I sighed, staring out along the great Prairie. There was no town in sight, not even a building. Only the cows. Even from the porch, I could hear their mooing. I had eventually gotten used to it. You can’t be a ranchers’ daughter without loving- or at least tolerating- cows. As I sat there, simply thinking, the screen door swung open. Out walked my father.
My father is your picture of a typical cowboy, with a straw hat and leather boots. He had muck on him from the fields, and thick, tanned skin. He had staring black-brown eyes, and a shock of brown hair. I felt a sudden surge of realization, for I looked like that too.
“Honey,” he said, with a deep, scratchy voice, “why don’t you go milk the cows?” I didn’t make a fuss, and he seemed surprised and pleased. I stood from the bench, eyeing the herd out in the pastures. They were all chocolate brown, except for one, nicknamed Snowy Elle, who was pure white. She was my favorite.
I trekked out into the grass at a brisk pace. The ground was uneven under my boots, but I knew every bump. The pail knocked against my legs, but I hardly noticed, I was so deep in thought. The gate creaked open as I pushed on it, and I immediately approached Snowy Elle.
She eyed the bucket, because she knew what was to happen next. But instead, I flipped the bucket upside down, creating a kind of chair. I plopped into it, and put my head in my hands.
“Oh, Snowy,” I sighed. She looked at me with curious eyes, staring down her long snout. “You probably won’t understand this, being a cow and all, but I have something to tell you.” Her ears twitched, alert.
“I feel like I’ve lived on a ranch forever. I’m cut off from everyone, and my only friends are animals.” I looked up. She was still there.
“I want to be free,” I explained, “free to live in the big city, and do whatever I want to.” A sudden surge of anger gripped me. I stood, and slammed the bucket with my foot. It was heavy, though, and it barely budged an inch. Frustrated, with my foot throbbing, I sat back down on the bucket and buried my face in my hands. However, from above, I felt a warm, wet, slimy thing lick my forehead.
“I know how you feel,” said a soft, mooing voice. I sat up.
But my cow just looked down, with blank, dark eyes the color of molasses. I smiled. I trotted back to the house, bucket in hand. It was empty, but I didn’t care. I took one final glance back at the pasture, where the cows were grazing. All were brown, except one. Snowy Elle stopped her eating for one minute, to stare at me. I can’t be sure, but I think I saw her smile.