Moscow would not budge

By afternoon the shove was over and the paddock had gone quiet, which on this farm only means someone is about to be difficult.

Moscow was at the trough. She had already had her turn. Then she had Nairobi's turn. Then she stood there as if the trough had always been hers, which it had not.

Beijing watched from the fence and thought about it. Denver did not mind. Paris minded a great deal, but Paris minds a great deal about most things.

The bull noticed, because the bull notices anything that looks like a crowd. He announced that Moscow was a very strong cow, the strongest, nobody had ever seen a cow take a trough like that.

Moscow did not move. Moscow does not move because someone has announced it.

Spike walked in. Low. Eyes on. The stare that makes a cow remember it has legs. He has used this stare on shoes, on mats, and once on a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow had not been impressed. Moscow was not impressed either.

He stared. She chewed. He stared harder. She took another mouthful.

Suzy did not stare. Suzy went around the back of the trough, the long way, the way you go when you have already decided where the cow will be in a minute. She put herself between Moscow and the rest of the herd so Nairobi could get a drink, and then she waited.

Moscow felt the space behind her go empty. A cow likes a herd at her shoulder. When the shoulder is air, even a stubborn cow thinks about walking.

She thought about it. Then she walked. Not far. Just off the trough. Nairobi drank. Beijing went back to the fence. The bull announced that he had moved her himself, which he had not.

Spike was still staring at the place Moscow had been, just in case. Suzy was already watching Paris, who was lining up to be next.

That is the job. One cow at a time. Then the next one.

Spike keeps the stare. Suzy keeps the paddock.