Love
My cow was sick.
I was sitting in the barn, soothing and petting her, assuring her she'd get well. She mooed weakly.
I didn't want her to die. I hated it when something I cared for, something I nurtured, something I loved, died. No one did. But the good thing was that Vaughn had told me she'd get better. She just had a bad case of… whatever long medical diagnosis he said.
I had found her, on her side, her breath a wheeze, in the barn. Even after her calf and their friend, the sheep, left.
Hope, get well soon.