Then, no, they hadn’t, and the bull calves wouldn’t be castrated either. Kate peered into the back of the truck. Dozens of bawling calves gaped fearfully at her. “How many are mine?”
The noise from the calves was so loud, the driver didn’t hear her. Or at least he didn’t answer.
Certainly, Gary wouldn’t have been foolish enough to order more than a half a dozen.
She flipped through the records. Each page contained at least one record, some two or three. After she’d flipped through the first few pages, she stopped reading details and just counted the calves. With each page she turned, the ball of dread in her stomach spun and grew. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.Forty.The enormity of the number made it hard to breathe. What had Gary been thinking? He couldn’t have assumed that buying this many bottle calves would somehow fulfil his debt.
The ball of dread continued to spin. She didn’t have room in the barn for forty calves, but if she put them outside, they’d be vulnerable to coyotes, wolves, and mountain lions. She didn’t have time to feed and check forty calves multiple times a day. A large amount would get sick, and her vet bills would be huge.
The men returned to the truck and hauled out the next unwilling creatures. Two more Holsteins.
“Look,” Kate said, “is there a way to exchange these for older calves? I understand I wouldn’t get nearly as many, but—”
“Nope,” the man cut her off. “We can’t take them back. Travel stresses them out too much. I guarantee a bunch of them will get diarrhea just from this trip.”
Well, that was encouraging news. Kate trailed the men into the barn. “But I don’t have the facilities to—”
The men deposited the second set of calves into the stall with the first. “They’re probably hungry,” the driver said. “You should mix up milk replacement for them soon.”
Her grandfather had kept some milk replacement around in case he had a calf who wouldn’t nurse, but not a lot. She certainly didn’t have forty bottles.
The men strode out of the barn, clomped up the ramp, and picked up two more calves. The creatures mooed in protest.
“Who is your manager?” she asked. “I really need to talk to someone about this.”
The driver scoffed at the request. “They came from the sale barn. The number is on the paperwork.”
She flipped through the records again, this time looking more closely at the animals’ information. She needed to know exactly what she had before she spoke to someone about it.
The group consisted mostly Holsteins and Jerseys with some Hereford and Angus thrown into the mix. Twenty-four bull calves and sixteen heifers. None older than a week.
While she searched for the sale barn’s number, the younger man paused on his way to the truck. “Won’t do you no good to call. All sales are final. If you don’t want them, your best bet is to feed them for a few months and sell them.”
“I don’t know how to take care of bottle calves,” she protested. “They’ll end up dying.”
The driver only shrugged. “Lots do. That’s why they’re so cheap. Gary only paid about a hundred dollars a head. You won’t be out much.”
The cost wasn’t the point. They were living creatures—babies who’d just lost their mothers—they deserved proper care. She was without help, and she didn’t have the knowledge or the time to take care of them.
As the driver passed by, he said, “I’ll put the rest in the barn and let you decide where you want them.” Meaning, he knew she didn’t have enough stalls, but that wasn’t his problem.
Kate’s phone rang. For a wild, optimistic moment, she hoped someone was calling to tell her Gary’s order was a mistake.
But no, her insurance agent’s number lit her screen. Even then hope didn’t completely flee. Her parents might have convinced the insurance company that her claim had merit.
She answered with much more cheer than she felt.
“I wish I had good news for you,” the agent said. “I spoke with your folks this morning and really wish I could help. Unfortunately, after reviewing your case, our adjusters have denied the claim.”
Her head went light, and she had to lean against the barn door. She’d expected this news, so it shouldn’t have been so painful to hear. Somehow it still was. That one sentence was the negation of every hour she’d worked here, every callus she’d formed, every morning she’d dragged herself out of bed at the crack of dawn. This moment felt like proof that she wasn’t good enough, that she was a failure.
The agent said more, but she hardly heard it. None of it mattered. At some point he stopped talking, said he was sorry, and hung up.
She stood there holding the phone, numbly staring at the men as they loaded more calves into the barn. She didn’t want to talk to them anymore. Her throat felt tight, and she was afraid she would cry.
Finally, she revived enough to go search for the milk replacer. She sorted through things in the storage room. She found six bottles, four buckets, an electric stirring stick, and several Ziplock bags full of powder that her grandfather had labeled: calves’ milk. No instructions. No expiration date.
One of the men yelled, “That’s all of them!”