Brian Matthews


It comes on to September of 1989 and Arthur's cows are out on the road again. I've been looking after a dozen of them on my property (fifty acres of heavily mortgaged stringy bark scrub surrounding about ten acres of undulating pasture), but with the mellower airs of spring, the lushness underfoot, and the roaring of randy bulls each night in the perfumed darkness, two of these beasts have turned maverick and won't stay behind the wire.



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