“Breathe.” “Just breathe.”
I look at my husband’s sweaty face. The sweat has mingled with the dirt. There is blood smeared across his cheek where he wiped the back of his hand earlier.
I look around. “How did I get here”? I was on my way outside to work in the garden when I got the phone call.
“I need your help, come right away,” he said. His voice was strained and tired.
Here I sit watching the dust dance in the sun rays coming through the small window in the back.
I am exhausted from all the pulling, pushing and praying. I have just spent thirty minutes laboring with him and now here I am.
“Breathe.” I would scream it if I had any energy left to muster the sound.
Finally, I hear the “Baaawww.”
My husband’s attempts to clean out the airways didn’t work at first. Finally his breath forced into her nose brought her around.
Another calf is born.
Mama cow is licking her new little one and my husband is picking up the pail, chains, and the ropes.
“Breathe” I tell myself as I realize I have been holding my breath waiting for her to breathe.
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