Page 11 of Show Me

“Yeah.” Dad lifts one shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I prefer it.”

My chest tightens so I focus on the sow instead. The sound of a truck pulling up outside cuts through the barn a minute later. Boots hit the ground, then footsteps, quick and purposeful.

“Back here,” Dad calls.

Dr. Carter steps in a second later, shrugging off her jacket as she moves. Late thirties, maybe early forties, dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp and assessing before she even says a word.

"Well, sweetheart," she murmurs to the sow before turning her attention to Dad. A faint hint of peppermint surrounds her. "Tell me what she's doing."

“First litter.” Dad pulls off his ballcap, wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and replaces the hat on his head. “She’s restless.”

Dr. Carter nods, already stepping in, hands efficient as she checks the sow. “Let me take a look, mama.”

I move to give her space, then stop when she glances at me. “Are you staying, or do you get queasy?”

“Staying.”

“Good. I’ll need a hand.”

Dad’s mouth twitches like he expected that. Whether he expected her to question me or expected me to go along without hesitation, I’m not sure which.

I move back in, taking direction without needing much. Hold here. Guide there. Keep her steady.

If it weren’t her first litter, he probably wouldn’t have called me or the vet. But first-timers tend to get agitated, and he doesn’t want to lose any of the piglets. Or the sow. I shudder at the thought of any of them dying.

Minutes pass like that with quiet instructions, soft animal sounds, and the steady rhythm of work that doesn’t care how tired you are or what else you have going on.

It’s familiar. Not easy. Never easy. But familiar.

The first piglet comes fast. Small. Slick. Alive. I clear its nose without thinking, guiding it toward the sow.

“There you go,” I murmur.

Dr. Carter glances at me, something approving in her expression. “You’ve done this before.”

“Once or twice.”

Dad huffs as he drags the flannel shirt off his shoulders and tosses the garment onto the floor behind him. “More than that.”

I shoot him a look, but he ignores it.

Another piglet. Then another. The barn fills with soft squeaks, new life pressing close, the sow settling as instinct takes over.

Dr. Carter pats the sow’s side. “Good job, mama.” She leans back, assessing. “She’s doing fine now.”

I sit back on my heels, brushing straw from my jeans as the likelihood of something going wrong diminishes.

“Thanks for coming out.” Dad stands and stretches, easing whatever kinks he got crouched beside the sow for so long. His white T-shirt is streaked with hay dust, dirt, and the general mess of farm work.

“Part of the job.” Dr. Carter jots something down in her notebook. She doesn’t leave right away. Doesn’t rush it like vets normally do.

She turns her head toward me. “You in school?”

I blink at the sudden turn in conversation as I rise to my feet to join them. “What?”

“Veterinary tech,” she says, like it’s obvious. “You’d be good at it.”

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “Hard not to be when you grow up around it.”