Spring 2011 • Vol. XXXIII No. 2 FictionApril 1, 2011 |

Following Slowly

It was a bright night, and the moon was shining on the snow, so it wasn't hard to find her. He crossed the frozen creek and walked down to a little stand of piñon trees, and the heifer was there, lying on her side. There was frost clinging to her rust-colored fur, and her breath steamed up. She was tired. She scarcely turned her head at the sound of his approach. He moved toward her with deliberate steps, talking above the sour crunch of the snow. "It's OK there, girl." She was a new heifer, this her first calving. She'd probably been bred by a neighbor's bull, which was too big for her but had pushed through a fence. Sonny walked around her and knelt down, lifting her tail, talking softly, the snow cold against his knees. He felt for the lubricant he'd put in one of his pockets. Then he rolled up his sleeves and coated one arm to the wrist, repeating quietly, "It's OK there, girl," as he pushed his hand up inside her. The warmth revived his stiff fingers. He felt along

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By Robert Yune

It was a bright night, and the moon was shining on the snow, so it wasn't hard to find her. He crossed the frozen creek and walked down to a […]

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