Silence.
Not the bored silence from the opening bid.
Something had shifted.
Silas lowered his card.
The laughter did not return.
Curtis pointed toward the office.
“Young man, paperwork.”
Ruth finally moved.
“I’m coming.”
Several men stepped aside as they passed.
Not deliberately.
They simply did.
At the office, the clerk explained that Silas could not legally sign the bill of sale.
Ruth signed.
Then looked at her grandson.
“You just spent almost all your money.”
“I know.”
“You feel sick?”
“A little.”
“Good.”
Silas frowned.
“Why good?”
“Means you understand money.”
They borrowed a livestock trailer from Ruth’s neighbor that afternoon.
Silas rode home watching through the small rear window.
The Jersey stood unevenly.
Same front hoof.
Same shifting.
When they reached the farm, Otto was waiting near the kitchen window.
Ruth parked where he could see.
Silas ran inside.
“We got one.”
Otto’s eyebrows rose.
“Jersey.”
Otto smiled.
Silas pulled out the notebook.
“Thin.”
He pointed toward his own left foot.
“Front hoof long.”
Then moved his jaw strangely.
“Chewing wrong.”
Otto watched.
“Think she hurts.”
Silas waited.
Otto looked through the window at the cow.
Then at his grandson.
He slowly raised his good hand.
Placed it on Silas’s shoulder.
One word.
“Good.”
Silas smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.
Ruth called the veterinarian Monday morning.
Dr. Patrice Loomis arrived Tuesday.
She drove a mud-splattered farm truck filled with ropes, buckets, medicines, trimming tools, and enough equipment to make Silas want to inspect every compartment.
She climbed out.
“You the cattle buyer?”
Silas looked at Ruth.
Ruth shrugged.
“I told her.”
Silas nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Patrice smiled.
“Show me your cow.”
They walked to the small lot.
Silas had not named her yet.
Patrice began with the animal’s face.
Then mouth.
Teeth worn but serviceable.
No major dental problem.
She ran both hands along the jaw.
Checked lymph nodes.
Eyes.
Temperature.
Heart.
Respiration.
Rumen.
Udder.
Then feet.
She stopped at the front left.
“Huh.”
Silas held his breath.
Patrice lifted the hoof.
Examined it.
Lowered it.
Then watched the cow walk.
She looked at Silas.
“What did you think?”
His mouth went dry.
“The hoof is too long.”
“Yep.”
“She puts weight wrong.”
“Yep.”
“Then she doesn’t stand comfortable.”
“Probably.”
Silas looked at the cow.
“And Grandpa said cows that hurt standing don’t chew right.”
Patrice’s expression changed.
“Who’s Grandpa?”
“Otto Coyle.”
The veterinarian smiled.
“I know Otto.”
Silas looked surprised.
“Everybody knows Otto.”