Red Devon Read Online Free PDF

the cows move on
    slipping a bit on the wet ramp. At last
    they are all in and she slams the partition gate.
    â€œOne more to come,” says Grunt, his face a blank
    and out of the shed looms his Red Devon bull.
    The truck rocks as he walks in, his head low,
    the knock and echo of his hooves terrible,
    sweat on his nose and shoulders and muscled flank.
    Jo starts the truck, fighting something like horror,
    and pulls away, wheels briefly adrift in the mire
    only then daring to glance back at Grunt in the lane
    staring at her, at the truck, hands loose at his sides,
    getting smaller and smaller in her rear-view mirror.

Kingdom Come
    At market the talk is all about Colin and his
    six-month sentence suspended for two years
    and the boy
    and the other boys
    Tom who took the tractor for a swim
    Dick who fell in the sheep dip
    Harry rolled flat by round bale hay
    the wives who drown in grain silos
    flailing in bullion like calves in a slurry pit
    brothers winched away by an unguarded drive shaft
    or last seen dancing on overhead power lines.
    â€œCloser to thee, my Lord,” says Teague.
    â€œSkip, trip or fall,” says Grunt.
    Trapped by stacked material
    Uncontrolled exposure to poultry dust
    Manslaughter by gross negligence
    â€œMeant the world to him, that boy,” says Teague.
    They observe a minute’s silence.
    â€œAnd to top it all, he’s disqualified from holding a shotgun licence.”

Once Upon a Time in the West
    As Jo hands an entry form to the market men
    she clocks Grunt unloading fat lambs in the pennage.
    Waiting to wash out, she’s behind him in the queue,
    parks alongside his Bateson, plotting a duel.
    Two quid for the lad. She grabs the high pressure hose
    and gets a squirt in quick while Grunt is still dozy.
    He’s right back at her, gets her full blast in the chest
    then it’s back and forth like a Spaghetti Western
    until Grunt surrenders, hands reaching for the sky,
    Jo’s barrel cocked at his groin and ready to fire.
    The effect of Grunt’s smile wasn’t part of Jo’s plan
    â€“ Sedgemoor livestock market is no place for romance –
    but when Grunt offers lunch “for the sharpest shooter”
    Jo flushes bright red and finds herself strangely mute.

A Load of Old Bull
    One deliberate hoof tests the ramp. Head low,
    the bull shoulders out of the slant shadow,
    sashays into the pen with a swagger,
    muscled like a bovine Schwarzenegger,
    and leans on the gate, enjoying the strain.
    â€œSeven hundred quid,” says Grunt. “A bargain.
    And if he brings me any sort of fight
    he’ll be off quicker than a bride’s nightie.”
    In the late sun, Grunt and the bull glow red.
    Midges dance a garland around their heads.
    Driving home, Jo broods on the loading bay,
    four blokes with sticks, the seller’s cagey eye
    and wonders what postscripts have been added
    to the given pattern of this old bull’s blood.

New Blood
    Grunt says he got him for a good price.
    Jo says, “Buy cheap, buy twice.”
    Grunt says, “Better buy than borrow.”
    Jo says, “Buy in haste, in leisure sorrow.”
    Grunt says, “Pedigree blood for pedigree seed.”
    Jo says, “Better a good bull than a bull of a good breed”
    and “Many a good cow hath an ill calf.”
    Grunt says, “Have you seen his EBV percentiles graph?”
    Grunt says he took a first at the County Show.
    â€œHandsome is as handsome does,” says Jo.
    Grunt says the vendor is switching to A.I.
    Jo says, “Half the truth is often a lie.”
    Grunt says he covered fifty cows last year.
    Jo says, “Naught so brisk as bottled beer.”
    and “They that promise quick, perform slow.
    Speak as I find,” says Jo.

Shoot Supper
    There have been two, maybe three, other men for Jo.
    She’d say “mind your own” if you asked her who.
    There have been two, maybe three, other women for Grunt
    but not lately. He confronts