’s prolapsing. Over the years I spent on the farm with Gramps, he taught me how to recognize most of the problems I might run into, but this is the first time I’ve had to handle it by myself.

Taking a deep breath, I pull out my phone and redial the emergency vet line. “South Springs County Emergency Vet line, how may I help you?” the same assistant I spoke to earlier answers.

“Hey, this is Hannah Scott from Falling Oaks Farm. I called earlier, but Dr. Bozeman hasn’t made it yet. I delivered the calf, and she seems to be doing great. But it looks like Momma is prolapsing. She’s barely breathing,” I say in a rush.

I give her a few more details, and the girl on the other end of the line sighs. “Oh dear. Dr. Bozeman just left the other side of the county. She’s heading your way now, but from what you just told me, I don’t think she’ll make it in time. Just try to keep her calm until she gets there.”

After thanking the woman, I hang up and take another deep breath. I’m certain Caroline and Margaret’s heartbroken expressions mirror mine, but I can’t dwell on that for long given the current circumstances. I grab the towel we’ve been sitting on from the side-by-side and lay it on the ground before sitting down next to the large animal.

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget how brutal life on the farm can be, but today is a bleak reminder that farming isn’t all cowboy hats and cute animals like I used to think it was before I moved to Falling Oaks. The curious calf starts to realize something isn’t right and lets out a littlemooof anguish. I sit and pet the large heifer on the nose for a moment before I realize it’s too late and there’s nothing else I can do. I look up to see headlights coming down the driveway and blink back tears.

Caroline grabs the spotlight and signals to Dr. Bozeman who pulls her large farm truck up beside us. She is relatively new to town, after moving here last year from what she claimed was a nasty divorce. She relocated to Springside from a small city in Mississippi, and I’ve had several chats with her as I’ve worked to find my footing as the head of the farm. She’s a beautiful and witty woman, and while her kind smile usually manages to calm whatever anxiety I’m feeling, tonight she just looks at me with sadness.

I’ve lost my share of animals since I moved to Falling Oaks in middle school, but it never gets any easier. I feel hot tears welling up and threatening to spill down my face but I try to tune out my own emotions as I fill her in on the events of the last few hours. As defeated as I feel, I don’t have time to fall apart right now.

“Dr. Bozeman, thank you so much for coming! We lost the momma, but I think the little one’s okay,” I explain.

“Hannah, I’ve told you that you can call me Ava. Obviously this isn’t the outcome we wanted, but it sounds like you’ve done everything right,” she says with a comforting smile. “Let me check on the calf and make sure the little one seems okay.”

Moving slowly to make sure she doesn’t startle the little ball of fur at our feet, she checks over the newborn. “It looks like she got some of the colostrum, so she has a pretty decent chance at making it. But you’re gonna have to bottle feed her for the next few months. I think I might have some mix in the truck to tide you over for the night. Why don’t you go get your cattle trailer and we’ll load her in there? That’ll make it easy to feed her, and it’ll keep her safe for the next few weeks until you can get her somewhere more permanent.”

I nod my head before replying, “Yeah, let me go grab it. Caroline, will you sit here with the little one while Margaret runs me down to get the truck?”

They quickly agree, and thirty minutes later, Dr. Ava is headed back down the driveway after helping us load the calf and talking me through how to feed her.

“Well, ladies, looks like I have another little love to take care of. She needs a name. Y’all have any suggestions?” I ask as I push down the lock on the cattle trailer.

“She looks like a little Ruby,” Margaret suggests.

“Ruby it is then. Let me take the trailer down, and we’ll go see if the boys are finishing up. I don’t know about y’all, but I’m about dead on my feet. Come pick me up again by the house?” I say as I settle back into the seat of the old farm truck.

The girls nod, and after making sure Ruby has plenty of hay to keep her comfy, I jump back in the Polaris with my friends and make the trek back across the pasture where the boys are trying to finish up their job of patching the fence.

We spread out to try to help them patch it, working quietly.

“Hey, Han, are you okay?” Will asks, coming over and inspecting where I’m working.

For the first time in a long time, we’re alone, and I feel a small smile cross my face at his sincerity. “Yeah, I guess. This farm just keeps falling to pieces.”

“I know it’s a lot, but you’ve gotta do something about this fence. Pretty sure a wall of construction paper would do a better job of keeping the cows in,” Will says, looking over to where I’m struggling to make the strand of wire stay on the old, worn post the way I want it to.

“Fuck you, Will. I am not sure when you last priced fencing companies, but unless you’ve got the twenty thousand I’d need to redo it, I don’t want to hear it. No one made you come,” I say, the moment I thought we had, clearly over.God, I know it’s mostly my fault, but I hate how things are between us now.Scowling at him, I turn away from him, working on the fence and trying to ignore the way I feel my throat tightening.

Usually, I have a pretty good grasp on my emotions, but between already feeling like a complete failure at keeping the farm going, losing the sweet heifer earlier, and coming to terms with the fact that I now have the responsibility of taking care of a calf on my own, I’m at my wit’s end.I swear to God, if I cry in front of this man, I will never hear the end of it. Nope, not gonna happen. Pull it together.

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