Cow Therapy

Have you heard of the “Three Minute Fiction” writing contest on NPR’s Weekend Edition? Below is Evan’s submission. (It’s not biographical, yet…;-)

Cow Therapy

The vacuum pump struggled to life, and slowly the milking machines hit their rhythmic tap. The cows’ milk hit the sides of the metal pail with a faint ‘swish’. The man’s hands moved methodically as he cleaned the teats of the next cow in line. His mind was elsewhere, years of repetition got him through the milking just fine.

He had argued with his daughter the night before and she slammed her door in his face. It was something about his inability to understand what she was going through. He couldn’t help but agree with her. He had little idea what it was like to be a teenage girl these days. Her reality seemed so far from what he knew. Over the years, he worked hard to reach out to her. He balanced work on the farm and countless second jobs. He spent late nights with his old algebra and Spanish books trying to relearn lost concepts so he could help her with homework. He was encouraged when his wife had said there was no ‘right’ way to raise a child, but sometimes he wished there was.

He found comfort around the cows, as one does around old friends. They always reminded him not to take himself so seriously. Jemima was the most amusing cow on the farm; she felt there was more to life than lactation. He sometimes imagined her annoying the other cows with dumb ‘knock-knock’ jokes or something like “Why did the clover cross the road?” He laughed out loud as he pictured Jemima telling her buddy Polly, “Your mama is so dumb, she went on a date with a mechanical bull.” They cracked up, gagging on the cud they were chewing.

Walking into the milkroom with a full pail of fresh milk, he saw the sun creeping over the hills to the east. As he poured the milk into the cooling tank, he saw how it resembled the sunrise. The milk was creamy yellow, so fresh, and welcome into his world. Glancing out the window, he saw his daughter walking from the house through the pasture. She had not been to the barn in weeks so he had asked her to help him this morning. Her eyes were still wet with tears when she walked through the door.

“Good morning.” He said as he poured her a glass of warm milk.

“I am still upset.” She said accepting the milk reluctantly.

“I have something to show you.” He said.

They entered the barn and walked over to where Jemima was patiently standing. He reached out and softly stoked the underside of her neck.

“Do you think you could tell Jemima how you are feeling?” he asked. The expression on his daughter’s face quickly changed from irritated to curious.

“I often have things I want to say, but I don’t find understanding ears around me. The cows don’t judge me, they listen. Sometimes I just need to talk and I feel better. What do you say?” He asked.

His daughter studied the gentle curves of Jemima’s face.  As her eyes met Jemima’s she sat down beside the cow. He smiled and gave her a kiss on the head.

He did not know if this would help her, but at least Jemima would have something to gossip about at the evening milking.  As he walked away he could hear the conversation beginning.

Polly and Jemima

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