VJ
By the time I turned into the cabin’s driveway off the county road on Monday, I’d mellowed a little. Last night and early this morning had been hell. One of the new dairy cows had started bellowing around three thirty, and after checking all the usual causes for the animal’s distress, I’d called the vet, who drove out and examined her himself. While I stood around watching and fretting, he told me to go, get out of the way.
I was resigned to calling Tommy and canceling when my foreman waved me aside.
“We can handle it, boss.” Eight years older than me, Lee had become the farm’s reliable problem solver in the barns and fields. In fact, Lee told me he would rather tackle a problem and get everything back on track himself rather than call me for help.
Lee saw our roles as separate and
