“Do I need to quarantine her?” Jim took one last drag from his cigarette, crushing it under his boot heel. “She’s been like this for two days, right, Hank?”

Hank was standing to Jim’s left side, turning out his lip, scrubbing his gums of the loose tobacco, and spitting out the last bits of tobacco from his tongue. Black specks clung to his teeth like water droplets hanging from the edge of an icicle. Doc stood to the right, patting the big cow’s hind quarters. “Ghussho,” Hank answered. “Ain’t never seen a cow actin’ like that before. It’s a real puzzler, that is.” Brown spittle clung to his lips before he spit out a long string of saliva mixed with chewing tobacco. His brand was Skoal Wintermint, so at least his breath smelled semi-minty fresh.

“I wouldn’t worry about her too much, Jimbo. She’s gonna be alright in a few days, but just in case, keep her away from those two.” Doc pointed at the two bulls. “Not quarantine so much as removing her from any unintentional social interaction.” Doc grew up on his Daddy’s cattle ranch, seeing every kind of illness in cows and bulls, including a few cases of fatal cow diseases while they vacationed in Ireland. It wasn’t an actual vacation, but Daddy promised to take Mama outside the United States. Daddy had scores of Irish relatives immigrating to the United States as early as the 1800s; some still lived in the same villages, raising cattle on the same farms his great-great-grandfather lived in. Growing up on farms, Doc loved animals and cared for them better than Hank. Doc and Jim knew Hanks wasn’t the best ranch hand, but he was the only one who didn’t have a criminal record. At the very least, Jim knew he wasn’t stealing from him. “You hearin’ me, Hank?”

“Mhmm. None of that, what you said, Doc.” Both men knew Hank wasn’t all that bright, so Jim hadn’t fired him. Not yet. Hank couldn’t do much, but when he did work? He worked hard as long as he had specific tasks to complete. Feeding, moving, milking? Hank did just fine with it. But if he needed to use any kind of critical thinking skills? Forget it.

“That means keep her away from Jazz and Kenny.” Jazz and Kenny were two massive bulls, studs Jim procured at auction that promised to be strong breeders. Neither bull disappointed Jim, netting him a nice profit from their semen. Also, the bulls impregnated some of the cows, netting him strong milkers and bringing in hefty profits to the farm. Even though it was unusual to have two bulls, Jim knew the worth of both animals.

“I said I got it, boss.” Hank spat more brown tobacco juice. “No hanky panky. Keep Jazz and Kenny away from her.” Jim also knew he couldn’t give Hank more than one task at a time. Hank glanced at his watch, a Timex covered in scratches, barely readable. But Hank knew the watch well enough to read the hands through the damaged glass. “Doc. Jim. I gotta get these bovines in for milkin’. It’s time.” He pointed to the unreadable watch. “And don’t worry, boss. Kenny and Jazz and the rest will keep away from her.” He thumbed toward the cow Doc was still petting.

Jim nodded, lighting another cigarette.

“You hungry, Jimbo?” Jim nodded. “Me too. Whadya say we get some lunch at Janice’s? I’m buying.”

Jim flicked the smoke in Hank’s direction. “You don’t gotta tell me twice. Let’s go. Before you go an change your mind.”

“Wanna ride with me?”

Jim squinted, glaring at Doc. “You almost killed us the last time. No thank ye. I’ll cart myself down there, thank you very much.”

“I did not.”

“You did so!” Jim shouted. “Right here, see?” Jim pointed to an eight-inch scratch in the passenger side door of Doc’s truck. “All ‘cause you was lookin’ out to see the Henderson’s ranch! Hell naw. I ain’t ridin’ with you.”

“Suit yourself,” Doc answered, jumping into the old diesel pickup. His red GMC full-size truck had seen better days, but it was paid for. Plus, it was a farm vehicle, not his everyday grocery-getter. He rolled down the passenger window. “You just wanna see Kathy, doncha?”

Jim rolled his eyes, pointing a scrawny finger at Doc. “Don’t you start with me today, Doc. I gots enough on my mind, what with that cow and all.”

“Oh, pipe down. Your bovine’ll be okay. She’s ain’t no different than any other gal at a dance that wants ta get laid. That’s all.”

“She’s in heat, Doc?” Jim knew females of the animal species acted funny when they wanted to have a baby. Cows weren’t any different.  

“More like than not. Strange behavior for her. But I’s can’t say for sure. She ain’t bleedin’, so I won’t know for a few days. The real question is can she handle another calf if she does. She’s calfed three already. I wouldn’t breed her again, but that’s Doc’s advice. Good chance you’ll kill her if she even manages to carry the calf to term. But you’ll do what you want, won’t you? She’s your animal, after all.” Doc started the truck, letting the glow plugs warm up. Black smoke poured from the tailpipe. “I’ll see you at Janice’s.”

“Not if I get there first!” Jim ran to his gluttonous gas-guzzling Ford F-100. Unlike Doc’s, it wasn’t fancy, didn’t have an extended cab, and the windows had to be rolled up and down by hand. No electric doors, windows, or mirrors. No heated seats, which, to Jim, was a relief. But the automatic transmission shifted faster than Doc’s. Not that it didn’t have its own issues, like the various places of rust, the beat-up tailgate that almost didn’t close, and the burning smell of oil, not because he didn’t change it regularly, but because the valves and rings needed to be rebuilt. Jim didn’t have the time or energy to waste on the truck. So he just let the oil burn. To hell with the environment. Burn, baby, burn. Jim’s truck threw dust and gravel on Doc’s pickup, dust filling the cab.