Your calling to me keeps replaying in my head.

You were in the pasture, rooted into the ground. Your guttural signal grew louder as I approached, and I could see that you were sweating and trembling. I asked you to move, but you refused.

You never refused before. 

It took four of us to load you in the trailer, and eight of us to drag you out when we got to the hospital. While the vet staff pulled all around you with lead ropes, I pushed your chest with my shoulder and used everything I had to get you closer to help. I coaxed you. I think you heard me.

You’d been there for a week, and on the mend as far as anyone could tell.

What does anyone ever know, anyway?

You carried my friends.

You carried my friends’ kids.

You carried my mom. 

You carried me. 

And when you needed me, I carried you the best I could.

I love you.

I will miss you.

Maybe you’re saying the same thing to me.

Because your calling to me keeps replaying in my head.