In the fifteen minutes that passed - fifteen minutes of ungraciously waiting around the siring center for his father to emerge from the clinic - at least ten other bull-men had approached the front desk. One of the men was so impatient to get his “services” that he literally threw his credit card at the lady. She must have had the patience of a saint.
“Charge it and I’ll pick it up when I’m out.”
“But sir- “
He was this dark-skinned, burly, huge tower of a man – at least 6’6” - and looked to be Black Angus. Jeff could literally sense the urgency in the air; he was heading in whether you liked it or not. It was better not… well, he was definitely not the kind of guy to interrupt his business.
Wait, what was he saying? This wasn’t his reality!
He shook his head to refocus.
Jeff had been so distracted by what was going on, that by the time his Dad did come back out, he had all but forgotten to pick up the razor. Who cares about shaving anyways, he thought. His Dad, seemingly cheerier, smiled back.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get ‘ya the kind I always use,” he said, rubbing Jeff’s head. He grabbed a three-bladed disposable one off the shelf (much larger than what he remembered blades to be), paid for the goods, and trotted back to the car.
Admittedly, Jeff and his Dad had a platonic relationship, typical of any kid and his dad. But the ride home was unnaturally quiet. “For good reason,” Jeff thought to himself. He desperately needed to get back to the Chronivac. What would the consequences be if he couldn’t change it back, or if he didn’t do something soon? Why did he ever click that “Alter Reality” option? Jeff sighed in frustration, just a little, and nervously cracked the knuckles of his hands.
The loud sound his knuckles made stirred up his Dad. He had been looking at him every five seconds for the entire drive.
“I can kinda tell you’re stressin’ or in a bad mood ‘bout somethin’ Jeff… but that’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it.”
It was taking all of Jeff’s willpower to ignore his Dad and concentrate on the road.
“I’m seein’ you rubbin’ down there a couple times just now, ya know…”
“What?!” Jeff shouted, startled. He must’ve been so spaced out that he didn’t even realize what he was doing with his hands!
“Jeff, it’s fine.”
He wasn’t sure to be more embarrassed about getting caught, or not even noticing his urges.
“Got one more errand. We’re runnin’ over to your granddad’s place. Pick up some firewood, shoot the breeze with ‘im for a bit to make sure he’s doing okay... ‘e wasn’t feelin’ too good in his shoulders last week, rotator cuff maybe, but the doctor found nothin’. So then we’ll head back home and get dinner going,” he said, smiling again. “’Kay?”
Damn, another errand. This was bad. But it was his granddad’s farm, the place from the photo that had inspired this entire change. He loved his grandfather too much to say no to his Dad – and they were already half-way there.
---
On the winding dirt road, about six miles out of town, his grandfather’s farm was one of prominence – atop a hill, overlooking a small valley, and the nearest town’s church tower was just over the horizon. The one-and-a-half story ranch home his grandparents lived in faced the barn on the east side of the property, with the barn and a large warehouse area for the cows to feed in on the other side of the driveway on the west side, below the hill.
Looking around, Jeff did notice that the electric wired fence – the one which had given him such a shocking experience in his photograph - was gone.
“Can I stay in the truck, please?” Jeff asked, as his dad parked.
“No - I need you to help with the firewood. My dad threw out his shoulder, remember?”
He covered his face with his hands. ‘Okay, you can do this,’ Jeff said to himself, ‘Just get this done and you’re home free.’
As they climbed out of the car, his grandfather came out from the house – and he, too, was part-bull. Of course. Similarly he had brownish and blackish fur on his legs, but it had a rugged, faded, and dirty look to it. Less endearing to Jeff was the prominence of his own ‘package,’ something he hoped would never have to see. But it was there, and behind it, his tail; droopy, unmoving – Jeff’s memory of that emerged from somewhere in his mind. He had injured it somehow when he was younger.
“Ben! Jeff!”
“Hey Dad,” his father shouted back. “Firewood!”
“Sure thing… it’s in the barn. But first, Ben -”
He flipped the back hatch of the truck up. “… Yes?”
“Delilah n’ I’ve been tryin’ to get that darned shower runnin’ for days. It’s got a leak comin’ down from the ceiling but I can’t reach up to it right now.”
“Yea, I can look at it,” He turned to Jeff. “Can you head over n’ start haulin’ the firewood up?”
“But Dad…”
His grandfather chimed in. “Dun’ worry, Jeff. It ain’t too heavy. And Jack’ll help ‘ya out. Hey, Jack!!”
Jack? But Jack was … the name of … the bull from the pho… to…
Oh no.
“Yes sir!!” Jack came barreling out from the barn. Except this Jack was not a bull; he was a man… bull.
Oh no!
“Help Ben and the kid out and take some of that ol’ firewood from the maple to the truck, will ‘ya?”
Jack saluted, and waved for Jeff to come down the hill. "My man, Jeff!"
His Dad nodded. “Go on, Jeff, I’ll be in the house.”
It entered his mind almost without warning; this time, more disturbingly. The world had no need for full-aged bulls to linger around - duh. The men helped with the birthing process. If a male bull was born from the herd, they could take the birthed cattle right to the slaughterhouse to make veal. Everything on the farm was operated by the men, and produced by the women. Jack was a farmhand for his grandfather, and had done a fine job of siring many dairy cattle – he looked like the big Holstein bull he had befriended a year ago, with the same black and white patterned fur. But now he was a bull-man.
He had… always been?
“Go on, Jeff!” his Dad reasserted. He reluctantly started walking along to the barn.
As Jeff trotted away, his father and grandfather looked on with earnest presence. He kicked some leaves on the path with his hoof as they walked to the porch.
“Son’s gettin’ big, Dad. Worried ‘bout ‘im, though,” he said, as they sat down in two folding chairs. “Not much of a talker. And I can tell he’s wantin’ to release ‘cause he’s at that age, but ‘e’s internalizin’ it all.”
Ben’s father pulled out and lit a cigarette. “How old is ‘e?”
“Sixteen.”
“Yeeeap… well,” he said with a puff, “There’s plenty o’ opportunity here. If he’s rarin’ to go, there’re plenty o’ girls who’ll take ‘em. Jack’ll show ‘em.”
Ben nodded, leaning back into the chair to let the sun warm his skin.
“I mean for Christ sakes, Ben – he ain’t you, you were always runnin’ ‘round here, beatin’ up whatever crossed your path. What’d’you expect from raisin’ a city boy?”
“I expect some interest…”
“Give it time, son. Now, ‘bout that shower head…”
They sauntered into the house, just as Jeff reached the entrance to the barn...