Hauling Cows

By Jennifer Whiteley



I remember hauling cows to Twin Falls

when I was a little girl. Dad would back

the old red stock truck up to the wooden loading

chute and load old, dry, Angus cows and crippled

bulls into the truck while mom finished getting

my sister and I ready to go. The truck

had no seatbelts, air conditioning, or radio

yet I rode with dad. Mom and sister

followed in the Grand Marque. The roar

of the engine in my ears, the weather

was hot and my bare legs stuck to the tan vinyl

seats as I sang Amarillo by Morning,

Air Supply, or Debra Allen with the tape

player mom got dad for his birthday.

Sometimes there were cows on the road

between Owyhee and Bruneau, sometimes there

weren’t. We stopped in Hammett for gas,

a Snickers, and Pepsi. Then I slept

with my head on his lap until the acrid smell

of sugar beets and dairies and the rumble

of the truck crossing railroad tracks announced

our arrival at the Twin Falls sale yards.