The Gate
by Tilly
The calving pasture sits close enough to the Snack House that a determined cow can smell memory on the air. Being heavy with calf, I was moved there a few days ago. I’m officially dry, and apparently that means I’m expected to forget my purpose in life.
No sir.
Cows are not creatures of forgetfulness. We remember places, rhythms, and the work we were created to do.
That brings me to the gate. Once noticed, some gates must be checked.
I was not supposed to be there.
I knew that.
The gate knew that.
But the Snack House lights were on, the smell of snacks was in the air, and I am a cow who doesn’t forget such things.
I am two weeks from meeting the little one tucked low and heavy inside me. Everyone says that explains why I should not check the gate.
I find that logic unconvincing.
A wise cow recognizes provision when she sees it.
Everyone knows a pregnant cow does nothing in haste. So when the gate opened for another cow, I caught Snack Lady off guard.
I ran.
Not meandered.
Not trotted.
Ran.
Sapphire had been in the stanchion before me. Her first season in the Snack House is going well, it seems. But Sapphire never finishes everything in the feed pan, and leaving scraps behind is an invitation written plainly in the language of cows.
This is a language I speak fluently.
I stepped in like I belonged—because I did.
Snack Lady sighed the way she does when she knows resistance would be foolish. Hay Man pretended not to notice, which is his way of blessing a decision.
No waste.
No hurry.
I cleaned the pan thoroughly.
This place remembered me. I found comfort in the bars against my side, the solid floor, the familiar smells and sounds.
I enjoy being a milk cow—the predictable daily rhythm, the stillness, the one-on-one time with Snack Lady twice a day. But my favorite part is knowing that when I stand here, good things happen.
“The Lord will protect your coming and going both now and forever.”
~Psalms 121:8
I pondered that word from our Creator as I shifted my weight just enough to be comfortable.
I suppose that includes gates.
Snack Lady says I’m one of her favorites to milk. I already knew that. With the confidence only a seasoned cow of the Snack House can muster, I flicked an ear—full of snacks and satisfied—and waited for someone to pretend this wasn’t exactly how it was meant to be. Predictably, and with a soft chuckle, Snack Lady led me back to the pasture.
Just think of what I’d have missed if I hadn’t checked the gate.
