You awake with the feeling that you never went to sleep, or that you’re really hungover on a night of dancing, without the joy of dancing the night before.
The room seems colder than it normally is because you’re tired. The alarm clock says it’s 3am.
Wool socks over your long johns.
A woosh of cold air as you pull a shirt over your undershirt.
Muck boots, someone’s too big of coat…you don’t know whose it is and you don’t care right now.
Out the door and into the frozen pickup. It starts loudly, protesting, and the sound shatters the night’s quiet.
You bump down the road to the barn…and start your rounds.
“Good morning mamas” and “push you lazy b*&h!”
Wet calf fresh on the ground, calf won’t suck, calf born dead, mama won’t let calf Suck
where are the chains where’s a bottle
It all runs together, and starts all over again.
To you ladies of the night shift calving…we raise our cup of coffee in your direction.
xo xo Liz