Bewildered, Gregory tried herding the cattle. They did not heed his calls. They couldn’t even hear them, since Gregory’s voice was so shallow. He knew this and tried to yell, but even his yelling was barely audible, even to nearby cattle who supposedly have pretty good hearing. It is well known that their strongest senses are smell, taste and touch, but they have pretty nice-sized ears that stick up a good bit, so they should be able to hear an able-bodied human shouting at them from nearby, but Gregory’s voice just couldn’t cut through. Greg himself suspected that it was more of a psychological problem than a physical deficit. His voice just couldn’t overcome his own innate desire to not dictate his will onto the world.
He knew that this was his job, to herd the cattle, and he wanted to do it well, by willing them to obey his commands. He really did try, but no matter how much he attempted to tweak his timbre, his volume, his tone, his frequency, nothing seemed to work. Ultimately, he just got frustrated and let the cattle lead him. If they didn’t want to follow him, then he would follow them. It was his misfortune, and no fault of theirs. They were bovines after all, and if they knew anything, it was how to eat grass and where to find more grass to eat. So, they ate up one pasture and then headed east to the next one. Once that one was nibbled down to the roots, they headed south to the next one, and so on.
Greg began to realize that the herd knew what to do on its own and did not need a feckless human in an ill-fitting hat trying to tell them where to go and when. But maybe that was just his way of rationalizing his own failures. Either way, it seemed to be working. The cows were healthy. None of them were running off, and no predatory animals were coming to feed off of the calves, although even Greg realized that this was perhaps just a matter of time. He had his .22 rifle slung over his shoulder, and was ready to use it. However, he doubted that if a pack of wolves showed up one day, that he would be competent enough to either kill them or make them run away scared. So far, fortunately, it was not a problem.
The herd was multiplying as time went on. They kept trodding along of their own volition, from pasture to pasture. Every night when Greg bunked down by his little fire that he struggled to keep alight, he conjured up a mental image of the herd in his mind. By the time he woke up at dawn, shivering and thirsty, he grazed out at the cattle and it always seemed that overnight they had added significantly to their numbers. The bulls strode around the perimeter snorting, as if they were proudly aware of their virility and wanted Greg to see how many more calves there were then since last time he took a gander. The herd was growing and sometimes Greg couldn’t even see from one end to the other. He felt lost. But, he also felt at peace, since the cows were doing what they were supposed to do, which was wandering around and eating, staying healthy, and not getting eaten by wolves or coyotes.
Greg carried a little penny whistle in his shirt pocket, as well as a chromatic harmonica in his backpack. He didn’t really know how to play either one, but he liked to pull them out from time to time and blow into them, trying to form some sort of melody by placing his fingers over the holes. Once in a while, he came up with something halfway decent, and was briefly satisfied, but it seems that he could never repeat what he had previously played that had sounded good. This used to bother him to no end, but now he just shrugged his shoulders and focused on what he did come up with at each particular time. He learned to treasure the moment. “If I can’t remember it, I guess that just means I’m not a real musician, which is fine.” He told himself. “That’s just my misfortune and no fault of my own.”
Yet, as the days and weeks wore on, Gregory let his worries and anxieties fade away, one by one. The growing cattle herd seemed healthy and happy, and he himself was feeling clear-headed and confident. This was a relief to him, especially after the first few days of trying to control the cattle through his calls, which had not been in the least bit effective and had made him sad. Now, he was feeling almost content. But unfortunately, that feeling did not last for long, as he realized that his food was just about gone and he had no idea where he was. He and his herd of cattle had been traipsing across the hills for a few weeks now, and since the time that he had conceded his control, he had lost track of which direction they were traveling in and really had no idea where they were, and how long it would take them to get back to the ranch.
As he lay shivering awake one night, one teeny log being kept alight by the tiniest of flames, Greg thought about what he should do. He didn’t carry a phone with him, so there was no way to call someone, and he was not great about reading the stars, or the path of the sun, and figuring things out spatially that way. So, he fell asleep in a worried state of mind, trying to come up with a plan of action for the next day if possible. But nothing came to mind. He had nothing in his toolbox to draw from. He didn’t panic, however, and somehow kept the feelings of doom at bay. He eventually fell asleep staring up at the falling stars making their way across the western sky.
When he awoke, cold, tired and hungry, his attitude only worsened as he scanned out at the herd and saw that several calves had been attacked and eaten overnight. How could I have not heard that? he thought, and blamed himself for their demise. I was right here, he reflected critically, stroking his rifle. I could have shot those wolves, if only I had been more alert and heard them attacking. He sat there for a while, head in hands, wondering what to do with the day. With his diminishing rations, the lack of knowledge regarding their geographic location, and now with the smell of spilled blood on the ground, Greg knew that something must be done. But, what?
Luckily, the cows knew what was going on. They knew where they were. They knew that Greg had not much food left and they certainly know that the wolves and coyotes had been closing in on them. That’s why they had circled back toward the ranch a few days ago, and as the sun rose and the foggy mist evaporated, the herd crested a butte and headed downhill. Greg, coming up from behind, could see the ranch down below. He let out a sigh of relief and satisfaction. He even screamed a little giddy-up cry of glee, but no creature heard it, as the sound seemed to evaporate into the air as soon as it was uttered. Either way, Greg and the cows headed down the hill toward the ranch. They were well fed, had been well cared for, only lost a few to the wolves, and Greg would be praised about how much of an excellent cattle herder he was, despite his lack of confidence and unsightly appearance. He had done well.
THE MOSSY BOG 