The Best Gifts Come With a Moo

            The best gift I ever received was not a birthday present or even a Christmas one.  It was not a piece of jewelry, an article of clothing, a car, or any other inanimate object.  The best gift I ever got was actually two gifts that, when put together, were the two best friends I have ever had.

            The first calf I ever showed at a fair was one of my sister Kelly’s Brown Swiss, when I was just eight years old.  My calf’s name was Claire and she was a beautiful little heifer.  She was light brown with speckles of dark brown— like tuna with cinnamon sprinkles on top.  Always friendly, she was a hit with the judges at the fair, licking them and hamming it up for them any chance she got.  Needless to say, we took home quite a few blue ribbons that year.  The two of us became very good friends and stayed that way long after the fair was over.  I know it may sound weird, being friends with a cow, but it is possible.  In my opinion, they can make better friends than humans. 

            I have always loved the fair; it was a large part of my childhood.  One of the things I loved about the fair when I was a kid, besides showing dairy cattle, was watching the oxen shows.  The obstacle courses were always my favorite, but I loved to watch everything.  One of the employees at my parents’ farm had a pair of red and white Holstein oxen.  I loved to watch them, whether they were pulling a cart or just grazing in the pasture.  They were so big with their massive muscles moving whenever they moved, yet they were so friendly and kind that they would never hurt anybody.  I wanted my own pair of oxen.

            Two years later, when I was ten, Claire was pregnant for the first time.  I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait for her to calve.  When the day finally came, however, things didn’t go so well.  Claire had twins, but she had a hard delivery and severely hurt her leg.  Also, she had a bull and a heifer.  Because my parents own a dairy farm, we never keep our bull calves and a heifer who has a bull twin is almost always sterile, so we do not keep them, either.  I was devastated because I was very much in love with those two little sweethearts, but it didn’t stop me from spending every second with them.  The little heifer was much smaller than her brother and she was quite sickly, but they were both light, almost white, in color.  They both had big, black eyes and cute little black button noses.

            After just a few days, we lost the poor little heifer.  She was just too sickly and didn’t have much strength.  This destroyed me, but things got worse.  Claire was paralyzed and there was nothing that we could do for her, so she had to be put down.  All that I had left of Claire was her little bull, who would be taken by the cattle dealer in just a few days.  Losing a cow is hard enough, but it’s even worse when you don’t have any of her daughters to carry on her legacy, her genes.  When you have a cow’s daughter, it’s as if you have a piece of that cow there with you.

            After Claire and her daughter passed away, I went through a rough time.  I could have filled every water trough on the farm with the tears I cried.  I especially felt bad for Claire’s son; he went from having his own little family to being all alone.  And soon he’d be leaving, but his life probably wouldn’t get much better.  It may not even last much longer.  I couldn’t bear the thought of what he might have to go through.  I spent as much time with him as I possibly could, sitting with him in the pen, petting him, and telling him stories about his mother.  My sister Kelly was upset, too, of course; after all, Claire was her’s.  But she knew how upset I was and, like always, was thinking of me.  I remember very well the day when she came to me and asked me if I would like to have Claire’s son.  “He can be one in your team of oxen,” she said to me.  My heart instantaneously felt lighter; like someone had lifted a heavy weight off of it.  I smiled a smile wider than the Amazon and gave Kelly a big hug and a great big thank you.  I named him Calvin.  He became mine: my Calvin.  One of my best friends.

            In order to have a team of oxen (or steers, as they are called until they reach four years of age), you have to have two steers.  Since my parents only had Holsteins, I’d have to get my second little bundle of joy from another farm.  My dad called his friend Dave who owned a Brown Swiss farm.  Dave told my father that the next Brown Swiss bull they got was ours.  I anxiously waited for days for a phone call…nothing.  Weeks went by…still nothing.  Finally— a call!  There was a bull born!  We could go pick him up in just a couple days.  I could not keep still for days.  Excitement ran through me like an electric shock. 

            I came downstairs one morning, still groggy from my night’s sleep, when my father asked me if I was ready to go get my steer today.  Of course I was ready!  I was immediately awake and ready to go.  It was only a twenty minute drive to the other farm, but it felt like it took a week to get there.  It was a weekday, but I didn’t have school because of a holiday.  It was a cool autumn morning, but the sun was shining.  We finally got to the farm and Dave met us in his driveway.  He and my father talked for a bit while I was quietly going insane with impatience.  Dave finally started walking toward a wooden barn that had its wide door open.  He pointed to it and said “That’s where he is.”

            I took off in a sprint towards the barn while my dad and Dave lagged behind, still talking.  When I finally got to the barn, I ran through the open door and stopped.  Right there to my left was a wooden pen.  The barn smelt like sawdust and cow manure, two of my favorite smells in the whole world.  I turned to my left and walked up to the little pen.  A little black nose poked through two of the wooden boards that made up the pen’s gate, sniffing.  And that’s when I saw him.  He looked up at me with big, black eyes and I was instantly in love.  He was a little bit lighter than Calvin, but still, he looked like him.  A perfect match.  I reached my hand through the gate to touch my newest love.  He immediately began licking me and he sucked on the sleeve of my maroon sweatshirt all the way to the truck while my father wrote out a check and handed it to Dave.  I named my new steer Hobbes.  He became mine: my Hobbes.  One of my best friends.

            I had Calvin and Hobbes for eight years.  The three of us were inseparable.  Best friends.  A family.  Calvin gained a family in us, Hobbes gained a home with us, and I gained the greatest love ever with them.  I lost them in 2007 when I was nineteen years old.  Losing them was and probably always will be the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.  But I wouldn’t trade my time with them for anything in the whole universe.  I miss them and think of them every single day of my life.  They are still to this day, and always will be, my very best friends— and the best gifts I have ever received.