Part 3
“They didn’t,” Emilio said.
Blake looked from the bull to the caracaras. “That isn’t what you were saying at the sale barn.”
“I was wrong at the sale barn.”
Emilio told him about Rosa’s treatment, the isolation period, the blood tests, and David’s monitoring plan. He also told him what the birds had done—some useful feeding, nothing close to a cure.
“They’re part of this place,” Emilio said. “They are not my veterinary staff.”
Blake rubbed his thumb along the fence wire. “Shame. I liked the free version better.”
“So did I.”
The bull approached with his head level, no longer carrying the dull, inward posture of a sick animal. Blake studied his legs and shoulders.
“I’ll give you thirty-eight hundred for him.”
The south-well pump still needed replacing. Feed prices had risen again, and thirty-eight hundred dollars would cover the pump and most of the open account at the co-op.
Six weeks earlier, Emilio would have answered before Blake finished the offer.
Now he turned toward David, who was crossing the pasture with a clipboard tucked beneath his arm.
“Blake wants to buy Lot Twenty-Three,” Emilio said. “What do you think?”
Blake raised an eyebrow. “You asking permission now?”
“I’m asking my partner.”
David stopped at the fence. He examined the animal before looking at either man.
“Rosa hasn’t done his breeding exam yet,” he said. “If he passes, replacing him with the same quality will cost more than Blake’s offering. If he doesn’t, Blake shouldn’t buy him as a breeding bull.”
“That wasn’t a yes,” Blake said.
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
Blake nodded toward the bull. “Call me after the exam.”
Two days later, the bull passed. David called Blake himself and declined the offer.
That evening, Linda found Emilio replacing the loose spring on the screen door. He had changed it three times during their marriage and always stretched the new one too tight.
“You let David turn down thirty-eight hundred dollars,” she said.
“He had the numbers.”
“You still have a failing pump.”
“We have a pump that runs badly and a bull we couldn’t replace for thirty-eight hundred.”
Linda tested the door. It closed without slamming.
“One sensible decision doesn’t make you easy to live with.”
“I didn’t think it would.”
David came up from the pasture and wiped his boots on the edge of the porch.
“If the bull’s staying,” Linda said, “he needs a name.”
Emilio looked at his son.
David glanced toward the pasture. “Agustín.”
Emilio nodded. “Agustín it is.”
By the following April, the bull was grazing the south pasture among eighteen cows. The old pump still groaned before sending water into the trough, and the new one remained on Linda’s list.
Several caracaras worked the Garza pastures that spring. Some mornings they followed the cattle for insects. On others, one would land briefly on a broad back and inspect the hide.
Emilio and David stood at the south gate while Agustín grazed. A caracara descended from a fence post and settled between the bull’s shoulders. Agustín continued chewing while the bird worked its beak through the hair near his neck.
David checked the notes on his clipboard. “I want to inspect them again next week before we decide whether this group needs treatment.”
Emilio opened the gate.
“Show me what you find,” he said.
From the house behind them, the repaired screen door eased shut without a sound.