Holy Cow

Up with the birds, a balmy breeze in our faces, we pedaled along the farm roads enjoying the early summer morning. Our patchwork bicycles, cobbled together from bits and pieces found at the farm dump, were sturdy and functional. Completely wrapped up in the sheer joy of the day, we could not have imagined the conflict that lay ahead.

Frankie led the way up one of the dirt roads behind the house, with Danny and me in hot pursuit. We wound through some pine woods, past a hay field and along a swath of cow corn planted for silage. Looking for smoother riding, we hit the asphalt and turned toward the dairy barn. After struggling up the incline, we rode alongside the tractors, and haphazardly dropped our barely stopped bikes. Trotting along elbowing each other, we went around to the back of the building. I immediately spotted some tarps covering strange lumpy objects; none of which had been there the afternoon prior.

“What on earth do you suppose that is?” I queried the others.

“Let’s find out!” Dan exclaimed.

We dashed to the misshapen pile, and Frankie tentatively lifted an edge of the covering. A cow! Several cows! Throats slit, eyes wide and glazed, they lay stiffly side by side. We looked at each other, puzzled.

“Why would Stanley kill these cows?”, asked Frankie.

Neither Danny nor I had an answer. We stood silently staring at the bodies and wondering. Hearing our names called, we rounded the barn to see our neighbor Teddy Hunter, who had spied our deserted bikes.

“Hey, Teddy”, said Frank, “you have got to come and see this!”

We all ran hell bent for leather around the barn and skidded to a stop by the covered cows.

“What the heck?” Teddy looked at us, puzzled.

Frankie once again lifted the tarp, exposing the top half of one cow.

“Three of them, dead. Look, Stanley must have killed them.”

“What in holy hell are you kids doing back here?!”

We half jumped out of our skins, shaken by the loud, gruff voice, and swiveled, looking up into Stanley’s glowering face. We hadn’t heard the farm owner approaching and trembled, eyes as wide as silver dollars, as he strode angrily toward Frankie, who dropped the edge of the tarp and backed away.

“Goddamn it, boy, just what in the name of God do you think you are doing?” Stanley pushed Frankie so abruptly that he landed hard on the seat of his pants in the dirt.

“I, we, I…” Frankie began stuttering.

“You just shut your mouth and get on out of here! All of you! Now!”

We ran pell mell around the building, hopped on our bikes, and pedaled frantically down the street to our fort. Shaking and confused, we cursed Stanley’s ill temper.

Back at the barn, Stanley stood over the cows he had euthanized early that morning; all of them suffering from a fast spreading infection. Shoulders slumped, with tears in his eyes, he headed toward the tractor to begin digging a hole, knowing that immediate burial was the only way to keep prying eyes from his beloved cattle.