[Subsection]

Aunt Anne was letting the cows out. They were making a good deal of noise and commotion; it was their first day out, and they were frisky and boisterous. The calves stood as if blind, unable to walk. The grown cows fought each other   [p. 104]   savagely, clashing horns getting entangled, and horns prodding necks and shoulders and flanks. It looked highly dangerous but was unavoidable. Mother and Auntie, hot and short of breath, went among them flailing their arms to part them. Father came and parted them if there was any real danger of a cow's being gored. Their hooves gripped the earth so that they sank in deep and clods spattered up. The bell cow ran amok, and none of them dared touch her; she was an experienced fighter and threw a couple of the young ones aside as soon as she came out, to let it be known that she was keeping her position.

Åsmund sat in the shelter of the doorstep, but Per ran around the yard with a switch. This was fun! Dangerously strong horns glistened and thick strong necks writhed. Their white backs gleamed above their red flanks, reminding him of milk; milk reminded him of Mother and Auntie. Hooves clashed. The two heifers stood still, young and slender. The two calves looked stupid, standing with eyes like marbles, not knowing what to do with their feet. Then they found out and ran like mad things, and then stood still again, staring.

The big bull was still in the barn, butting the wall and bellowing. He was the father of almost all these heifers and calves running about outside. But he could not be with them today; he must never get loose. He would chase the herd, knock them about, destroy them. He stood bellowing and turning up the whites of his eyes.