Surprise Factor

(Why I'm Still Breathing) When the cow was dry, she was compliant. When she calved, she turned vicious and no fence could hold her, but she gave milk in abundance, and Dad refused to sell her. She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs, and perched under the roof, clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod. Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home. "I could gain on her on the corners," Mother said, "because I could turn faster, but she gained on me on the straightaway." Plug-ugly tore through the fence, into the garden, where Mom and I worked. "Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted. How did she know? The cow passed Mother and thundered straight for me. I ran. At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath steamed my back. I saw myself stomped, pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming at full volume, and flailed my arms like a windmill in a strong wind. That old red cow locked her front legs and skidded like a freight train on full brake. I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.