AtwoodPetFood
by Tovah Reed
GeneChandler’s ‘DukeofEarl’ floatedoutofthetruck’sspeakers.Thelow-qualitysoundaddedtotheold-timefeelofthesong’slyrics.Miareachedovertoturnitup.
‘Thisisoneofmyfavourites,Daddy,’ shesaid,smiling.
‘Iknow,’ hereplied.Theysatlisteningtothesongasthetruckkickedupdustfromtheroad.Miarolleddownthewindowandletherlimphandbeblownaboutbythewind.
Thesongfinished.Thetapechangedtothenextside.RichieValensstartedsinging.
‘What’sinthatfield?’ askedherDad.Mialookedtowardstheonehewaspointingat.Theplantedrowsrushedpast.Thefieldofsmallgreenplantsstretchedbacktoaforestabouthalfamileaway.
‘It’ssoybean,Daddy.’
‘Yep.Andthatone?’ Hepointedagain.
‘That’scorn,Daddy.’
Thequizwentonuntilthegreybuildingcameintosight.ThesignhadfadedabitsinceMia’slastvisit;themaroon-coloured ‘A’ hadturnedintoabrown ‘A’,butitwasstilllegible.AtwoodPetFood.Thebuildingstoodaloneontheroad,nootherstructuresinsight.Alonelytreestoodneartheentrance.Itsbranchesswayedinasoftbreeze.
‘ComeonKiddo.Let’sgetthisoverwith,andthenwe’llstopoffforlunch.’
‘AttheRedMaple?’ Miaaskedwithahopefulsmile.
‘Yeah,’ herDadreplied,smilingback.
AstheywalkedtowardstheentranceGarycametomeetthem.Hiswornoverallsstruggledagainsthisbarrelofabelly.Hislowerarmsweresplatteredwithbloodanddirt;hissweatyhairclungtohisforehead.
‘HiRoger.How’reyoudoing?HithereMia,nicetoseeya.’ GaryreachedouthishandtoMia’sDadandtheyshook.HerDaddidn’twipethedirtfromhishand.
‘Sowhatisittoday,Gary?’ askedherDad.
‘BenStevenshadacowgodown.Notsurewhy.Wepickedituplastnight.Needyoutocheckitout.’ GaryturnedtolookatMia. ‘Geez,Mia’sgrowingisn’tshe?’
‘Biggereveryday,’ repliedherDad.
Thethreeofthemwentinside,pastthereceptionwhereaworkersatreadinganewspaper.Miadidn’trecognizehim.WheneversheandherDadvisitedtheyalwaysdealtwithGary,nooneelse.Theywalkeddownthedarkcorridortowardsthechillerroom.InsideMiacouldseethecow.Itsblack-and-whitebodywashungfromtheceiling;thehindlegswereboundbyalargerustychainjustabovethehock.Garyflippedaswitchandthecowwaslowereddownsoherfrontlegstouchedthefloor.
Mia’sDadlookedatthecowandsethisbagdownbesidehim.Hebentovertoopenitandremovedhisknifeset.
‘SoBendoesn’tknowwhyitdied?’
‘Nope,’ repliedGary. ‘Hesaiditwasfineuntilhefounditdeadinthefield.’
‘Noneoftheotherssick?’
‘Nope,allfine.’
‘Alrightthen,’ saidherDadwithafaintsigh.Heselectedaknifeandbeganhisincision.Theskinoneithersideofthecutstartedtoturnred.Miawatchedastheknifecutallthewaydowntotheudder.HerDadstoodbacktolookathiswork.
‘Mia,passmethesmallerpost-mortemknife,please.’
Miareacheddownandtookouttheonesheknewhewanted.He’dusethesmallerknifetocutthroughthefatnow,untilhereachedthemuscle.Thenhe’dneedthepruningshearsandhatchetfortheribs.Shepassedhimthelittleknife,thengottheshearsandhatchetready.
HerDadbegancuttingagain.Nobloodwasdrippingyet.Theareaaroundtheincisionturnedwhite,thenpink,thedifferentlayersoffatexposedundertheflorescentlight.ThenthesecondcutwasfinishedandherDadstuckhishandsinside,feelingtheribs.Beforehecouldask,Miapassedhimtheshearsandhatchet.
‘Here,Daddy!’
‘ThanksKiddo.Nowstandback.’
Miaranbacktoherpositionbesidethebag.ShewatchedherDadassumeapreparedstance,andbegincutting.Miacouldhearthegrindingofthemetalagainstthebone,andthenthefinalcrunchasthemetaldefeatedthebone.Shelovedthatsound.Toheritwassofinalandtriumphant.HerDadpickedupthehatchetandhackedatabitofribthatcouldn’tbecutbytheshears.AsshelistenedtotheblowsandherDad’seffortsshelethereyeswanderaroundtheroom.Shenoticedadoorattheendoftheroomthathadbeenleftopen.Throughitshecouldseesomethingbrownanddowny.ShelookedbackatherDadwhowasworkingthroughthelastrib;Garystoodbehindhim,watching.Shesidledtowardsthedoorandlookedinside.
Thebrowndownythingwasadeadfoal.Ontopofitwasadeadbeefcow;besideitwasadeadsow.Shestared.Slowlyhereyestookinthegrotesquetableau.Itwasapileofdeadanimals.Miagasped.Shefeltsheshouldbeafraid – butshewascaptivated.Sheinspectedthedetailsofeachcadaver,andfeltproudthatshewasnotscaredorsick.HerDaddywouldn’thavebeenscaredorsick.
Sheheardavehiclemovingandlookedup.Attheendoftheroom,adumptruckwasreversing.Itstoppedandtippedupitsback;anotherpileofdeadanimalsfellout.Horses,pigs,cows,sheep,agoat.Theanimalsmadeadeadrumbleastheyhitthefloororfellontopofothercarcasses.Miawatchedasapigrolledfromthetruck.Onimpact,bloodsplashedoutofitsmouthandshoweredtheoppositewall.Shewatchedthebloodrolldown.
Whenthedeadanimalshadsettled,Miaheardagurglingnoise.Shelookedaround,tryingtofindthesource.Nearherfeetshesawthedrain.Theanimals’ bodilyliquidsweremixingtogether,creatingawonderfullycolourfulriverthatendedatthedrain.Shestaredatit;brightred,darkred,brown,yellow,green.Thecoloursamazedher.Shetracedastreamofwhitebacktotheopenmouthofadeadbayhorse,itstonguehangingoutpathetically.Therewasholebetweentheeyes;twotracksofdriedbloodhadtrickleddownitswhiteblaze.Theeyeswerestillopenbuthadbecomeclouded;nowarmthinthemliketherewasinalivehorse.Musthavebeenputdownwithagun,Miathought.Shewasentranced.
Someoftheanimalslookedliketheywereasleep;otherslaystiff,theirlimbsrigid,likethelimbsofstatues.Someeyeswereopen;otherswereclosed.Onesheepwasmissingitslowerhalf,anditsgutswerestrewnoverthelegofthegoat.Butter-colouredmaggotssprinkledtheentrails.
Attheotherendoftheroom,Miasawsomethinghangingfromtheceiling.Shewalkedtowardsit,squintingagainstthedarkness.Sheknewshewasventuringfurtherthansheshould.SheknewsheshouldgobacktowhereherDaddywas.Hewouldn’twantherwanderingaroundthisplace.Butsheneededtoseewhatwasattheendoftheroom.
Asshecamecloser,shesawitwasacalf,ablackcalf – hungfromtheceilingwithalargehook.Alittlepieceoffleshdangledfromtheendofthehookthatpokedoutthroughthespine.Thecalf’sblackcoatwasshiny.Itlookedsosoftandclean.Miareachedouttostrokeit.
‘Careful,littlegirl.’
Thevoicecamefromthedarkness.Miajumped.Shehadthoughtshewasalone.Amanemergedfromthecorner.Hisclotheswerecoveredinbloodandahalf-smokedcigarettehungfromhislips.
‘Ijust – ’
‘Iwouldn’ttouchitifIwereyou.It’sdiseased.’
Fearovercameher.Miaknewshehadgonetoofar.Sheturnedandrantowardsthedoor,towardstheroomwhereherfatherwas.Herrubberbootssplashedthroughthemulti-colouredriveroftheanimals’ waste.Whenshereachedthechillerroomsheshutthedoorbehindher.
Shecaughtherbreathasshereturnedtoherpositionbesideherfather’sbag.
Thecowhadbeencutwideopen;itsorgansgapedthroughtheincision.Mia’sDadhadhishanddeepinsidethemess,searchingforthereasonithaddied.Thebloodiedhatchetwaslyingonthefloornexttohisfeet.Miawalkedoverandpickeditup,throwingitintothedisinfectantbucket.
‘Whereyoubeen,Kiddo?’ askedherDad.
‘Iwasjustlookingaround,’ saidMia. ‘Areyoualmostdone?’
‘Almost.Couldyoupassmethescalpel?’ Heremovedhishandfromthecavity. ‘LookMia,’ hesaid,pointingatapurplishsackinsidethecow. ‘Seethis?Thisisthefourthstomach.Seehowit’spurple?’
Mianodded,staringintentlyatit.
‘It’spurplebecauseitgottwistedsomehow.Then,becauseitwastwisted,oxygencouldn’tgettoit.Whenoxygencan’treachanorganitstopsworking.Whatdoyouthinkhappensnext?’
‘Toxinsbuildup?’
‘Exactly.Allthetoxinsinthecowbuildupandthenthecowdies.It’scalledtoxaemia.Canyourememberthecorrectterminologyforatwistedstomach?’
Miastaredattheculpritorgan.
‘Ican’tremember,’ sherepliedquietly.
‘TorsionoftheAbomasum,’ saidherDad.HeturnedtoGary. ‘It’sfinetouse.’
‘Great.I’llgetoneoftheguystoaddittothefeedpile,’ repliedGary,turningtoleave. ‘Youneedanythingelse?’
‘Nope,we’redonehere.’
Theystartedpackingup.Miagrabbedthedisinfectantbucketandcarrieditbacktothetruck.AsherDadreplacedeverything,Mialookedtowardstheroomwiththedeadanimals.Shewatchedanotherbigdumptrunkentertheyardandreversetowardstheroom.
‘ComeonKiddo,timeforlunch!’ saidherDad,openingthetruckdoorforher.
‘TheRedMaple,right?’
‘Yeah,sure.Justdon’tforgettowashyourhandsbeforeweeat,okay?’
‘Okay,Daddy,’ saidMia.Sheswitchedthestereoon.
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Atwood Pet Food by Tovah Reed was read by Jane Hollington at the Liars' League Leeds Blood and Guts event on Saturday 15th October 2011, at Seven Oaks Pub, Manchester.
Tovah Reed was Canadian born and raised, until the wolves kicked her out of the cave. She struggled in the wild on her own, so she booked a flight to Blighty and here she remains. Trying her best to blend in, she is often found in the pub, speaking to the locals in a Yorkshire-North American hybrid accent which amuses most people.