It’s short story time.

This one is an origin story about a character in the middle grade novel I’m currently working on.

I hope you enjoy it.

On the fringes of a small village in Scotland, on the downward slope of a hill, a Highland cow struggled to give birth to her second calf.

Dunsmuir, the local veterinarian, arrived to help as the sun dipped below the crest of the hill, making his job that much harder.

“Can’t believe I rushed out here without my lights.”

But as luck would have it, just two days previous, and in anticipation of a dire situation—because, on a farm, things can turn dire rapidly—the farmer had purchased two brand new, enormous battery powered lanterns to replace his aging ones.

He now dragged them off his truck and down the hill. “Had a feeling I’d be needing these.”

“My idea, Daddy,” said Miranda.

“Good job,” acknowledged the vet. “Amazing, the old girl having twins, innit? And the first one all on her own, too.”

The first calf, a boy, watched butterflies on this warm spring evening, waiting for his mum to let him nurse already.

The girl shrugged. “Animals been birthing babies on their own for longer than we’ve been helping them.”

The farmer and the veterinarian smiled a bit at that.

Miranda sat on one side of the cow, murmuring encouragement, and the vet kneeled on the other, keeping a hand on her.

“Ready now. Steady, girl,” Dunsmuir said to the cow.

And with a whoop and tug and a sploosh and a plop, a scrawny Highland calf appeared where there was none before.

“Welcome to the world, baby girl,” said Miranda.

The veterinarian slapped the farmer on the shoulder, as if he’d had everything to do with it.

“Congratulations, Macky. What’re you going to do with all these Highlands?”

The farmer rearranged the lanterns while Miranda spread a bale of bedding straw.

“Reckon they’ll be fine outside for tonight,” he said.

The vet nodded, but said, “Meant after. You keeping them?”

Miranda glanced at her father, a hopeful look on her face.

But the farmer shook his head.

“Names?” The vet wiped his hands on a towel stained with the lifeblood of countless animals.

“This boy’s Zippity,” Miranda said.

The farmer raised his eyebrows at the vet. “Don’t ask. The child’s ten—”

“Almost eleven,” said Miranda as if she’d been saying that for months (which she had).

“—I suppose Zippity was the name of some creature in one of her storybooks. When she’s not outside she’s inside with those books.”

“I can hear you.” Miranda waved her arms.

The two men and Miranda watched the little family.

The calves stood on bobbly-wobbly legs and practiced walking.

With their orange fur—the heifer calf (the baby girl) still damp—they had the look of well-loved stuffies.

The moon glinted off the mother’s long, graceful horns as she nudged them to keep them stable.

The farmer always wondered what the mothers were thinking at a time like this.

Miranda said the mothers were already thinking about how hard it was going to be when they had to say goodbye.

“I’ll call this one Tracy,” said the farmer.

The vet nodded again. “Some farmers wouldn’t even bother with a name. I knew you would.”

“Got Miranda to thank for that. I figure one of these days, she’ll convince me that our livestock can talk and sing hymns.”

“I can still hear you.” Miranda finished spreading the straw and joined her father. “But they can’t all sing, you know.”

“’Course not,” the farmer said, with a hint of a smile.

“This little one is tiny, isn’t she?” Miranda cocked her head and studied the baby.“She won’t sing. This one’s a dancer.”

The veterinarian laughed and would have continued except for the glare Miranda gave him.

“You know best, Miranda. Be a big help to your dad now.”

The vet turned and clapped the farmer on the shoulder. “Macky, don’t worry about calling me if you need me.”

He hauled his equipment to his truck and waved as he drove away.

“Bye Dr. D. Thank you for helping us,” shouted Miranda to make sure he heard.

The Highlands startled and Miranda switched to a library whisper.

“I’ll stay out here for a while, Daddy, if you want to go in. I left your dinner wrapped up in the fridge next to mine.”

“Miranda-girl, don’t be getting attached to either of these babes. We can’t be keeping them once they’re weaned.”

Miranda nodded. “Love you, Daddy.”

On a farm, it didn’t matter if you thought any of the animals were special.

Animals—and people—come and go.

That’s the way of a farm.

Love is no talisman or lucky rabbit’s foot against that.

But Miranda could at least try to find a home for the calves on a farm nearby.

Unfortunately, six months later when the calves were weaned, neither Miranda nor her father had found anyone close who wanted yet another Highland.

And her dad hadn’t changed his mind.

Miranda spent most of her free time singing with Zippity or dancing with Tracy.

Zippity hummed whenever Miranda did, and then she would give him a treat.

He was a much better singer than Tracy was a dancer.

Tracy’s legs were too long, or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Miranda thought she might have gotten it wrong about Tracy being a dancer.

She feared that once Tracy got her horns, she wouldn’t even be able to walk and keep her head up at the same time.

Tracy was not nimble.

But she showed no inclination toward singing.

Miranda loved them both ferociously and told them so.

All the time.

Miranda wasn’t about to mess up with Tracy or her twin liked she had with her own mum.

At breakfast one morning, when the temperatures hovered in the 40s and wouldn’t get much higher, Miranda’s daddy tapped her on the shoulder, saying nothing.

He didn’t have to.

After that, Miranda couldn’t swallow her porridge.

Her toast wouldn’t clear a path down her throat.

Her eyes couldn’t focus through her tears.

But Miranda was a farmer’s daughter.

So, at the age of 10—almost 11–she knew better than to put up a fuss today.

She wanted to though.

She wanted to hold onto those calves and never let go.

She wanted to dance them right off the farm and into her bedroom and hide them in the clothes closet forever.

She wanted—well, it didn’t matter what she wanted.

Zippity and Tracy had to go.

“After breakfast, Miranda, you’ll help me load them.”

Her daddy rinsed out his tea mug.

“Finished with this?”

He pointed to her bowl of porridge.

Miranda could only nod.

She walked outside, shocked at how beautiful it was.

The morning should have been full of black clouds and gloom, doom, and rain—exactly like she felt.

Instead, it was looking to be a bonny November day.

Tracy and Zippity ambled to the fence, waiting for Miranda.

It was almost as if they knew.

Miranda climbed through the fence and wrapped an arm around each calf.

She rubbed their soft ears and the tiny nubs of their horns.

“I need to talk to you,” Miranda whispered.

This news called for quiet voices.

“Daddy says it’s time for you to go. If this were my farm, I’d find room for you. You know I would. But it’s not. We tried to find a place for you close by, but no one needs another two heads around here.”

She took a deep breath.

“This next bit is hard, my loves.”

Miranda stepped away from the calves so she could be brave and look them straight on.

“Zippity, you, lad, are headed to Elgol. Isle of Skye. I hear it’s beautiful.”

Zippity let out a melodious hum.

He seemed content with the news.

Tracy did some fancy step to get to Miranda and tripped over a rock.

“Steady there, lass,” said Miranda. “You are going to have the longest journey. Dr. D found you a home.”

Tracy backed up then pranced to Miranda.

“You keep practicing, Tracy. One of these days, you’re going to dance and I’m going to hear about it and come and see for myself!”

Miranda hugged Tracy and whispered a secret in her ear that no one else was privy to.

Then she coughed and shook her head, trying to get rid of the tears that pressed against her eyelids and the lump that wouldn’t leave her throat.

“You’re going to America, my girl. Isn’t that grand?”

Tracy tilted her fuzzy orange head, and her legs bowed a bit.

“Yes, it’s far away. But Daddy and Dr. D say it’s a lovely wee farm with sheep and chickens. You’ll be the only cow! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Tracy didn’t look like she thought it was too wonderful.

Miranda deflated, tired of being brave.

“I know, lassie. I know. But I have the street number where you’ll be. I’ll find you. You’ll be at a place called Shadow Island. I hope it’s lovely.”

Miranda’s father came up then. “Let’s get them loaded. They’ll both go to the same dock. Meeting the male’s owner there, and Tracy’ll be loaded for her journey.”

The mother cow walked over and gave each calf a big sniff before walking away.

Miranda wanted to bring the mum back and tell her to say a proper goodbye.

But her father was already loading the calves into the back of the truck, the truck was already grumbling, the minutes were already ticking away, and the ships that would carry Tracy and Zippity away were probably all ready to go, too.

Miranda hopped in beside her dad.

The ride was quiet.

The sun came up and up and up.

But the mercury stayed low.

Miranda opened her window anyway.

The birds found something to sing about, as birds do.

The trees and grassy fields had turned yellow, tinged with red.

Cars, trucks, buses passed with a whoosh that made Miranda’s head feel empty.

If she had had a plan to keep the calves, her head would be full of that.

But there was no plan.

In the distance now, Miranda could make out the dock wavering, a shimmery spectacle on the horizon.

Still far enough away that Miranda could close her eyes and pretend it didn’t exist.

Then it was right next to them.

Whistles, low horns, beeps, rolling wheels, rolling carts, clangs, bangs, talking, laughing, shouting.

All sounds that could not be denied.

Miranda saw ships and boats lined up, their cargo holds open.

Paperwork to sign.

Offload Tracy.

Offload Zippity.

It was easy.

And it was the hardest thing she’d ever done and ever hoped to have to do again.

Tracy and Zippity clomped down the metal ramp, stopped on asphalt.

Looked around.

A small man with kind eyes approached her father with an outstretched hand.

“This is it, Zippity,” Miranda said. “I’m going to—” The words stuck, but she forced them out because goodbyes are important. “I’m going to miss you. Be wonderful. I love you.”

Her father took the rope from Miranda’s shaking hands.

Miranda hummed a short song, and Zippity hummed along as he walked away.

Then Tracy was by her side.

Burly men with burly jobs and burly schedules watched.

Miranda didn’t care.

Goodbyes are important.

Miranda’s arms went around Tracy’s neck, and she touched her nose to Tracy’s velvet one.

“Goodbye, my girl. You’ve been the best cow.” She brought her hands to either side of Tracy’s face. “You are always going to be the best cow. Remember I told you that. I love you. Remember I told you that, too. Say it to yourself every day so you don’t forget.”

Miranda kissed Tracy’s cheek.

She could hear the burly men clearing their throats.

Miranda didn’t care.

She had more to say.

Because goodbyes are important.

“Dance because you love it. Dance because it makes you feel light inside. And I’ll dance, too, because it will make me think of you.”

The farmer placed a hand on Miranda’s shoulder.

Miranda whispered in Tracy’s ear, something else for only the two of them.

Because goodbyes are important.

Tracy clomped up another metal ramp into a metal box just for animals.

She turned her head and gave Miranda a look that Miranda would think about later—and forever.

As the burly men shut the doors, Tracy’s hooves did a fancy step.

She mooed off-key.

Her tail swished.

Miranda blew her a last kiss.

Because goodbyes are important.

~end~

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