Persuasion

Twelve years old is the minimum age to enter the annual calf scramble. But none had ever taken home a calf. The fifteen-, sixteen-, and seventeen-year-olds were more experienced, and usually faster and stronger. Caleb Duskin caught one when he was thirteen, but he already had a mustache and played linebacker on the freshman football team.

Lily Parsons turned twelve on July 30th, the day before the deadline to enter a name in the drawing to participate. Two days later, after the ten names were drawn, Lily’s mother got the phone call.

“Hello,” Mabel said. She tucked the landline receiver between her ear and her shoulder. She needed both hands to make sure the scrambled eggs wouldn’t burn. “Mhmm–oh, she did, did she?”

Lily glanced up from the Goosebumps book she was reading at the dining room table. George Parsons, her father, folded down his newspaper and glanced at Lily over the top of it. They always spent Saturday mornings reading together at the table while they waited for breakfast.

“What’d she do?” George asked Lily.

“She put her name in the calf scramble.” Lily said.

George chuckled out his nose. “Oh boy.”

“I’ll let her know. Thanks, Phil,” Mabel said and hung up before turning her voice toward the dining room. “Lily Grace.”

She didn’t yell. Mabel Parsons never raised her voice to Lily or her husband George. She never had to.

“Yes, mama?” Lily said.

Mabel walked into the dining room carrying a bowl of steaming scrambled eggs. “I just got off the phone with Phil Gunderson from the 4-H Club,” she said. “He says you put your name in for the calf scramble.”

Lily didn’t know what to say. She thought at that moment it might have been a better idea to tell her parents before she put her name in the drawing. Her father saved her from the awkward silence.

“That’s my girl,” George said and winked at Lily.

“Yes, she is,” Mabel said. “And she’s my girl too. Also, apparently the first twelve-year-old girl to have her name drawn in twenty years, according to Phil.”

“Well, how about that,” George said.

“No,” Mabel said, “That’s because twelve-year-old girls don’t put their name in for the calf scramble in the first place.”

“The rules say any twelve-year-old in the 4-H Club can try,” Lily said.

“They also say the fair ain’t responsible if you get sent to the hospital,” Mabel said.

“You ain’t gettin’ sent to the hospital, now are ya, kid?” George said.

Lily didn’t show a single change in her face. No emotions displayed.

“Lily,” Mabel said. She sat at the table and spoke to Lily on her level. “I love you. I know you want to do this. I’m just worried. There’s a lot that could happen. It’s not entirely safe, even for the bigger kids. And you don’t have any experience roping cattle.”

“She helped round up all the piglets at Craig’s farm up the hill,” George said. “And she chased that runaway sheep all the way from the fairgrounds to the National Guard Armory last year. Lily’s the one that actually caught the damned thing.”

“These calves are four or five hundred pounds each,” Mabel said.

“I can do it, mama,” Lily said.

Mabel cracked a small smile. She let out a sigh and looked her daughter straight in the eye. “I know you can, sweetheart. It’s just—”

“She’s worried about you gettin’ hurt, baby. That’s all,” George said.

“You don’t need to worry mama,” Lily said. “I got a plan.”

#

“You won’t even tell me?” Tommy asked.

Tommy Craig and Lily were in the pig barn at the fair. Lily was on her hands and knees, pretending to be a pig. Tommy stood behind her, gently tapping her sides with his show whip. It was Tommy’s fifth year showing pigs, but he still liked to practice as much as possible.

“Can’t risk it,” Lily said.

“I’m not gonna steal your plan,” Tommy said. “We’re pig farmers. We don’t need a calf. I only put my name in because my brother did it when he was fourteen too.”

Lily shifted her weight for a moment to scratch her nose and put her hand right back down to stay in position. The straw on the ground crackled under her weight. The smell of mud and manure mixed with the scent of funnel cakes drifting in from the midway. Lily didn’t mind it. She tried to hold still so Tommy could keep practicing.

“I trust you, Tommy,” Lily said. “But this one’s got to be just for me. It’s about more than winning a calf.”

Tommy gave Lily a whack on the back harder than he intended.

“Ouch!” Lily yelped.

“Sorry!” Tommy said. “That’s for not telling your best friend your top-secret plan. I’m good now. That’s enough practice.”

Lily stood up and brushed the straw and dirt off her jeans at the knees. Tommy’s show pig snored happily next to them. In a few hours, it would be paraded around the show barn. Tommy would guide it with his show whip, tapping its sides and back depending which way he wanted it to trot. Potential buyers would look it over. The top bidder would take it for butchering. Tommy and Lily watched as its wiry-haired side rose and fell.

“Pop says not to name ‘em,” Tommy said. “Makes it too hard to sell ‘em when they got a name–knowin’ they’re gonna be turned to bacon and all. Makes ‘em feel more like pets than livestock.”

Lily didn’t say anything. She kept her eyes on the pig. She wondered if the piggy knew it was going to be sold off to certain death. She thought about Wilbur and Charlotte. She thought about Babe. She thought about the sausage patties she had for breakfast.

“Don’t name your cow if you catch one,” Tommy said. “You’re not going to catch one. Twelve-year-olds never do. But if you get drawn again when you’re my age, and you catch one, don’t name it.”

#

The grandstands were always full on Wednesday night the week of the Hickory County fair. Tuesday was always the rodeo. Thursday was the tractor pull. Friday was the demolition derby. Crowds came for all the events, but those others always cost a few dollars to get in. When a lemon shake-up kept going up in price by a quarter each year, folks didn’t want to spend any extra at the fair they didn’t need to. So, Wednesday was always the fullest. Wednesday was free for spectators. Wednesday was the calf scramble.

Lily stood by the rails on the inside of the arena. Next to her, in a straight line, stood the other nine kids. Each wore Levi’s, boots, and a plain white t-shirt. Johnny Murphy and Alice Richards both wore cowboy hats. Tommy Craig wore the same green and yellow John Deere ballcap he wore every other day of his life. Lily’s hair was pulled back in a single, thick braid. She kept her hands tucked in the front pocket of her overalls.

The bleachers buzzed with chatter and excitement as Phil Gunderson, head of the 4-H Club, introduced each participant. Lily’s eyes scanned the seats looking for her mother and father. A glint of mischief sparkled in them. When Phil announced Lily’s name, the sound of a cowbell erupted from the bleachers above the lackluster applause. Her eyes shot toward it. She saw her father standing five rows up from the front. His right arm was held high in the air, ringing the bell as hard as he could with a grin plastered across his whiskered face. Next to him sat Mabel. She had a small smile on her face. Lily thought she looked a little worried, but not angry. George gave Lily a typical dad’s thumbs up. Never embarrassed by him, Lily returned the gesture.

“Once someone has their hands or their lasso on a calf, no one else can touch it unless it gets loose again,” Phil instructed. “Remember, the calf isn’t yours until you get it inside the pen at the front of the arena. Ready? Set? Release them calves!”

The scramble didn’t start off in chaos and commotion. It never did. Just like every year, the four calves stayed together in their herd. They trotted out of the trailer and down the ramp into the arena together. As the first few kids walked toward them, they moved along the edge from corner to corner. The arena was slightly smaller than a football field.

After about five minutes of following the herd, Johnny made the first definitive move. He approached at an angle and shot toward them in the corner at a sudden sprint. He only grazed one’s tail with his hand, but his try split the herd into two pairs. Then the contest really started.

Two of the older highschoolers chased one pair of calves. None of the kids were fast enough to catch them on foot from behind. Even if one of the kids was a star on the track team, it just wasn’t possible. Everyone who ever watched a calf scramble knew you had to intercept them by getting into their path from the front.

That's what Alice did. One calf veered from the railing and ran straight through the middle of the arena. Alice side stepped at the last second and collard it with both her arms. She wrapped them tight around its neck and held on for dear life. She tried to wrap her lasso around its head as it pulled her. Her boots dragged the ground, kicking up dirt along its path. Alice lost her grip and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of her. The crowd gasped and held their breath until she picked herself back up a few seconds later. They gave her a cautious applause as she limped over to the railing to rest a moment.

While the others repeatedly ran and chased the calves from one side to the other and back again, Lily didn’t move. As the chaos ramped up around her, she watched calmly.

In the stands, George turned to his wife. “Do you think she’s scared?” he asked.

Mabel shook her head. “She’s got a plan,” she said.

Her secret plan was exactly what filled her mind. The others resorted to brute force and endurance. It was their instinct. It was the same way they saw every person before them compete in the annual calf scramble. And it would work eventually. The calves would get too tired. The bigger kids who managed to make it without getting knocked down too hard or trampled would rope and drag them to the pen. But a twelve-year-old didn’t stand a chance. Or that’s what everyone thought.

The calf that threw Alice to the ground doubled back along the far railing. It approached the spot where all the kids started–where Lily still stood. It sprinted and huffed, kicking up dust and darting its eyes like it was running from a predator. Before it cut back toward the inside to dodge her, Lily cupped her hands around her mouth and let out a low, guttural sound.

The crowd hushed. Mabel stood. Her gaze was fixed on Lily.

George nudged Mabel with his elbow. “Was that the cow?”

“No,” Mabel said. “That was Lily.”

George scrunched his eyebrows and narrowed his sights. “Huh?” he said. “What’s she doing?”

Mabel let out a soft chuckle. “She’s--she's mooing.”

Lily mooed again. The crowd realized what was happening, and a hum of laughter started to build. The other kids started too—everyone except for Tommy Craig. He watched in anticipation, because when Lily did it the third time, the calf slowed down.

“Mmmooooo!” Lily moaned from the back of her throat and up through her nose. The calf slowed to a walk. It stared at Lily. The crowd grew quiet. Then it was a complete hush.

The calf walked slow and steady directly toward Lily. It stopped five feet away from her and mooed as if it were talking back.

“What the—“ Johnny said.

The other three calves mooed in a huddle at the corner of the arena. The crowd turned their heads in unison like they were at a tennis match—to the mooing cows and back to this strange little girl.

Lily dropped her lasso to the ground. She extended her arm with her palm up. The calf hesitated long enough for the spectators to make a collective gasp, then it walked forward and put its chin in Lily’s hand.

The moment was so shocking, the other nine wranglers could only gawk, jaws on the ground, as the rest of the calves walked over to Lily like she was their own mother. It would have been easy to rope one, but none of them could look away from what was happening. It was hypnotic.

When all four calves gathered around Lily, she pulled the first’s head toward her face. She bent over, put her mouth to its ear and whispered something into it. Then she pulled back and let go of the animal.

Lily turned and started walking toward the pen at the front of the arena. It wasn’t a normal stride. She brought her knees up too high and kicked her feet out behind her at the ankles. Her steps were out of sync with the rest of her body—or at least it seemed that way watching a person doing it. Once she was halfway to the pen, everyone realized she was strutting like a cow would.

The four calves followed closely behind Lily, keeping only a step or two off her heels. When she reached the pen, she pulled open the gate. The hinges squealed like the chains on a playground swing as it swung open. Then two by two the calves entered the pen. Lily swung the gate closed.

Silence stayed settled over the arena a moment longer, and then the crowd erupted in a roar. Everyone got to their feet. George Parsons rang his cowbell so hard, Mabel’s left eardrum buzzed for a week.

Lily stuck her hands back in the front pocket of her overalls and gave a tight-lipped smile to her standing ovation.

#

For the first time, a twelve-year-old had caught not just one calf in the 4-H Club Hickory County Fair Annual Calf Scramble, but all four.

This was against the rules, of course. A wrangler wasn’t allowed to go back for another calf after catching one. And although Lily never technically caught one (they followed her on their own), it was decided that she would have to forfeit three of the calves to other kids. Those other nine, George and Mabel Parsons, and Lily met with Phil Gunderson to discuss it. Lily conceded to the idea under one condition.

“And what’s the condition?” Phil asked. “You can’t keep the money for their sale at next year’s fair, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

Lily gave him an incredulous look.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I don’t want them to be sold at auction next year at all.”

“Excuse me?” said Phil.

“They can’t be sold for butchering. They have to be kept as pets. I promised.”

“Promised who?” George asked.

“Josie, Betty, Louisa, and Sue.”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled.

“Oh god, she named ‘em,” he said.

“Named who?” Phil asked.

“The cows,” said Tommy. “She named the cows.”

“You promised the cows they wouldn’t get sold to a butcher?” Phil asked Lily.

She nodded a single, definitive nod.

“Well, why would you go and do a thing like that?” Phil was befuddled in a way he’d never experienced before.

Lily looked him straight in the eyes. “How else was I supposed to get them to follow me to the pen?”

By the end of the meeting, her demands were met. She got to choose who received the other three calves and decided it would be best to give Sue and Betty to two of the younger kids. She gave Louisa to her best friend, Tommy Craig, and kept Josie for herself. All signed a handwritten promissory contract that they would keep and raise the heifers as pets, never to sell them for butchering.

When they walked out of the meeting, George and Mabel hugged their daughter tightly.

“That was incredible, kid,” George said.

Mabel kissed Lily’s cheek and said with a smile, “What a plan, Lily Grace. What a plan.”

As the fairgrounds began to empty, a few families lingered, approaching Lily to commend her bravery and creativity. Some asked how she did it, but she knew she couldn’t give a satisfying answer, so she stayed coy and gave a shrug.

Later, as the fair lights dimmed, Lily sat with Tommy on the hood of her father’s truck, looking out over the barns and now-quiet carnival rides.

“Did you really believe it would work?” Tommy asked. He was sincere—still full of awe from the evening’s events.

Lily shrugged, watching the stars begin to pepper the night sky. “Sometimes, you just have to speak their language,” she said. “And maybe that’s what we all need—a little understanding, whether we’re cows or people.”

Tommy nodded with a slight smile on his lips. “You’re quite the persuader.”

Lily laughed, still looking at the sky. “Maybe,” she said. “But tonight, I’m just happy to know that Josie and the others are sleeping peacefully. That’s enough for me.”

As they sat in silence, the gentle mooing of their calves nearby was the gentle reminder that sometimes the boldest acts are the acts of kindness.