Yesterday’s rain was long and steady, rolling through in waves of varying intensity, rarely relenting in full, and even then only for minutes at a time, as if merely resting. Early in the morning I haltered Otto, our two-year-old steer, and then stood with him by the paddock gate to keep him calm, the rain falling atop us both, my jacket soon soaked through, Otto’s russet coat wetted two shades darker. The boys brought me a plate of eggs to eat while I waited, then retreated quick to the shelter of the house. I balanced the plate atop a fence post and ate with my halterless hand, and soon after I finished eating our neighbor Dave arrived and placed a perfect shot, and the work began.
I liked that boy, Otto. He was a gentle one.
Killing Otto yesterday reminded me of this post, from a couple of years back. It’s one of those rare pieces I wouldn’t do any differently now. Man. I sure wish I could write more of those.
The ever-lovin’ Sheesham & Lotus & Son.
Son Volt’s Windfall (thanks, Heather!)