Happy Thanksgiving - Part Three - for nonfiction followers

Here is Chasing Cows, set to publish in the upcoming issue of On The River. For a print copy, contact the editor at:
"Dusty Miller Farm"

CHASING COWS

The first mistake I made was looking out the window when Tawny Dog barked. Her bark wasn’t the interested dog comment on an animal in our yard; it was the intruder alert bark saying that someone was in the front yard right then and there. In other words, it was the one bark that in good conscience I couldn’t ignore.
Peering out, I saw not the expected Jehovah’s Witness, but instead a small herd of cows. They were heading right for the pumpkin plants.
I yelled for Eric, shut the dogs in my room, and hurriedly pushed my feet into my shoes, swearing. Grabbing a jacket, I dashed outside, just getting to them in time before they ambled into the garden.
“Again?” Eric said in dismay from the deck.
“Again,” I answered.
“I’ll be right there.”
What he meant was that these were the same cows we’d chased the day before, and put back in their pasture. Now, we’d have to do it all over again. This time, they were more than a mile away from their rightful field: a mile we would have to walk back with them.
At first, everything went fine. The cows allowed themselves to be herded back down the road by the barn, across the alfalfa field, and through the woods. But halfway across the big hayfield, thunder boomed from the east, and they suddenly scattered.
To the rescue came the farmer’s daughter, Jesse, roaring up on her ATV. In defiance of her attempts to push them back, the herd began running hard, going over the far side of the field into an orchard. Jesse and Eric headed after them, with me bringing up the rear.
A rumble of thunder sounded again, this time directly above. I looked up, nervous. The sky was dark, big rainclouds rapidly approaching.
I began running hard for the edge of the field, swearing as the first drops began to fall.
Luck was on us. We got the cows back out of the trees, the headed across the field. Down they went, mooing, through the small open gate, and down the straight track to their pasture.
Thunder cracked again. The cows began to run all out. Jesse was right after them on her ATV. Straggling behind came Eric and I.
Our luck suddenly evaporated as rain began to pour down, soaking us. Thunder rumbled repeatedly. We hurried down the already sodden track, wiping at our eyes to see. As we came to the gate, Jesse opened it, and the cows went in. She shut it. The rain intensified, pelting us, the huge drops stinging.
After thanking us, Jesse jumped on her ATV and headed home, cringing over the handlebars, her clothes and hair soaked. Eric and I headed back the way we came, plodding slowly as we got wetter and wetter.
We were soaked to the skin by the time we got home, our clothed plastered to us, our hair dripping and our shoes squishing with each step. As we neared out house, the sun came out, the bright light bathing us.
“Think there’s a story in this?” I asked him.
He grimaced back at me. “If there ever was a story to be told, this is it.”