Marla

The shock came after I arrived at my new home. The trailer door opened slowly as a young girl coaxed me to come out. As I displayed apprehension, she walked in beside me talking softly, gently telling me it would be all right. I bolted through the opened doorway and found myself in a tightly closed corral system. “Daddy, can we please let her rest tonight? I’ll start working with her tomorrow,” she suggested. Her father nodded agreeably. After an hour of quiet and being left to my own devices, I started walking the fence perimeter sniffing cautiously. I discovered clean cool water and my favorite grain mixture, along with sweet fragrant hay. I thought, “Oh, this is grand,” savoring every bite. After finishing what I considered dessert I became very sleepy. I lay down and immediately fell into a deep slumber. Through a thick mist, in my exhausted mind, I felt as though some strange being was kicking me and screaming for me to get away from the food. “You stupid animal get away!” someone else yelled over and over. “Sold. Sold. Sold” echoed through my mind. My eyes flickered. My tongue was hanging from my mouth with a tiny droplet of saliva clinging, ready to fall. My eyes fluttered open to find it was only a bad dream. The memories left me quivering as I remembered the sale. I could only guess what morning would bring, and I slept fitfully the remainder of the night. My new owner was a cheerful girl named Heather. Her mother had died many years before, and she lived as an only child on the farm with her father. As she placed a bucket with grain and hay in the feed bunk in my pen, she perched on the fence rail above me and explained that she belonged to 4-H, an organization that encouraged members to raise, exhibit and show animals. The first competition was the county fair. Winners from that competed at the state fair level. She said it was every young 4-Hmember’s dream to show and win with their animals at the State Fair. She was going to train me, she said, so I could be shown at the county fair. I had much to learn, she commented, smiling at me. Although I didn’t understand what she was telling me, I loved the soft sound of her voice and it soothed my fears. Heather was patient and loved cattle. That made all the difference. Although my mother’s words “Never trust the humans” kept creeping into my mind, the kindness with which Heather treated me softened my feelings towards humans. Each day I waited to see Heather and always greeted her with a softly murmured moo. We were developing a deep bond of friendship. The human and animal association was deeply gratifying to both of us. One day in the barn I heard her father warn, “Heather, are you spoiling that cow? She is getting pretty fat.” With a twinkle in his eye he said, “You don’t expect her to win at the county fair, I hope.” Heather just grinned at her father and shrugged nonchalantly. I had never seen happy humans. It took me an exceptionally long time to get past the fear of being kicked or spit upon. I responded well to kindness and was eager to please within this new association. It was surprising how much and how quickly I could learn when I wasn’t afraid. Heather approached me each day with something new. One day it was a brush and a currycomb. Brushings were pleasing, although the currycomb scratched and pulled hairs out of my tail. The next day it was a rope halter. I was shocked and reacted by pulling away when the halter was placed over my head and fastened securely with Heather’s gentle hands. “Don’t take away my freedom!” I mooed as I pulled and tugged trying to get away wondering if this was the reason Mother had warned me not to trust humans. As hard as Heather pulled forward, I pulled harder in the opposite direction. She coaxed me up to a secure post and fastened the rope tightly. Stepping away from me she soothingly spoke to me and watched carefully when I realized I couldn’t walk away. I braced all four legs and attempted to pull backward. The rope creaked but resisted loosening, even with all my strength. As the sweating-tired girl brushed over my neck, back and legs I pulled even harder. “Just let me loose,” I bawled angrily. “This is not fun!” So our training went. Each day she would rub my head and ears as she clipped the lead rope onto the halter. Then she would work on teaching me to lead with her. Standing off to one side from where I stood with my feet firmly planted on the ground, she would pull steadily on the rope with her gloved hands and coax me forward. As this put me off balance, I was forced to take one stilted step after another or fall over. Grunting with the effort, she pulled, and I staggered around the pen, having no other choice. Then she would stop at the post and tie me up. Sweating and tired, she would talk softly to me as she patiently brushed my coat. My reward was being fed a ration of grain after we had completed our daily lesson. One afternoon I decided I had resisted long enough. It was tiring and frustrating. The game was getting old. As Heather carefully lowered the halter over my head I did not resist. She looked pleasantly surprised. She backed up with only a minor expectation of me walking forward, and bracing her body to initiate the tug-of-war… and I stepped forward. Heather was startled but appeared pleasantly surprised and hugged me before leading me around the pen. From that moment on, I led like a champion.