Gertie weathered the donkeys’ endless braying — sharp and grating across the pasture: A HORSE’S PLOW WE WON’T ALLOW Their voices cracked hollow, like imaginary whips against which they rebelled. “Ignorant jackasses,” Gertie muttered. “The field’s been fallow for weeks.”… Continue Reading
They will eat us. I’d heard that ever since I was a calf. For a while, as I grazed and grew to become a steer, it gave me the same purpose and comfort it gave to all of us, but… Continue Reading
Bill Hobinson stomped his feet against the cold, then grabbed a couple of milk pails and headed into the barn. “Good morning, my lovely belles,” he said. One of the cows mooed. He set an old wooden stool beside Sadie… Continue Reading