A green door closes of the little yellow house just off the river.
The gravel crunched under his boots as he makes is way toward the hay barn.
In the old grey barn hang the tack and saddle, wire, nails, dust, and the smell of hay.
Upstairs he slides open to loft door, "yeewee, yeewee, yeewee!"
The thick fingers on his granite hands throw hay to the feeder below.
Cattle not already there are on their way, at the call, the smell, the man.
He spots the bull calf coming in, readies his rope, let his belly fill a bit
From the edge of the corral he lassos the bull and draws him in. Shewing him down the run and into the chute and head gate he locks the animal in.
Dropping the lower door of the chute he grabs the hind legs and pulls them out until the animal falls. The calf on it's side he quickly ropes the legs and ties them off to keep from being kicked.
His tools ready, he washes the calves genitals with a sponge and draws his pocket knife in the other hand. Trying to be as fast and merciful as he can je makes his incision into the scrotum. The bull thrashes at the cut but the man holds strong, with his knee holding the bound legs back. He works fast but notices the fighting stop, the calves legs gone limp against his.
To the fear, shock and trauma the animal succumbed. Ready as always he pulled hard the bull from the chute and clamped it's mouth with his hands. Putting his mouth over the cows nostrils he began blowing air. Breathe. He breathed into the calf. Breathe. He have all his lungs could hold. Breathe. And a kick from the bull. Breathe. He leaned up to his knees and began to pump both fist on it's chest. Breathe god damned it. Breathe. He fell to his side to give the animal air once more. Breathe. It was too late. Not another kick. He was gone. The eyes turning grey, wide opened.
A life lost. Seasons of work, the animal, the meals, the money.
The man goes on, hard as the work, hard as the cost.
