DOWN N DIRTY

3.

Veronica PoV

The deliveries go smoothly and I eventually get back to the farm with my mind focused on the task in hand.  Before I know it I'm halfway to Kimble's where the cows are and my phone's buzzing.  Quickly I answer it and pull into the driveway, climbing out and punching in the code for the gate.  It swings open and I step on the pedal hard.  The customer babbles uselessly and I console her that yes, we will be there shortly to do her fencing- like it is our main priority.  The drive is cruising easily and all of a sudden I spot a white body in the corner of the field.  It's all alone under the trees and the rest are all in the previous field.  I drive closer to it and swear under my breath at the sight.  It's Snowy, the White Park calf that Bobby named.  We were going to keep her but I guess not now.  She's covered in dust and her eyes have been eaten away by flies.  We had a case like this 13 years ago, a buttercup was brought into the field on the sprayer wheels and was eaten by a calf which killed it.  Usually they don't eat buttercups as they are poisonous but when the flower is dead, it smells sweet which causes the calf to eat it and die.  Apparently it has happened again.  I sigh and walk over the carcass, wincing at the smell of dead body.  It proves difficult to get into the back of my truck due to rigor mortis but I eventually heave it on top of the plastic sheets I keep in the boot for oil spills.

Between meetings and disposing of the body, I am tied up for the rest of the afternoon.  This leads to me pulling into the nearest garage and buying a quick snack, after all, I may be a lady but that doesn't mean I'll act like one.  This is shown as I rip into what is considered an average man's lunch but I can't find part of me that cares.  As the sun begins to set, my phone rings again.  This time it is Donkey, one of the boys, a baler has broken down.  He lists a bunch of pipes and fittings and I make notes on my sticky note pad before sticking it to the dashboard.  It is my way of remembering things, I get about 110 calls per day, I've got to keep on track somehow.  The drive back to the farm is rapid, the longer the baler is down for, the more money we lose.  We don't get paid for downtime.  I write another sticky note before climbing out and getting the baler fittings.  The drive over to the baler is short again and I make a quick call to the vet about an autopsy for the calf, reminding her where it will be.  My thoughts flicker to my grandad and I give him a quick call to warn him that I will be coming back to the farm at 9 and I'll see him then.  He grumbles as usual,  saying that I'm a bit old to babysit him like I used to as a kid but I ignore him and hang up.  Donkey explains the problem and I crawl gently under the baler, twisting a few pipes into place and replacing the burst valve.  It's a quick process, I've been doing this since I was 17 when I could drive to places to help my dad out.  He's getting older, but that doesn't stop him.  He's 52 and still does the jobs of a 25 year old.  He'll need his hips doing at this rate and by the level of his whinging, I would say in the next 5-6 years, which leaves me in charge for 10 weeks with only supervision from my grandad.  Damn.  I may have been doing this for a while but I still worry like a teenager at the thought of being in charge by myself.

"Hey Ron, ya coming out tonight?  Gonna hit up the clubs in Leighton, try and score some hot babes." Jonny yells to me.

"Nah, wouldn't wanna cramp the old guy style.  You can do that all by yourself.  'Sides, Bobby has a father's day thing tomorrow which I get to go in for, so yay.  Get this done by midnight please, you guys are getting old, need your naps else you turn waspy."  I check the time; 8:50.  Damn it.  It will take at least 15 minutes to get back to the farm.  Need for speed now.  Driving across the field at 50 mph isn't my best idea but oh well.  I pull into the farm at 9:04, tad late but my grandad knows to give me some leeway.

"Sorry I'm late Grampy, Donkey burst a valve.  You good?"  He's sat against the portacabin with a cup of tea in hand.  His eyes flicker to mine and he hands me my coffee worthlessly.