Harold is walking past the sick pen when another baneful detail finds him. “Damn it,” he whispers. A pink, bulbous protrusion spreads under the tailhead of 71 and into a pile of manure. It is rubbery, and fleshy, with big cauliflower-like buttons scattered across it. 71 has a prolapsed uterus. “Damn it all,” Harold says.
Fiction “How are you feeling, Old Girl?” Harold climbs into the sick pen. The straw bends beneath his work shoes and the cow lifts her head to watch his approach. Her neck chain holds a plastic tag that reads 71. That’s who she is. He holds her ears; they feel thin and cold. In the
By Ryan Dennis Harold Shaw found pieces of corn at the bottom of his cup. This is the fear of every farmer every morning in the milking parlour, that manure somehow finds its way into the coffee. A sort of roulette they all must suffer. Harold places the mug in the cart, resigned. It is