Even now I don’t really know what a paddy cow is—is it related to rice paddies? Or is it supposed to be ‘poddy cow’? Whatever it is, that is what Mrs Parish called the sweet brown-and-white calf that wandered the Park Orchard ‘paddocks’ with a little bit of rope hanging from her neck. She had been given to Mrs Parish by a local who didn’t want her. She came at half-size, a runt who needed feeding with a bottle and teet. Mrs Parish adored her. She was just like Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web, she said. Only she wasn’t a pig. Mrs Parish cuddled her like a baby and gave her treats from the kitchen—wet spinach, pieces of orange. Even Mr Parish loved Paddy Cow and scratched her on the side of her neck to make her happy. Her big brown eyes were wise and solemn and faintly mischievous. Mrs Parish called them ‘moony’. She was as gentle as a lamb—she was as gentle as a calf. Sometimes, waking up early and holding back the bedroom curtains to see the sun coming up, Paddy Cow would be there, snuffling steam at the glass and tilting her head. Waiting for me to wake up. She made up for my lack of schoolmates.

Mother was not welcome at the Parishes anymore. Mrs Parish sighed when I asked her about this. She put her hand on my head, and said, ‘It’s all a big silly mistake, Owen’ and then steered me into the lounge room and put the telly on so I could watch Skippy or Mr Squiggle—both shows that I had long grown out of. I asked Mr Parish the same question, summoning all my courage. I took a deep breath. ‘Why isn’t Mother allowed to come here anymore?’

Mr Parish was putting on his work boots, preparing to fix some fences. Writing and thinking about poetry seemed to take up most of Mother’s time, but Mr Parish accomplished the same thing in a couple of hours, every morning in his study. The rest of the time he got about on the property fixing things and tending fruit-trees and making fire breaks and crafting new and interesting pathways through the bush. When Mrs Parish called him for lunch, he bounded up the steep driveway as though he were taking the stairs three at a time.

‘Why can’t Mother come here anymore?’ I asked.