Free As Birds Bring Forth the Sun by Alistair MacLeod

of my family in very real and tangible ways. Their closeness and the manner of their closeness varied with the time of seasons.
    In the winter when they were less plentiful, they crowded together in the shared and dense confinement of their stables; stamping their hooves on the manure-strong planking and tossing their impatient heads and uttering the sounds of their different species. If you ventured into the silent barn at night the wave of their communal warmth rolled out to meet you at the creaking, opened door and the sound of the different rhythms of their breathing rose and fell in the softened darkness. If the flashlight was flicked on, or the carried lantern raised, the luminous eyes of those who were awakened glowed from their stalls and across their mangers, and then various sounds seemed to respond to the presence of the light; the creak of the wooden stanchion posts rubbed by the necks of restless cattle, the murmured grunts of half-asleep pigs, thenickering snorts of horses, the zing of suddenly tightened rope or leather, the jangle of moving halter chains.
    By March conditions were even more overcrowded as the females grew awkward and ponderous with the weight of their unborn young. When they lay down in their expanded heaviness the ripples of movement from deep within their wombs were visible against the drum-tight skin of their extended sides. The promise of the future lay warm and heavy within their deep, dark bodies.
    Inside the winter house the dogs and cats lay like scattered rugs beneath the kitchen couches and under dining tables or stretched at length behind the wood-filled stoves. At night my dog Laddie lay across my feet; a warm and living comforter whose heartbeat could be felt through the fabric of the bedclothes. His wet, cold nose was covered by his paws.
    By the end of March the birth cycle would begin and would extend sometimes deep into June. First the sheep, then some cattle and later the pigs and finally the wobbly foals with their long, ungainly legs. There would be chickens and kittens and puppies with at-first-unopened eyes. The number of animals would double or almost triple within the allotted weeks and there would be a flurry of activity surrounding the new arrivals and the rapidity of their growth. New pens would be constructed and, amidst squeals of protest, there would be separations, weanings and brandings and the pulling of teeth and the flashing of knives used for the cutting of testicles, the docking of tails and the notching of ears. They would spill out then, according to their kind, to the larger yards and fields or the mountain-high pastures washed by the blue-white sea.
    By July first, which always seemed unbelievably soon, the haying season which would ensure their winter’s survival would begin. During the summer months while the animals grew sleek and fat and haughty, we, their human owners, would grow thin and burned and irritable; rising often beforesunrise and working sometimes until after dark. Only the work horses seemed to share in our drudgery and weight loss; the burns from their collars and the chafings caused by their rubbing traces corresponding to the blisters and calluses upon our hands. Sometimes at night we would rub ourselves with diluted horse liniment to alleviate the sprains and bruises which we accumulated during the day.
    Throughout this season, as I said, the animals of summer grew strong and free. Only the milk cows were brought to the barn twice daily for their milking and even they seemed to take on an air of independence that bordered close to arrogance. The others grazed openly and heedlessly through the long days of their summer vacation. From the tops of our hay wagons we could see them, especially on the hottest days, lying on the sandy beaches which separated their pastures from the sea or dangerously close to the rocky edge of the sea cliff’s fall. It was always cooler near the sea and there was always a slight breeze and they were not