Little Joe (16 page)

It had been a cold evening. As the dawn broke, a crow cawed. Crows were the only birds who bothered to make noise this late in the season. Fog hovered above the ground while the earth warmed, lifting a little by the time Pa backed up the trailer.

Eli was in the barn with Little Joe, putting a rope halter around the calf’s neck. He’d never had the rope halter on this early and gave Eli a dazed look.

“Don’t feed him, son,” Pa called out from the cab window.

Little Joe tugged at Eli’s sleeve, wanting to be fed. “Can’t feed you, boy, till we get to the fair.” Little Joe
sniffed at Eli’s pockets. “Didn’t have breakfast neither, so we’re even.”

“Got the ramps in place,” Grandpa said, swinging the pen gate open. “I’d say we’re about ready. You?”

Eli wasn’t sure if he was, but he nodded anyhow.

“Take ’im about six feet back from the taillights.” Grandpa uncurled his fingers and fed Little Joe an apple slice. “That’s about a cow’s length,” he whispered to Eli.

Eli guided Little Joe out of the barn and stopped when he was the right distance away. The moon was still up, full and silky like a spotted pig. A few fawns gawked at them from the cornfields, their white spots faded and winter coats already grown.

“Get in the cab, son,” Pa told Eli, taking the rope from him.

“What for? I can help.”

“Just get in the cab, son. Me and Grandpa will take care of loading.”

Eli couldn’t see much from the cab’s rear window except the silver cone off the trailer’s front end. He watched it shift lower and knew Little Joe had gone in. Then Eli heard thrashing. The walls fanning out beyond the metal cone shook from side to side. Eli couldn’t figure out if what was happening was good or bad, but it didn’t sound very good. He strained to hear Pa or Grandpa, but there were no voices telling him which one it was.

“If he won’t go in, he won’t go. Don’t force him!” Ma shouted from the front porch.

Then Little Joe took off. Eli sure saw that. Running and bucking, with Pa still holding him and Grandpa chasing them both. Out toward the cornfields and into a patch full of needles.

Eli was desperate to get out of the cab, but he knew Pa wouldn’t want him to. He scanned the windows for some kind of opening and discovered one an inch wide. “Is Little Joe all right?” he shouted, pinching his face against the glass.

Grandpa nodded. Pa was still on his knees, both pant legs covered in burrs, and the back of his shirt was wet. Grandpa offered Pa a hand, but Pa brushed it aside and got himself up. Then Grandpa and Pa put their arms together and got Little Joe into the trailer.

Pa lingered to make sure the latch was shut tight before getting in the cab next to Eli and driving around the pothole in the middle of the driveway.

“Brought doughnuts,” Grandpa said after a while, taking a cardboard box off the dash. “All twelve of them are different.”

Pa kept his eyes on the road.

“How ’bout you, Eli?” Grandpa nudged Eli’s elbow with the doughnut box. “There’s one with sprinkles on it.”

Eli didn’t think he could eat. The oatmeal Ma had
made before dawn wouldn’t go down. And he didn’t want to mess up his clothes with chocolate frosting. “I don’t want to get any on my shirt.”

“You’ll get plenty dirty unloading your calf,” Pa said, turning into the fairgrounds. “Ma’ll bring your show shirt.”

Eli took the doughnut with chocolate sprinkles and craned his neck toward the trailer. Little Joe stomped against the metal floor. Eli spotted him poking his muzzle out of a slat on the side of the metal walls.

“We’re driving into the show ring,” Grandpa announced.

Pa idled the truck underneath a round metal roof.

“Where is everything?” Eli asked. He couldn’t tell it was a show ring. More like being parked in a field of sawdust with a roof on it. There weren’t even any sides or a particular direction to face.

“They won’t roll the bleachers in till this afternoon,” Grandpa said. “And hook in the gates right after.”

“Go find the stall, Eli. Our name’s on it,” Pa said. “We’ll get the calf weighed in. The show barn’s up ahead, where that first trailer’s parked.” Pa unlocked the cab doors. “And take the chair with you.”

Eli hopped into the sawdust with his lawn chair. He eyed the bright yellow sign that said
BEEF CATTLE
above the show barn. A group of farmers clustered below it, ready to corner an angry steer. “He’s got some good
brakes on him,” the owner joked, letting himself be pulled through the work chute by the restless animal. Eli hoped Little Joe wouldn’t need all those men to make sure he got weighed in.

Some older kids were already laying down bedding when Eli walked along the shed row. One was sprinkling, the other forking straw from a wheelbarrow. Eli was surprised that the stalls were just particleboard. He’d never seen the barn before a show, only when it was filled with straw and cattle and people. Eli searched the walls for a taped-up sign with the name Stegner on it. The steel bar of the lawn chair bumped against his ankle each time he moved.

“Coming through!” somebody called out. Eli swung right. “Go left!” the voice boomed. Eli swung left. A bull swaggered by, fully grown and frothing, just like the ones in the
Angus Journal
. The flesh on his brisket rumbled as he moved, commanding attention. His handler stuck out both elbows to give the bull room and gripped the nose chain with thick leather gloves.

Eli stopped and set the lawn chair down for a minute. A father and son hurried past, hauling a show box the size of a refrigerator.
Ma and Hannah will be bringing my show box later
, Eli thought.
When they bring lunch
. Eli tried to stay clear of the middle, where the grooming chutes stood, wheels locked into position with pieces of
kindling. A row of soggy cows fidgeted inside them, getting their hair blown out. The kids drying the curly hides had bib numbers pinned to their chests.

“Need help?” one of the groomers asked Eli. She looked down at him and smiled, rattling a can of ShowSheen.

Eli shook his head. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone near his age and he wished he knew somebody. “Found it!” Eli cried out, just in case the girl with the can of ShowSheen might hear. He’d found the empty stall with
STEGNER
written on it. Eli unfolded the lawn chair and placed it beside the post where Little Joe would be tied up.

“First time showing?”

Eli followed the voice up toward the rafters, where a high schooler was balancing on top of a grooming chute. “I’ll be down in a minute to show you where to put that chair.” Legs straddled, the boy drilled in a sign with his farm’s name on it.

Eli didn’t remember there being signs. He didn’t have one.

“You don’t set your chair in the stall next to your show animal,” the boy explained, climbing down off the chute. “You put it in the aisle across from him. That’s where you and all your stuff goes.”

Eli dragged the chair into the aisle, hiding his burning face with a sleeve. This wasn’t the same as being at home in the barn with Little Joe, like he thought it might be. He
slumped down in the lawn chair and kicked up some sawdust with the tip of his new boots. How would he keep his calf settled when there was so much to watch out for? There were wheelbarrows to stay clear of and full-grown bulls. Grooming chutes and show boxes as big as appliances. And he sure couldn’t see a Ferris wheel from this side of the barn. A line of Porta Potties made up the view. Eli hoped Little Joe wouldn’t be bothered by it all. Or sense that Eli was.

“Looks like you found the spot,” Grandpa said. He got out his jackknife and cut open a bale of straw, sprinkling a portion of it onto the stall floor. “You see that bird up there?” Grandpa pointed at a swallow, darting up to a nest in the rafters. “This is his home and he’s all jittery ’cause we’re disturbing it.”

Eli stared at the bird quivering in its nest.

“But you know what?” Grandpa said. “He’ll get used to you. In a few minutes he’ll be swooping down to see you like you was old friends.”

Eli noticed there were lots of birds above him, all shook up. He got up from his chair, dug into the straw bale with both hands and helped Grandpa spread some over the stall.

“Now go see your pa,” Grandpa told him. “He’s got your calf in front of the barn, waiting for you to lead.”

“Where will you be?” Eli asked.

“I’ll be around,” Grandpa said, “but out of the way.”

Pa was leading Little Joe in circles in front of the show barn. When Eli took over the rope, he could feel the calf tighten a bit, so he started humming. “It’s okay, boy,” Eli whispered. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.” Eli kept humming, rubbing his elbow against Little Joe’s shoulder as they walked through the barn. They could look each other in the eye now, and Little Joe showed Eli plenty of white.

Pa followed with the alfalfa. “Weighed in at 862,” Pa said.

Eli knew that was bigger than most. He tied Little Joe to the post, stroked the back of his neck and smiled. The calf sniffed at the straw for bits of the apple Grandpa had scattered around. Then he snorted at his new neighbor.

The girl was close to Eli’s age and barely a finger’s length away, feeding her calf Nutter Butters. The little Simmental calf lay on its side, much smaller than Little Joe. His delicate face looked as if it had been whittled out of old barn wood. He shook it every time he wanted another cookie. “How big’s your calf?” the girl asked Eli.

“Eight sixty-two,” Eli answered. He got out the pitchfork while Little Joe pooped in his new stall.

“Smokey’s a lot skinnier,” the girl said, looking down at the calf’s long brown eyelashes. “And I’ve already run out of Nutter Butters.”

“That don’t matter,” Eli said. “What you do in the show ring’s real important.”

“Did you show last year?” she asked.

“No. Did you?”

“No. My sister did. She got the side with the Ferris wheel. You gotta be here a few years before you get the side with the Ferris wheel.” The girl looked out at the line of Porta Potties. “Guess we can just climb over to get on our show clothes. The toilet’s right there.”

They both laughed. Eli picked out some apple slices from the straw to give to the Simmental.

Grandpa and Pa had gotten Eli’s show box out of Ma’s car and set it down next to Eli’s chair. Ma was carrying Eli’s show shirt on a hanger, and Hannah held the tub for the water. She dropped it as soon as she saw Little Joe and bounded over to the calf, giving him a great big hug. “You must be hungry,” she said, force-feeding him a sprig of alfalfa. “And thirsty, too. I’ll get you some water.”

Hannah rushed to get the water tub filled from the hose Pa had dragged over. She carried the tub up to Little Joe, spilling most of it onto his nose.

“Stop it, Hannah,” Eli shouted. “You’ll get him all worked up.”

“There’s some clean rags in the show box,” Ma said.

“I’ll open it!” Hannah rushed to the show box before
anyone else. As soon as she unlocked the latches, Spider hopped out.

“There’s a cat in here!” somebody shrieked.

Spider darted through the shed row, scattering wood shavings.

“I
love
cats!” the girl with the Simmental exclaimed.

A hay rake tumbled over as Spider nicked it bolting past.

“Hannah, how could you?” Ma cried, chasing after Spider.

The Simmental bucked and kicked at the air as Spider churned up dust when she scooted by.

“Here, Spider!” Ma called. But Spider wouldn’t move. She’d found Little Joe.

Tucked safely in between the bull calf’s hind legs, Spider sat contentedly and purred. Little Joe snorted, then continued sniffing the straw for apples. Spider stayed between his legs, swirling her tail until he sniffed her, too. Then she moved away and jumped across the shed-row wall and onto Little Joe’s back.

“You’re as good as DQ’d now,” the boy with the drill told Eli.

“Not if the judge doesn’t see the cat,” the girl carrying the ShowSheen said.

Spider stretched out farther along Little Joe’s back onto her white tummy and blinked. Slowly, Eli drew
nearer, inching his way toward Little Joe. “Come here, Spider,” he said as he beckoned to the cat, extending his arm out gingerly to form a bridge across Little Joe’s back. Spider meowed twice, then jumped onto Eli’s shoulder.

“You showin’ a cat or a cow?” somebody joked as Eli marched to the front of the barn, cradling Spider in his arms so you could see her brown underspots.

Eli hoped he’d be showing a calf.

“I’m so sorry, Eli,” Ma said. “If I knew what Hannah was planning …”

“I just wanted to make Little Joe feel at home.” Hannah sniffled.

Ma took Spider from Eli and curled the cat up in a blanket. “And don’t worry about being disqualified. The judge isn’t even here yet, so he won’t know about Spider. I’ll take her home. And Hannah, too.”

“Heard your cat nearly got you DQ’d,” Keller said. “Good thing you know how to rein her in.” He thumped the back of Eli’s head with his cast. “Can you help me shave Strawberry? She keeps farting in my face and I show in an hour.”

“I can’t. I gotta get Little Joe ready,” Eli said. He had the show box open, deciding which brush the calf would like best.