The Five-Legged Calf

Eight degrees celcius was what it had been for a week and what it would stay for another. The gray of the sky was so even that it was indiscernible from the earth below. And in a town where the people reflected the sky like the sea, this wasn’t a bad thing, because it meant everything was expected and no one had to change. In fact, no one did. Everyone fit into their own routine and wanted nothing more than for other people to fit into theirs. If the postman was out delivering mail, then Mr. and Mrs. Carney could be seen tending to their garden. And if this was the case, the mayor would be enjoying his afternoon tea with his wife, Janet, and their french bulldog, Rocky. It could also be assured that, at this particular hour, Ms. Thomas and Mrs. Ridley would be walking home from the primary school, strides matched, discussing plans for the summer holiday.

This town had a rule to never expect anything out of the ordinary. Teachers were never disappointed because they knew all their students would pass their exams. Children did not cry when they fell because they knew they would heal. The elderly even discussed their own deaths, for they were unafraid. This town had not changed in ten generations. So, one can imagine the surprise of the local veterinarian, Dr. Casey, when he received a call at 7:30 on a Sunday morning from Mr. Burke explaining that he had just had a five-legged calf born. Dr. Casey was not meant to attend to a five-legged calf that day, he was meant to go to church, give a routine check of Rocky, inspect Mr. McCormack’s lame horse, then his lame wife, break for lunch, and have a free afternoon. Instead, Dr. Casey found himself wandering down the gravel road to Mr. Burke’s property, balancing a cup of tea in each hand along with his case of instruments. After all, Mr. Burke sounded quite nervous over the phone, enough so that he would not have put the kettle on per his routine.

Dr. Casey had not strolled 100 meters—almost half the distance to Mr. Burke’s estate—when he noticed his client leaning tensely against a brick wall. Dr. Casey walked up to Mr. Burke and gave a pitiful smile under his mustache. “Morning, Mr. Burke,” he said, holding forward one of the cups. On a day filled with things unfamiliar, Mr. Burke was comforted to hear a voice that reminded him of routine. 

“No, thanks,” Mr. Burke replied after noticing the tea placed before him.

“Come on,” urged Dr. Casey, “you’re a nervous type, Mr. Burke, we’ve been over this. You need something to calm you down.” Mr. Burke took the tea then began to walk, making sure he faced Dr. Casey as he talked.

“Now, I really don’t know if you can help me with this, but it’s just as I told you over the phone. One of my heifers—a real good dairy cow—gave birth to a calf last night with all the normal extremities but also a full leg on his head!”

“Aye, it certainly sounds like an anomaly,” Dr. Casey agreed, “I suppose I’ll have to take a look, will I?”

“Aye…”

Mr. Burke continued to lead Dr. Casey up the hill to his barn (which, of course, was unnecessary because Dr. Casey knew his way around the property from all the scheduled appointments he made there). As the men entered the thatched-roof building and the crunch of gravel beneath their feet turned to the soft crackling of hay, the sounds of a worried barn filled the air and Dr. Casey would’ve sworn he saw the animals bow. Mr. Burke rushed over to a stable in the corner; when he spoke all else was quiet and when the calf took a breath he stopped his own. “Thank the mighty Lord this little one’s still alive,” Mr. Burke said to himself. 

With less pace than his client, Dr. Casey walked over to the poor calf to find it cradled in Mr. Burke’s arms and his mug lying sideways in a newly formed mud puddle. He was drained, barely keeping his eyes open. Dr. Casey couldn’t bear to see his friend in such a state. So, he stayed as calm as possible and placed his own cup on the stable door before kneeling down to assess the crippled attempt at a life. He took out his various metal instruments and set to work, trying to ignore the man who refused to put the calf down getting in the way of his patient.

Time was no illusion in this town, both Mr. Burke and Dr. Casey knew exactly how long two minutes was and they also knew that it did not take that long to check a normal heartbeat. Dr. Casey began slowly replacing his tools to his case as he considered how he would deliver this news to his friend. The longer he kept quite the more nervous Mr. Burke became and the grinding of his already worn teeth began again.

Dr. Casey still struggled to find his words, “Mr. Burke…” he started, then realized neither man would benefit from professionalism in this moment, “Connor, I understand you care for this calf a great deal and I’m sorry but we both know everything is a part of God’s plan. Truthfully, I can’t guarantee that it’ll even make it through the night.”

Mr. Burke whispered, “He’ll make it through the night.”

Dr. Casey continued, “Right, well, in my professional opinion…” Dr. Casey did not understand why all words escaped him today. “I see over there across the barn that you’ve got a nice rifle and I’ll even do it for you if you can’t bring yourself to but every day it stays here is a day it’s in pain. Please just let the Lord take it.” Dr. Casey was promptly shown out, he didn’t even have time to grab his cups.

One week later, Mr. Burke was not seen in his usual church seat in the last row (of which there were only six). He was otherwise occupied with his five-legged calf. He had nursed it to some feeble state of health, feeding it by bottle and helping it stand (on the normal four legs, of course). And despite its surplus appendage blocking its eyes, it was even able to begin walking. Dr. Casey stopped by Mr. Burke’s again after the sermon, primarily to collect his tea cups (they were two of his favorites). When he arrived the men exchanged few words. When Dr. Casey asked about his patient from the previous week Mr. Burke simply responded, “He’s strong.” Strength does not choose those who are not weak, it chooses those who will stare God down and tell Him to think twice before ridding them of their weakness. Dr. Casey left that day with little hope, not that the calf would recover, but that Mr. Burke would.

During the next Sunday’s mass the town felt uneasy. The day did not proceed the way it should have. Schedules did not line up, shipments were delayed, a child was heard wailing, though it may have just been the wind. The congregation was puzzled because they did not realize that it was one man’s absence that filled the church and made the air static. It was a feeling foreign to the townspeople; sound traveled differently having one less body to bounce off of. To say Mr. Burke was missed would be inaccurate because not a single person noticed that Mr. Burke was missing, just that someone was.

Mr. Burke was not in church that day because the church did not have a funeral planned, but he did. Stoicism was not in his nature but on this day he worked in silence, clearing, digging, grooming. He had found a nice plot just outside his field next to the primroses which would bloom when the seasons turned. Mr. Burke took care to find adequate sticks to tie into a cross, not ones that were straight, but ones that were strong that would stand the test of time and weather. Mr. Burke worked through lunch but finished in time for afternoon tea, which he took by the window to admire the beautiful scene he set before it was devastated by the homeliness of grief. After his tea, still at the brim of his cup, grew cold and dusk became imminent, Mr. Burke journeyed to the barn to retrieve the silent infant. The calf was wrapped in a blue blanket that Mr. Burke had once fantasized about using for his own child before he stopped believing that what his mother said about “the right girl just walking into your life one day and you’ll drop everything to chase her down” was true. Mr. Burke shielded the calf from the wind as he carried it across the field that was still gray with the overcast winter. Soon it would turn green and the animals would graze.

Mr. Burke slowly knelt beside the soft bed that he had prepared but was reluctant to lay the calf down. He had a compulsion to shelter it and keep it warm despite logic telling him that his actions were futile. After a moment, a pink light caught his eye and he was distracted by the world’s colorless shell suddenly melting away. He stared as the clouds parted and the sky cast a glow across the sea and the hills, a very inconsiderate thing for a sky to do to a mourning man. Then Mr. Burke turned back to the creature in his arms and cradled its head as he swiftly laid it in its grave. Mr. Burke stood and grabbed his shovel which was propped upright in the pile of dirt that was replaced by the calf. He broke his own silence with a deep breath and the sound of soil and rocks sprinkling over the calf and the blanket of lost potential children which he had kept pristine until this point. When he had filled the bed almost completely, Mr. Burke stuck his  cross at the top and used the rest of the dirt to meticulously pack the marker in place. When he finished he stood at the foot of the grave, crossed his hands, bowed his head, and said, “Sleep well.” It was over. Mr. Burke turned away and did not look back. As he walked across the field, the fog of serendipity lifted from the town.

The next day was almost the same as every other, men worked and children played, all keeping perfect time. The one thing that remained changed was Mr. Burke’s routine. He completed his work earlier than normal and made his way up the hill to the church, its white paint harsh against the rolling yellow hills behind it.

Even though the church walls echoed only him, Mr. Burke occupied his usual last row seat. The bench let out a sharp creak as he sat, the sad sound of a bench that had been covered with the rice of weddings, the flowers of funerals, and the tears of both. All this is enough to make any bench wish for retirement, so this one moaned.

Mr. Burke sat on this bench, his head resting on his interlocked fingers, not in prayer, but in thought. Then he heard another tired creak as the pastor sat beside him. Of course, Mr. Burke knew the pastor would do this, he counted on it. That is why the pastor could barely ask, “What brings you in here on a working day, my son?” when Mr. Burke blurted out his simple, rehearsed question, “Will you pray with me father?” Then, “I’ve just lost this beautiful baby boy and he was born on the Lord’s day and He took him too soon and the poor thing was all crippled so he wouldn’t have had much of a life really but I’m just-” his voice broke and he recollected himself. “Please, just pray with me father, pray for him.”

The pastor stood (relieving the bench of some pressure, to which it was very grateful) and walked down the aisle. If not for his footsteps, he would've heard Mr. Burke’s teardrop fall onto the cold floor.

The pastor returned with his bible and after the sound of the bench again as he sat, the room was silent. Mr. Burke and the pastor sat side-by-side, praying. After two minutes that were clocked by heartbeats, Mr. Burke stood, stopped, thanked the pastor quietly, turned, and left. Once the door closed, the pastor allowed himself to return to work writing the next week’s sermon. He hated to see work pile up and he was already two minutes behind his Monday schedule.

Time continued as normal; that is to say, it passed. The seasons turned and the primroses bloomed and then rotted. Mr. Burke sat in the pub sharing a pint with Dr. Casey when he revealed, “Dr. Casey, you and I are friends, but that isn’t why I asked you to come sit with me today.” Dr. Casey became concerned that perhaps the reason Mr. Burked called on him was to admit that he actually no longer wanted to be friends. However, he was quickly relieved when Mr. Burke continued, “I was hoping you would come to church with me today. I know it’s Monday, but it’s been a year since that poor little five-legged calf died and I’d like to go light a candle for him if you want to bother coming along.”

Dr. Casey looked at his friend who looked at his glass. He tried to remove the pity from his voice, however unsuccessfully, “Sure, of course. I’ll come with you.”

Mr. Burke nodded, not looking up from his glass. And then came conversations of the weather, the shops, and other such things. The men drank their beers slowly, enjoying each other’s presence, and when their level of drunkenness satisfied them Mr. Burke paid for them both and they left. They walked, strides nearly matched, up the hill to the church. Despite the calendar claiming that it was still winter, both men smiled at the sun which warmed their faces and lifted the dew from the grass. It was not long before Dr. Casey and Mr. Burke reached the church doors, which Dr. Casey held open as his friend walked in. The pastor spotted the men and customarily approached them, “What brings you two here today?” he asked, but Mr. Burke had already pushed forward to the candles. Dr. Casey answered for both of them, unaware that the pastor had been involved in the original incident, “Well, father, a year ago Mr. Burke had this calf born and, well, it had an extra leg which was the first time I’d ever seen anything of the sort, but it died and-”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” the pastor interrupted. An understanding expression crossed Dr. Casey’s face and he looked at Mr. Burke as he returned from the single row of candles.

“Shall we head back into town, then?” Dr. Casey asked, naïvely thinking lighting a candle was all Mr. Burke had set out to do.

Mr. Burke responded sorrowfully, “Actually, I was hoping you would pray with me, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he looked at the pastor, “and you, father, will you pray with us?”

“Of course, son,” the pastor replied.

All three men sat in the last row, and the bench let out a creak that was louder with its older age. The men bowed their heads and were silent for two minutes. Mr. Burke rose first and the other two followed his lead. He shook the pastor’s hand, thanked him, and ended with, “I’ll see you on Sunday.” Dr. Casey did the same.

Mr. Burke and Dr. Casey returned to their homes, ready to begin work again the next day. Time passed, seasons changed, and the primroses began to grow on top of where the calf lay. When again they decayed, Mr. Burke met Dr. Casey at the pub. This day, Mrs. Ridley and Ms. Thomas were there, too, and when they overheard the men’s plan to walk to church that afternoon, they inquired about why. Mr. Burke answered them, “Two years ago, I lost this calf. I like to honor him.” The women thought this a splendid gesture and offered to join them that day. So, the four of them walked up the hill and greeted the pastor, lit a candle, prayed, talked, laughed, and left.

Mrs. Ridley and Ms. Thomas enjoyed the sentimental event, so the next year they brought their colleagues to the church. Some were confused, others delighted, and one even cried because according to her, “What a beautiful thing for friends to do together,” though she was barely understood through her embarrassing sobs and sniffles. A year later even more people took part in the tradition. The teachers’ families came bringing bread and scones. Word of the annual ceremony spread and soon, on one Monday every year in late winter, the entire town traveled up to the church with baked goods and children in hand, and Mr. Burke led the crowd. The day became a celebration with music and dancing, but, still, every year, for two silent minutes, the congregation sat and prayed, and when Mr. Burke rose, the rest followed suit. That was the only tradition the town could expect, everything else about the ceremony changed slightly from year to year. The town did not bother to plan the events for the day. They ate different foods at different times and spontaneously decided to walk their dogs. Outside of this day, their schedules remained constant, but every year now, without fail, the town dropped their perfectly kept timetables to celebrate the life of an animal whom they had never met and who they did not know lay only 400 meters away under a garden of primroses.