The Summer had a drought streak, but your pen still became flooded.

The ground became saturated and slick.

Cream and tan hair became brown and grey blending in with your permanent bed as you cleaned your young calf.

Going through the back gates so that I would not startle you in my brother’s sweater and two size to big, borrowed boots.

I saw the light reflecting off the trough that was flowing, following the overflow to your hooves, your awkwardly positioned hip, and your final bedding.

A watery mistake was made in August at 9:20 pm.

Counting Cattle in a Corral.

A claustrophobic chaos.

Too many cattle from the corral.

Now the shoot is congested.

Twisted, Turned around & upside-down.

Counting Cattle is a Chore.

A chaos cussing catastrophe

Caused in the corral.

Cuz you counted the cattle.

9 Head in Sorting Ring.

7 Head in Sorting Ring?

8 Head in the Sorting Ring.

11 Head in the Ring.

Wait I Counted That Back Twice.

Did You Add More?

Nope Definitely 6 Head

 left in the Ring Dad.

… 7 Head?

Sometimes if you listen closely, you can hear the rope swing stretching swinging in the night.

During Fall storms, the tin rooves would drown out this ghostly sound from my bedroom window.

Trees, Mud and Mud (?) would pile, panels would fall, marshes of dark liquids would form all in one night.

 After the ruckus and blowing of the storm. That swing would still creak, which is unfortunate because I’m the only one home.

Lights on, flashlight on, door locked, escape plan planned. The house empty, beds empty, Ice maker groaning, just creaky stairs and suspicious scratching from the crawl space, with that creaky barn following que.

The water rose and the rain started again drowning the creaks and squeaks of the barn and house, During this Dirty Fall.

The side field was still sopping from the heavy March rain.

The river rose emptying all unwanted materials on it.

These items would stay grown over by the brush or swept away to be found in the dirty months of the Fall.

Allergies better luck next time all I hear is a Flock of “wa’s wa’s” whining our way.

First you huck em then chuck em

or is it buck then chuck,

Either way pile em stable and sturdy

 or they sure will topple,

Get er done kids.

The heavy rainstorm left the ground flowing.

It seeped through the alleyways leaving the ground looking fresh.

Removing dirt and grime, leaving only green film behind.

Dusk came, and the barn lights illuminated the dewy hay.

The pens were empty, the feeders full, the cattle grazing.

You were rather dirty.

That's not mud on my coat now.

Bedding in the feed barn, your great and nightly escape.

But you were content, and I was too small to be scary. I would wait till mom gets back for help.

For now, I’ll draw you in the doorway, so you do not wander, and name you Phil.

The escapee brahma weaner cow, Miss Potter would have adored you, amidst all stereotypes of brahmas you were a good pet. I’d rather have a cow than a dog, because who has met a dog named Phil.

The Speedy exit you hoped for was declined, as instead of through the biggest slot you choose the side feeder.

If you learned your lesson last time we would not be in this situation. They get narrow towards the end of the panel kiddo. But you did find that string I tied off, your lucky day.

Cows are not good listeners. Especially when hungry, much like many people I know.