Free Heart of a Shepherd by Rosanne Parry Page A

hand on the heifer's belly so I can feel the wave from the inside and the outside. “Pull. Wait. Pull. Wait.”
    “Great. Thanks.” I push that queasy feeling out of my mind and think about what I guess the ocean is like. I brace my free arm on the heifer's hipbone and pull and wait and pull.
    “It feels … like my arm … is going to fall off.”
    Ernesto smiles. “No, you are gaining.
¡Fantástico!”
    I lean back and pull some more. Every inch of me that isn't inside the heifer is drenched with sweat. Myhand gets a cramp, and my grip slips down to the hooves. Every muscle in my arm and back and shoulders feels like it's going to snap.
    “How does Dad … manage to pull … a dozen calves a day?”
    “He has you to help,” Grandpa says, “and Grandma and your brothers. Nobody is strong enough to do this alone.”
    “I don't think … I'm strong enough … to do this even once.” But just as I say it, the calf finally slips all the way out of the womb and into the birth canal, and suddenly I'm only in up to my elbow.
    “Muy bien,
almost there.” Ernesto gives the cow a pat on the shoulder.
“Tranquila, mi vaca. No temas.”
    “Hey! It isn't so hard now. Here it comes!” I tug the last few inches and two little hooves poke out. Another tug and I see a nose. Suddenly the heifer figures out what she should do, and the calf squirts out so fast I fall over backward and thump! eighty pounds of wet, bloody calf lands on my chest.
    “Well, look at you,” Grandma says, glancing over the top of the stall next door.
    I'd rather not. I'm sure I've never looked more revolting.
    “We'll make a rancher out of this boy yet,” she says.
    Grandpa reaches out a hand to help me stand up. “This boy might have his own road to follow.”
    “Do you think?” Grandma says, looking me over more carefully.
    “Time will show,” Grandpa says.
    Grandma reaches out and messes up my hair. “Don't you let that road take you too far from us.”
    Even though every muscle in my body aches, I can't stop smiling. Dad will be so proud of me when I tell him. The calf shivers and blinks open her eyes. I rub the goo off her face. The heifer turns around and starts licking her calf clean with earnest concentration. I hold the calf just long enough to know she's breathing steadily and then slide her onto the cleanest patch of straw I can find in the pen. Ernesto tosses me a rag to wipe off the slime. The blood doesn't seem nearly so gross to me, now that I'm really helping with the birth. It just feels like a natural part of the work, as clean and honest as dirt on the ground or sweat on a horse.
    I kneel beside my calf and stroke her fur. She's going to be a beautiful rusty red when she dries off, just like her mom. She has huge brown eyes and thesaddest little face. I hold out my hand to her, and she immediately tries to suck on my fingers.
    “She's a fine strong one,” Grandma says, and then she turns to Grandpa. “Look at that boy shaking. When is the last time we fed this child?”
    I shrug and try to hold my arms still. “I dunno. Lunch?”
    “For heaven's sake, that was seven hours ago. There's a pot of stew on the stove. You eat; we'll finish up here and catch up with you.”
    I nod and slide open the barn door. The long evening shadow of the cottonwood tree reaches all the way from the barn to the front steps. I stop by the hose at the side of the house to wash the rest of the goop off my hands and arms. I kick off my boots, slide out of my work clothes, and run into the house in my shorts.
    All the lights are out, and the house is weirdly quiet. I triple-wash my hands in the sink, click on the evening news, and dish up a big bowl of stew. I take it to the sofa in the living room.
    There's a roadside bomb on the news. Again. It seems like there's one every night. The TV flashes pictures of burning trucks and gaping holes in the pavement and people wandering around, dazed and weary. Every time I see it I want to turn it off, but