In March, she pushed a shining black calf
Into the world, and watched as it staggered
To wobbling legs waiting for her to rise.
She couldn't.
Pinched nerves,
Calving paralysis,
Unable to rise.
My brother and his wife
Bottle fed the calf for several weeks,
Waiting for a miracle,
For which the two had prayed,
And then one day the mother stood
Weak, shaking, but on the mend.
A couple weeks more,
And she was down again,
Stuck in front of the barn
With barely an appetite,
Drinking water from a bucket,
Resting upright in her own mess.
The calf was doing fine.
June 1 came, and field work to do,
My brother, ever patient, could wait no more.
Loaded his old 30-30 and headed to the barn.
He scratched the cow's forehead,
Told her she had been a good bossy,
And that he was sorry, and then looked at her.
He turned and emptied the rifle on the way to the house.
"Lord, it would sure do me a favor
If you were just to take her
So I wouldn't have to shoot her."
He returned to the barn and hayed the bulls.
On his way back to the water tank, he stopped
By his old friend and looked at her.
The cow raised her head,
And while my brother watched,
Her eyes rolled up and back.
She sighed deeply, and then her head
Sagged down and she was gone.
He called me shortly after,
Still a little bit in awe,
A little bit in pain,
Glad to have me listen,
Though both our mouths were dumb
At the way God's prayers are answered,
And the ways His answers come.
Prayers, Cows, Life, Death