Читать книгу Pigs In Paradise - Roger Maxson - Страница 15

Bruce found himself back in his little pasture of the world. It was the feedlot behind the barn. He shook his great head and massive shoulders. He knew where the Israeli Holsteins were. Bruce raised his head as a light breeze blew over from the direction of the Holsteins. Local girls, a herd of 12, and Bruce loved BBC, big beautiful cows. As he contemplated the Holsteins, a couple of them had ventured up to the fence across the road. They grazed a little along the fence, but had come up to the road mostly to tease and taunt Bruce.

Standing inside the fence one of the heifers called out, “Oh moo-hoo, Brucee, are you there? When are you ever going to come back and see us, big boy? My goodness, how long has it been, years at least if not longer?”

“This may be true for you, but if dreams do come true, this will be my first time,” the younger heifer said. “I mean, alive and warm anyway. I’m a little nervous. The first time was through artificial insemination and that was no fun.”

“Oh, my, my, my, Bruce does not disappoint. My dear, you’re in for a treat, and not to worry. Bruce is both gentle and fun and at the same time too.”

“But there’s a barn lot of us. Can he manage, you know, all of us in one night?”

“Oh, my, yes, dear. He’s the only male species who can impregnate us all through the course of an evening, and yet satisfy too. He’ll take his time, you’ll see.”

“Thank goodness. Anything’s got to be better than a cold, sterile instrument.”

“We only need one bull, my dear, and there’s only one Bruce, and he’s ours.”

The two heifers shared a laugh and rubbed shoulders as they sauntered off down inside the road to the meadow past the lemon grove. The Israeli Holsteins were head and shoulders larger than Blaise. They were close in stature to Bruce, nearly all of them 12 hundred pounds. A mixture of black and white, with black being the dominant color; each of the 12 cows had a large, full, low-hanging udder and big teats, and all of them white. Although similar in design, each cow had her own, unique personality. Bruce loved them all and would know each one after the other intimately before the night was over. He caught their scent wafting on the night air and it was nice.

He walked along the fence to the gate that opened onto the road that separated the two main pastures. He breathed deeply and snorted through his nostrils. It had four wooden planks. Bruce raised a hoof and kicked out the second rung from the bottom of the gate. Then he kicked and broke in half the third plank. He used his massive head and pushed through the upper rung to get to the other side. Not wanting to rush things or hurt himself, he stepped over the fourth rung one hoof at a time, careful not to scrape his low-hanging scrotum against the bottom rail. Once he cleared the bottom rung, he crossed the road toward the opposite pasture. One more gate stood between him and earthly bliss. At the fence, he looked over the barbed wire (which was in place as much to keep the Muslims out as it was to keep the heifers in), but couldn’t see the dairy cows because of the row of lemon trees. He knew they were there. The Holsteins were hidden from view by the lemon grove along the fence line in the meadow in the back of what was the dairy operation of the farm. He could hear them and smell them down in the meadow. Bruce kicked the lower rung and raised a hoof and broke in half the middle one. He then used his horns to push through the upper rail. He stepped into the pasture and looked up and down the fence line. To his liking, he saw no one. He ambled along the field road down past the lemon grove into the meadow on the trail of 12 big beautiful cows in waiting.

When Bruce approached the heifers, it was dark under a clear sky with the same moon as the night before. They startled and scattered about, but none of them moved too far away lest she missed something important.

“Here I am, girls. Here I am,” he said.

“Hey, look girls. It’s Brucee! I told you he’d come.”

“Oh, my Bruce!” mooed a mature Holstein, happy to see him.

“Shalom you, naughty devil,” said another Israeli Holstein, obviously an old friend.

“Come here you, old dawg,” said another as she slid up against him.

“Shush,” he said. “Now quiet down, girls. We wouldn’t want to be found out, not yet anyway. I just got here.”

“Right, heavens no, we wouldn’t want that,” they mooed gleefully, rubbing their muzzles and bodies against him in the moonlight.

“Besides, this is not according to plan. All hell would break loose if we woke the neighbors.”