The kitchen lamp blinked once or twice in the cold before finally catching hold and flooding the room into a weak yellow bath of light. The faded linoleum squeaked in response as the man’s socked feet shuffled along the darkened path in the floor that led from the hallway, around the table, past the ticking and whirring refrigerator, and to the mudroom where the boots were kept. The leather was stiff with the accumulation of years of sweat and the mud from the day before. The man moaned softly as he bent carefully to tie his shoes; a few small pops escaped his spine as he stretched towards the ground. Puffs of dust billowed in miniature storms around the eyelets as he pulled the muddy laces through the worn metal openings. He straightened his back slowly and rubbed his knees in quick, straight thrusts as he paused before getting up to get his denim jacket.
He could feel the coolness of the coat’s lining against his shoulders in spite of his longjohns and heavy wool shirt. He counted the buttons under his breath as he buttoned the jacket from top to bottom. He realized he had missed a buttonhole and unbuttoned the entire jacket and rebuttoned it from bottom to top, always counting. He tied the straps of his red and black flannel cap under his chin and held his wrinkled work gloves in his hand as he reached behind the mudroom door and picked up a metal bucket that had been resting in the corner. The bucket was half full of motor oil that clung to the side of the bucket when he tilted it. He placed the bucket on the back burner of the stove, the largest burner, and set the range to low before pulling on his gloves and stepping out into the darkness of the yard.
Muddy snow crunched under his boots as he followed his path across the yard and towards the barn. The yearling calves heard his footsteps and began to bawl, pitiful ghosts in the darkness. As he came closer he could see them watching him through the fence. Gentle gusts of frosty air rose from between the slats in the pen and were accompanied by the occasional thud and shudder of the fence as someone stomped and kicked in protest. The old man chuckled as he leaned an arm over the fence and scratched behind the ears of the closest calf that shook her head and skipped away. He picked up an iron bar leaning against the fence and used it to break apart the ice that covered the surface of the trough. Slipping off his glove, he dipped out the larger chunks of ice in darting grabs and tossed the pieces over his shoulder. His hand throbbed from the cold; the spots on his hand darkened as more blood flooded in to warm his hand. He clutched it in his armpit to warm it up before putting his glove back on.
The waiting cats mewed at his feet when he opened the barn door. They rubbed their backs against him, wove themselves in and out of his footsteps; he could barely feel them through the several layers of thick material that covered his skinny legs. He shook the cat food container five times as he called to them by name, one shake for every cat, before pouring a mound into the tin pie plate waiting beneath the window.
He used his pocket knife to cut the twine from a new bale of grass hay and separated two fat sections for each horse. The alley in front of the stalls was long and wide; his footsteps echoed off the well-swept concrete. With each trip he made the horses eyed him expectantly over the tops of their stalls as he dropped hay into their feeders. He reminded each of them in turn that he only gave them grain in the evenings, but they continued to watch him until certain he had passed on to the next stall. By the time he reached the last stall the barn was filled with the warm sound of patient chewing.
He paused at the last stall and watched the horse circle slowly in the knee deep straw before coming to a stop before him. He took off his glove and stroked her graying nose as she ignored her hay in favor of watching him. He moved his hand slowly from side to side in front of her. He paused for a second like he couldn't tell in the dim light if her eyes were cloudier than they had been the day before. He cupped her chin in his hand, lifted her head towards the naked lightbulbs above them and felt coarse whiskers against his wrist as he frowned and released his grip. As he petted her forelock and scratched her ears he told her of how she got her name. He whispered like he didn't want the other horses to overhear their secret as he told her of how when he showed her to his wife she had exclaimed that he had surely picked out the fanciest horse in the sale barn. He told her his memory of how her oversized ears had perked up at the sound of Ruth's voice and he assured her that she had grown into her ears. He finished by telling her to eat and, as he turned, looked to see Fancy take her first tentative bite. He slipped his glove back on and walked past the stalls filled with her children and grandchildren still chomping away at their food.
The bucket was just beginning to steam when he got back into the kitchen. Under the kitchen sink he grabbed a stick, all but five inches on one end stained black, and used it to carefully stir the oil. A plate of biscuits sat on the counter covered with a dishtowel and he munched on one of them while he stirred. He left the stick in the bucket and poured milk into a faded glass he picked out of the sink. He plucked another biscuit from the cluster on the plate. He continued to stir until he finished the milk and then he put the stick back and rinsed the last of the milk out of the glass before returning it to the sink.
He held the bucket at arm's length as he walked around the corner of the house to his truck. Steam billowed over the handle and around his hand as he walked. The hinges squeaked with frost as he opened the hood. A dented metal funnel, stopped with a rag, already occupied the oil spout. The warm oil drained smoothly into the engine and he propped the buck to drip its remnants into the funnel before talking the battery from under the heat lamp on the workbench and dropping into its place to the left of the engine. White flakes of corroded acid collected under his nails as he tightened the connections and the tuck coughed and sputtered twice before coming to life when he tried to start it.
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