Spring 2007 High School Edition
Mountain Dew
Anna Cole
Fiction (11th-12th)
Second Place
Canyon View High School
Teacher: Susan Merrell
This was the big day. I had been preparing for this for weeks. Snickers was buffed, polished, combed, and well-trained. I gave her a pat on her spotted rump as I pulled on the rope, leading her toward the trailer. She gave an obstinate, resolute mooo, and refused to go further. She set her cloven hooves firmly in the dirt and leaned back against the pull of the rope.
“Hurry up,” Ari complained from behind me.
At the age of four, Ari’s show calf looked much too big for him, and indeed, he almost didn’t know what to do with her. Seeing how Aaron and I had named our calves (Snickers and Jordan), Ari had lovingly named his heifer “Mountain Dew,” insisting that it was the most beautiful name in the world. Mountain Dew, largely thanks to my mother’s hard work, remained calm around my rambunctious little brother.
With all the calves safely in the trailer, Ari and I climbed into the truck. The scenery changed quickly as we sped down the road toward the fair. When we arrived, the normally silent fairgrounds were alive with fluttering banners, vibrant colors, and the normal hustle and bustle of activity that heralded the first day of the county fair.
The calves came eagerly out of the trailer and were soon tied with all the other dairy calves, their voices joining the chorus of heifers bellowing for their feed and their own corrals. People called to each other and laughed loudly, music drifted from game booths and whirling rides, and on the loudspeaker, the judges announced places for the livestock already in the ring, adding to the general din.
Being only six and having been given five dollars to spend in any manner I chose, I pulled on my boots and my show whites and took off for the nearest booth. I was happily negotiating for a strawberry-flavored snow cone when I felt a strong hand on my elbow. “Your show is now,” my mom said firmly, steering me away from the vendor. “Your class is already going into the ring. Get there now!”
I ran helter-skelter, dodging people, booths, and decorations, and arrived at the tether lines huffing and puffing. Snickers and I made it into the ring just in time, and the arena gate slammed shut just behind Snickers’ twitching, tufted tail. I grasped her halter firmly and pulled her head up, smiling my front-toothless six-year-old smile that judges found so irresistible. It was so much more effective, especially since I was in a class with much older contestants . . . except for Ari.
My little brother, who was supposed to be in the class, wandered around the show arena aimlessly, paying no attention to the rest of the contestants marching in uniform circles around the judge. Mountain Dew followed him happily wherever he wandered, and was rewarded with pats and praises.
I shot him looks, and when that didn’t work, I made sure the judge wasn’t looking and hissed at him. “Get over here, dummy!” He looked mulish for a moment, and then dragging his feel leadenly (to watch the dust it kicked up), he began to walk toward the rest of us. When he was halfway to the circle of calves and their owners, he had a sudden change of mind. He pulled Mountain Dew to a stop, stared at me defiantly, and sat down where he was.
I rolled my eyes and went back to showing my calf. I had nearly forgotten that Ari was even there, when suddenly, a shrill voice broke me out of my concentration. “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. . .” Ari sang at the top of his lungs. “Ninety-nine bottles of beer. . .” I whipped my head around to look at him, as did every other person in the ring. My brother was lying flat on his back, tracing clouds in the sky with his finger. Mountain Dew stood beside him, chewing absent-mindedly on the toe of his shoe.
“Take on down and pass it around. . .” he hollered. The judge seized the microphone, and for a moment I thought he was going to yell at Ari, but he merely began to announce the places. “First place is this nice little heifer over here. . .”
“Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. . .”
“She’s got great dairy character and a nice confirmation. . .
“Ninety-eight bottles of beer. . .”
“Second will go to this calf on the right. Not quite as nice as the first place heifer...”
“Take one down an pass it around. . .”
“. . . but still a nice little calf. Third place will go to the calf here. . .” I didn’t even notice that he had been pointing at Snickers until someone stuffed a red ribbon in my hand. I looked at it and grinned.
“Ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall. . .”
The judge continued to rattle off places to my brother’s mood-setting music, and was rewarded for his determination as Ari got bored somewhere around ninety-five bottle of beer and trailed off. The crowd set up a round of appreciative applause, signaling the end of the class, and Mountain Dew decided to make her exit. She turned and began to plod steadily toward the exit. Ari seized the end of the lead rope and allowed her to drag him slowly out of the right to the laughter and applause from the audience.
My mom waited at the arena exit with a grin on her face, a wet washcloth for Ari’s muddy face, and a great big strawberry snow cone. I relished every last bite, staining my show whites with the memory of another successful day at the fair.
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