Brown Cow Story

   The brown cow ate grass while somewhere a dog barked furiously.  A cat meowed, and the barking continued with renewed vigor.  The cow looked up with a small snort.  It was not often that the calm countryside was thus disturbed.  But the cow was not really concerned, as perhaps others were.  Her world was green and blue and brown, good to eat or not, warm and dry, or cold and wet, as the case might be.  Little else really mattered.  The dog she knew, and the cat too.  She could live without either one.

   Beyond the row of trees that sheltered the farmstead, smoke lazily rolled from a chimney, betraying the human presence within.  The man, if one could call him a man, had felt a Fall chill creeping up his ankles.  It was too early in the year, he had thought.  Nevertheless, he had gathered the old newspapers, fetched kindling and coal, and built the fire.  There was little comfort in it, and the chill remained.

   The cow started for home, merely from the force of habit.  She was fat and hardly needed the feed she expected in the barn.  She was nearly dry now, but the man continued to milk her faithfully, perhaps also from habit.

   Panting and wagging his tail, the dog greeted his master at the door.  He had driven the cat into the further reaches of the barn, and was obviously quite pleased with his accomplishment.  He received his gentle scolding as though it were the highest praise.

   His frame slightly more bent than the day before, his face more lined, his steps a little slower, the man made his way through the gate to the barn.  He admitted the cow with a kindly pat and she set to eating her feed.

   The chores finished, he sat at his table with his head in his hands.  Silence penetrated every wall and filled every minute, until he arose to prepare for bed.  He opened his Bible to read, and prayed aloud, breaking the silence, if only for a moment.  Smoke arose lazily from the chimney as darkness covered the country.

   In the morning, the brown cow tired of waiting at the barn and returned to the grass she had been eating.  The dog tired of waiting at the door an wandered off in search of the cat.  The calm of the countryside was not disturbed.  But the cow was not really concerned, as perhaps others were.  Her world was green and blue and brown, good to eat or not, warm and dry, or cold and wet, as the case might be.  Little else really mattered.  The dog she knew, and the man too.  She could live without either one.

Dwight Harold Galster