We spent many months running posts and barbed wire. It’s hard work— fencing around here. We are in the odd bumpy toes of the foothills which means a lot of gullies, and you can’t leave an opening across a ravine big enough for a young cow to squeeze through.
We were getting cows for the first time— real Longhorns from Texas, twelve of them.
We thought we were ready, and one day they came in a big cattle trailer. This was only four years ago, and I was there. I don’t remember that day, but I remember that night. All had been well. The herd had been eating in the rich green field prepared for them. Serene. Pastoral. Just like we imagined. We went back to the house and before dark, Dad went to check on them. He came back, red face ashen.
“They’re gone,” he said. “I can’t find them.”
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