steered into the curve. At least if she got stuck in the snow here, Henry had plenty of equipment to get her out and on the road again.
The two goats abandoned their game and began running and jumping alongside the truck as if they’d crowned themselves the welcoming committee. She hit her brakes, afraid she’d run over them. Crazy goats.
The turn-of-the-century farmhouse sat up on the hill to the right, but this lane led to the equipment sheds, an old wooden-and-concrete dairy barn and the one that had just been built. The new barn only highlighted how faded the old red barn was, making it appear almost a muddy pink in comparison.
Henry stood outside of the old barn, talking to one of his boys. A lazy rooster with long, dark red, sickle-like tail feathers pecked his way through the snow alongside Henry.
Allie tooted the horn and leaned out her truck window. “Hey, Henry.” She pulled to a stop near the red gate at the old barn and rolled up her window.
Henry walked over to the truck as she got out. “Hey, Doc.” His face was etched with worry. He pushed his gloved hands into the pockets of his heavy canvas coat.
She changed into a pair of muck boots, gathered her work coat and her medicine bag from the back of the truck, and followed Henry.
The old barn smelled of good hay and the essence of livestock that always made her relax. A city girl would be pinching her nose right now. She shuffle-ball-changed around a few scattered chickens and walked past all of the stalls with horses, to the very end where Buttercup was spending her last few weeks before calving.
Henry must’ve been taking his role as grandfather pretty seriously these days, because this was the first time she’d ever seen his barn with white twinkle lights running along every stall down the aisle. It looked festive.
She took off her good coat and laid it over the top of the wooden stall door, then pulled on her green, waterproof work jacket that covered most of her outfit. Then she stepped into the stall with Buttercup.
She rubbed the cow’s head, said a few comforting words, and then examined her. Henry stood nearby, watching as nervous as if it were his first child.
“Sorry, Henry,” she said, stepping back. “She’s not in labor.” She still didn’t have the spring Allie would expect right before calving, and although she was doing a good amount of mooing, those weren’t attached to contractions.
Henry stood with his arm propped on the stall gate. “Are you sure? I heard her mooing.”
“Cows moo, Henry,” she teased. “It’s a fairly common occurrence.” For a seasoned horseman, he sure was frantic about these cows. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he’d never been around livestock at all, but there was a rack of ribbons and trophies for his horses that covered the back wall of three stalls. His dad had always handled the cattle. This was all new for Henry.
He shook his head. “It was a different kind. It was an I’m-about-to-give-birth moo.”
“You’d better brush up on your bovine, because she’s fine.” Maybe she should create an app for that. Bovine translator. Sounded like something Ezra would get behind. She chuckled to herself as she took off her gloves.
“What are we going to do if it happens when you’re gone?”
So, that was what this was about. It was a nice compliment that folks preferred her over the neighboring town’s veterinarian, but it sure was exhausting with everyone hurrying to get everything they needed done before she left town for good. And when it came to Buttercup, you just couldn’t rush these kinds of things.
If she’d said it once, she’d said it a hundred times. “Call Dr. Myers in Montpelier.” She unzipped her work jacket. “I have a plane to catch.”
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