Inside, the calf refused to settle. Even as the heat warmed its body, it kept pacing toward the door, nudging it with its nose. It let out soft, urgent cries.
Something wasn’t right. The farmer slipped on his boots and coat, grabbed a flashlight, and followed the calf’s tracks through the snow. The sky was still grey. Wind picked up behind the hills.
About fifty yards out, the tracks split. And that’s when he saw the broken fencing and another set of deeper impressions in the snow heading toward the tree line.