WHERE'S THE BEEF?
By Stephanie Suesan Smith, Ph.D.
I never thought I would be glad to see a buzzard. Maybe he is circling over that lost cow. That cow plows through the fences and gets in the garden all the time. I just can’t string the wire as tight as Daddy used to, before the wreck that killed Mom and trashed Daddy’s legs and disposition. I am not near the farmer Daddy was. I guess I am as much of one as we have, though.
I know I shouldn’t hope that cow is dead, because we need her for milk and her calves for meat. Still, I sure have come to hate that cow. As soon as I get through this thicket, I can see what that buzzard has his eye on.
It is our cow, but it didn’t up and die the way I hoped. No, two fellows are standing over her butchering her out with a knife. You don’t see that every day, even in these parts. What is that on the back of that guy’s shirt? PRISONER? Now what am I going to do?
I hear the Sheriff's hounds baying. Maybe if I point this shotgun at them and tell them to stay put, I can get the reward money.
“You, freeze now!”
“ Sheriff, here! I claim the reward, they killed my cow.”
The Sheriff changed course and laughed. “You men broke out and got caught by a fifteen year old girl. Some desperados!”
“Did you find the cow?” Daddy demanded.
“Yes, Daddy, our cash cow”
Susan: I live on 14 acres with my dogs. My neighbor’s cows sometimes intrude on us, but are quickly sent back on their side of the barbed wire by my red heeler. I write nonfiction on pretty much anything or anyone that catches my interest. I also photograph bugs, birds, animals, flowers, and plants, but rarely humans. http://www.stephaniesuesansmith.com and http://blog.stephaniesuesansmith.com.
