The morning after Mrs Parish came back I woke up early. The sun was just starting to rise and there was Paddy Cow at my window. I was feeling happy and relaxed, glad that Mrs Parish had returned, glad Mother’s book was being published, glad of everything. Paddy Cow was snuffling and her nose was banging against the glass. My eyes closed again and I let the bangs lull me. Bang—snuffle—bang bang—snuffle. It sounded like a boat bumping softly against a pier, as if the wood were padded and old, or coated in rubber bitumen, or wrapped in sheets of whale blubber. I tried to go back to sleep only then the bangs got stronger in intensity, and Paddy Cow made a strange, high-pitched sound that was not normal. I opened my eyes and sat up. There was froth coming out of Paddy Cow’s mouth: green froth like a lime spider.

I got out of bed and ran onto the verandah.

Paddy Cow was a proper cow now: a small one, a runtish cow, but as fully grown as he was going to get. She’d moved away from the window and was coming towards me on the verandah, very big, with green foam spewing from her mouth.

‘Mr Parish!’ I yelled.

Paddy Cow’s body was shivering, and her eyes were rolling like Where the Wild Things Are. Her hooves skidded on the verandah tiles and she fell and, upon hitting the ground, started bucking, just bucking like she couldn’t stop, rolling in the green foam that came out of her mouth. I screamed.

And then Mr Parish was there, in his pyjamas. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Jesus Christ! It’s that fucking brown snake. I saw it yesterday.’

And then he was gone again.

I couldn’t get close to Paddy Cow because, even though she was on the ground, her legs were still kicking and foam was going everywhere. Part of me was scared that the foam was poisonous—like I might start going crazy if I touched it, like rabies—but finally I got near enough to reach out and put my hand on her back. I rubbed my hand back and forth. Her hide was wet and cold. I knelt down. ‘Paddy Cow, it’s that fucking brown snake!’ I said. ‘Come on, Paddy Cow! It’s just that fucking brown snake!’ Paddy Cow made a gasping mooing sound, and then another one, and then she vomited blood and grass and yellow stuff like jelly.

I heard Mr Parish come back. I saw his bare feet in the corner of my eyes, his toes all squashed to the side.

‘Owen,’ he said. ‘Owen, you need to get out of the way.’

Paddy Cow was less trembly now and I could feel her heart going bang-bang-bang. ‘She’s alright now!’ I said. ‘Good girl, Paddy Cow. Good girl!’