The Night His Cattle Got Out

The Call I Made

At 4:05 in the morning, sitting in my truck with the heater on high, I called Ray. I had his number from Hannah. I had never once used it.

It went straight to voicemail, like she’d said. His recorded voice said, “This is Ray. Leave it short.” Then the beep.

I had thought about what to say for the last hour. I didn’t want to sound like I was keeping score.

I didn’t want it to sound like a speech. I just wanted him to know his cows were alive.

“Ray, it’s Cody,” I said. “Your cows got out on the highway around midnight. Rotten post on the northeast corner. They’re all in. I counted sixty-three. Fence is patched with a T-post for now. I’ll wait at the gate till you get here.”

Then I hung up and texted Hannah. “All 63 in. Fence patched. Nobody hurt. Not even the cows.”

She wrote back a long row of hearts, and then: “I’m sitting in the supply closet crying. Don’t tell anybody.”

I hadn’t planned to wait. I’d said it on the phone because it felt right. But once I said it, I figured I’d better do it.

I parked at the main gate where Ray would come in, about forty yards down from the new post, and I kept the engine running.

Dutch climbed over the console and lay across my lap like he did when he was a puppy.

He was soaked and he smelled like a wet dog and a cow lot, and I didn’t care one bit. I put my hand on his side and felt him breathing.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.