A Heart for Baby: Based on a True Story

By D.C. Danton and Antoine F. Goetschel

Hackel's message was loud and clear, "The cows belong to me, and if you try to interfere, I will make them suffer." Diana Danton had no reason to doubt the farmer's cruel words. After all, Hackel Miller was a beef farmer, and following Swiss tradition, cows should be slaughtered—not rescued.
Diana Danton had left behind a career and family to move to Switzerland to be with the man she loved. Little did she know that her relationship with "Baby" and the rescue effort to save her life would plant the seeds of animal activism that would shape her life in ways she never could have imagined.
"Was I destined to save Baby, or was she destined to save me from myself?"
"Was it a coincidence, or a blessing that Baby bore a perfectly shaped white heart on her leg?"
"I, too, was one of those flesh-eating monsters until Baby opened my eyes to the difference between property, and the sentient creature who captured my heart and soul."
"That was the manifesto of the beef farmer: take no responsibility for your actions, decide the fate of sentient creatures using all methods of torture and abuse available, and do it all in the name of profit."
Would Diana Danton be able to rescue Baby from the clutches of the evil farmer? The answer is not clear . . . Perhaps it lies within the heart and the desire to change oneself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098330514

Book preview

Love at First Sight

The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)

How frail and delicate she stood in the winter snow, precariously balanced on those four slender and slightly bent legs! Tufts of soft, white hair formed a gentle curve around her pinkish belly, revealing her young and developing body. The calf’s large, dreamy eyes gave her a sympathetic look that was as touchingly innocent as it was intelligent.

As captivating as the photograph was, my eyes were once again drawn to the familiar picture on my desk. Wiping away the tears, I pressed the frame firmly against my chest, a daily ritual since her unfortunate death just a few weeks ago. I missed her terribly and felt consumed by the pain and emptiness of her loss.

Memories of that day circled my mind in a never-ending loop, recreating countless mornings filled with tears and long, sleepless nights. I felt as if I could not move forward, yet it was too painful to remember the past. Ushi, my beloved bulldog, was gone, and I was powerless to bring her back. Reliving her death while packing for Switzerland had become unbearably exhausting. It was increasingly apparent this emotional roller coaster had to end. I was risking putting my future with Brian in jeopardy. It was time to bury the past and conserve what energy I did have for my new life in Switzerland.

Sadly, I gathered Ushi’s pictures, wrapped them in her favorite blanket, and laid them to rest in a special box I placed on the nightstand, close to my pillow. I prayed it would be enough to get me through the day and all the days that followed. Resting my elbow on the corner of the desk, I casually reexamined Brian’s e-mail and the photograph of the endearing calf. For a moment, I smiled as I noticed a peculiar black spot on her partially white forehead.

What a curious creature she was! I had to admit I was growing fonder of her by the minute.

I finished my coffee and slipped on my clothes, which usually signaled the start of another day, but with one big difference, I was one step closer to a new life that was now approaching at lightning speed. My thoughts drifted back to Switzerland, which evoked feelings of confusion and anxiety, and I asked myself if this new life was unfolding too quickly. Maybe it was time to slow down and catch my breath.

Brian was trying his best to comfort me by sending the photograph of the calf but, regrettably, it wasn’t working. He couldn’t wipe away the guilt I felt, knowing I had unwittingly delivered Ushi into the hands of her executioner.

I painfully remembered the day that Brian and I loaded up the last of the furniture for the long trip from Florida to North Carolina, and the events which triggered the nightmare that was about to unfold. I knew that my brother needed certain essentials for setting up his new home. Establishing a new life after his divorce wasn’t easy, and he still lacked many of the necessities, such as a comfortable bed and a reliable washing machine. As siblings go, we were close, and he knew that his older sister would deliver the goods before the weekend was out — and he wasn’t disappointed. Even my parents took a stab at the prized leftovers, the oak china closet and cherrywood table were always on my mother’s list of enviable treasures.

For the first time, I was forced to leave Ushi in the care of strangers. I thought I was handing her over to professionals. An office coworker had highly recommended the animal hospital, and Ushi’s veterinarian would be on duty. I thought I had all my bases covered. But, when you least expect it, life has a funny way of throwing you a curveball that not only takes you out of the game but knocks you flat and leaves you for dead.

I will never forget the look on my mother’s face as she greeted us that evening at the front door. Brian and I were both exhausted after nine hours of fighting traffic from North Carolina to New Jersey in a rickety moving truck while downing endless cups of coffee. All I wanted to do was to take a hot bath and have a slice of the best apple pie east of the Continental Divide, but this comforting thought was about to make a left turn.

I noticed that my mother was fidgeting with a dish towel and that Dad, usually talkative, was quiet beside her.

Why were they acting so strangely?

It didn’t take long to realize that they were hiding something. I needed an answer, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I pulled myself together, and in a trembling voice, I asked the question that would not only break my heart but would change my life forever.

What’s wrong, Mom? I asked. Her eyes welled with tears, and I could feel the blood draining from my face. Is Max, OK? I stammered.

He’s fine, she murmured while taking a deep breath. The animal hospital called Max this morning. Ushi died last night. I know we should’ve called you, darling, but we were afraid you might have an accident.

The words had barely left her tongue when I screamed and fell to my knees. As if in a dream, I hid those painful memories away. Whatever part of that day, which could be deemed memorable, I owed to my mother, who consoled me with her loving words and endless hugs. Her soothing cups of peppermint tea not only calmed my frazzled nerves but also, mercifully, sent me adrift in a peaceful slumber.

Where does the time go?

I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was nearly noon, and I needed to get moving with the packing. Saturday mornings were especially difficult because I knew that Ushi wouldn’t be climbing into the car for our weekend shopping, which always ended at her favorite place, a fried chicken drive-through — and a chicken biscuit.

I had to let go of Ushi’s death, or I would never be able to prepare myself for the new life, which lay ahead. Losing my best friend had taken a profound physical and psychological toll, leaving me tired and depressed. I needed to conserve my strength for my upcoming marriage to a man who managed to wreak havoc in my quiet and ordinary life, and whose promise to love and to cherish would irrevocably alter the course of my destiny.

There was so much to do, and time was running out as I grabbed the car keys and turned off the laptop. As the picture of the calf faded from view, she reminded me of Ushi and the day she sprang into our lives. A close friend once told me that our pets choose us, not the other way around. That was, indeed, the case with Ushi.

The first time we saw her, she was huddled in an outdoor pen together with half a dozen rambunctious bulldog pups. But, unlike the others, she was not interested in playing but sat in one corner of the pen and observed us. Not only was her behavior out of the ordinary, but her brindle coat and black spots on her pink-tinged underbelly were also unusual.

The pup looked up at Max and seemed to give him a nod of approval as she cautiously ventured closer to our side of the pen. Out of curiosity, Max bent down to inspect her more closely and then, as if to say, Time to go home, she raised her front paws — a signal for Max to lift her out of the cage. He placed her on the ground in front of him and, instead of running away; she stood steadfast like a tin soldier and, with the courage of a lioness, let out a bark that sealed her fate as well as ours. She had chosen her keepers and, from that day forward, she would forever hold the keys to our hearts.

Max swept her up in his arms and pressed her tightly to his chest.

Happy Birthday, darling! WOW! You made out like a bandit. All I got was a six-pack when I turned twenty-one, I laughed.

"Yeah, but I waited a long time for this dog." Max beamed with delight.

And he was right. Almost fifteen years had passed, and that is quite a long time in the mind of a child.

I remembered the day when Max was six years old and had just returned from a friend’s birthday party. According to his friend’s mother, Max was more interested in playing with their English bulldog than the party. After that encounter, he begged for years for a bulldog, but sadly I always gave him the same answer, We’ll see, darling.

When the last of our rescued animals had died in my arms, I was once again confronted with the eternal bulldog question. Max would be returning from college in a few weeks and would find his home bereft of his beloved Siggi, a stray we had rescued from underneath the car of his piano teacher. The time had finally come to search for reputable bulldog breeders, and I needed to act quickly before his arrival.

What are you going to call her? I asked. Without the slightest hesitation, Max said, Ushi.

Excuse me, what kind of name is that?

Ushi means cow in Japanese. Just look at those black spots! Max shouted as he lifted her in the air exposing her spotted underbelly. "What did I say? She’s a cow!" he roared with laughter.

I wasn’t convinced of Max’s choice of name, but there was a touch of innocence in her large, brown eyes, and her spots reminded me of the black and white Holsteins from the dairy farms of my youth.

As I watched them clinging to each other, I thought about how Ushi had stolen our hearts.

But, if truth be told, it was more a case of love at first sight.

A New Beginning

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.

Anatole France (1844–1924)

In less than twenty-four hours, my life was about to take a sharp left turn, one which I hoped wouldn’t land me in quicksand or, worse yet, upstream without a paddle.

Was I crazy taking Max and myself halfway across the world to live with a stranger? Would I succeed in this new life, or be forced to admit to another error in judgment?

I closed the latches on the suitcase and pondered over this dilemma with anxiety and an uneasy sense of foreboding. As I peered through the bedroom window, a hawk gracefully arched its wings, soaring effortlessly through the morning sky.

I, too, will be taking flight, but unlike the hawk, I will be crossing an ocean to uncharted territory that may not turn out to be the Promised Land. The hawk had the good sense to stay where he was — perhaps, I should have done the same.

Max was still sleeping when we pulled into the driveway of a small, but quaint, alpine-style home. Upon entering the house, I noticed that it still lacked many of the personal touches that make a house a home. There was little furniture, and the cupboards were robbed bare. His ex-wife had done a thorough job of cleaning him out and, I must admit the discovery annoyed me. But I also knew that somewhere in the Atlantic was a container ship with my name on it and that I would soon transform this ghost house into a cozy home. Brian guided Max down the cellar stairs into a roomy guest apartment, which contained a bathroom and kitchen. Max did not protest about the unusual sleeping arrangements, which amounted to Brian’s queen-sized mattress placed on a tiled floor, after all, it’s not every day that you have a kitchen in your bedroom!

"Don’t you think it’s a bit cold on those tiles?" It was chilly outside, quite a change from the balmy weather we had left behind in Florida.

Brian smiled, awkwardly. To tell the truth, I hauled down the bed frame first, but the damn thing got stuck on the stairs. It broke while I was trying to pry it loose. He looked away and shoved his hands into his pockets, a nervous habit.

I gently touched his shoulder.

Giving your bed to Max was very thoughtful, I whispered.

At least the mattress made it down in one piece, Brian grinned, and you don’t need to worry about Max feeling the cold. The tiles are heated from beneath.

I bent down and ran my hand across the tiles and, sure enough, they were as warm as toast.

"But if Max has your mattress, what are we going to sleep on?"

Don’t worry, my dear. Have no fear, your Brian is here! I could always depend on Brian’s cheerful sense of humor to put me at ease.

I hugged Max and followed Brian upstairs, where Brian’s bedroom was located. I didn’t know why, but suddenly, I felt anxious. Everything was so foreign, so unfamiliar!

When we reached the top of the stairs, Brian sensed my panic and took my hand, squeezing it gently. I knew I had nothing to fear because everything I held precious was in this house, and it was comforting to know that, despite the strangeness, the face of familiarity would be there to greet me in the morning light. It wasn’t long before jet lag, and exhaustion took their toll as I fell into a deep and comforting slumber.

Dawn was approaching, and my body stirred as the first rays of light streamed through the bedroom window. Brian was a heavy sleeper and would find any excuse to stay in bed, even if he had already put in a good eight to ten the night before! His heavy breathing meant he was sleeping soundly, and I thought it wise not to wake him. The last few months had also taken a toll on Brian. We hadn’t seen each other since the honeymoon, and I was shocked to find him looking pale and thin when he greeted us at the airport.

Grocery shopping was the business of the day and, as my grandmother used to say, A home-cooked meal can cure almost anything! Brian would undoubtedly benefit from that pearl of wisdom since cooking was my pride and joy. I grabbed my robe and slipped downstairs to brew myself a cup of tea in my new kitchen. As I approached the main room, glass double doors trimmed in cherrywood opened into a combined kitchen, dining, and living room area. Lovely French doors facing south illuminated the rooms with natural light and provided a view of the terrace and garden beyond.

The centerpiece of the living room was a handsome Finnish wood-burning stove made of soft, gray soapstone with a glass door. It was beautiful, and I could easily imagine being curled up on the sofa with Brian on a cold winter’s night with a bottle of French Bordeaux and a bag of fluffy marshmallows (I had learned the fine art of marshmallow roasting during my Scouting days).

The kitchen was small by American standards, but well designed, with black granite countertops and beechwood cabinets. Amazingly, I found a handful of plates and cups with a few pots and pans and a generous selection of teas in the pantry. I immediately chose peppermint, which reminded me of home and family.

After I had downed several cups of tea, I contemplated taking a walk since the boys were still fast asleep. The skies were gray and bleak, and I thought it wise to put on an extra layer of clothing against the chilly morning air. I decided to take a walk around the house and survey my favorite place — the garden.

The garden area was entirely enclosed by a black metal fence, the one distinguishing characteristic setting the house apart from its neighbors. There were no trees or bushes to speak of, only sections of patchy lawn, giving the garden a barren and untidy look that was uninviting. As I walked around the house, I smelled the stench of manure, a familiar smell since I had grown up across the street from a horse farm, and it wasn’t surprising because a cow pasture bordered the backyard. The pasture looked vaguely familiar, and suddenly I remembered the photograph of the newborn calf.

The picture of the calf was taken at this very spot!

Oddly, there were no cows in view, and I wondered why they weren’t out on the field. From where I was standing, I could make out several sheds and a large barn with adjoining stalls. Broken-down farm equipment was scattered throughout the property, which made me think of a junkyard rather than a working farm. The farm’s neglected and shabby condition was out of character with the modern and tidy residential neighborhood, and I wondered what kind of farmer would maintain his farm in this way. Wanting to get a closer look, I made my way toward the northwest corner of the yard.

A woman suddenly appeared and waved to me from the house next door. As I approached her, I was overjoyed to hear what sounded like English, but with a British twist.

How do you do? She smiled.

Wow … ! It’s sure nice to hear someone speaking English! Hi, I’m Diana, Brian’s new wife! I shook her hand, feeling overjoyed that my closest neighbor was British.

I’m Jenny — and by the way, congratulations! As soon as you’re settled, Albert and I would like to have you over. Maybe for scones and tea? she said, with that lovely British accent.

Sounds great! Brian and I would love to come!

Next Sunday at half-past three?

I have to check Brian’s schedule, but it should be OK.

Brian told us you have a son. Why don’t you bring him along?

That’s so nice of you, Jenny. Thanks for inviting him. Do you have any children? I asked.

We do! We have a daughter, Emma. She’s a bit shy for seven, but don’t let that fool you!

That’s a great age. Looking back, I can hardly believe Max is twenty-three. Time goes by so fast.

"Speaking of time, Diana, I have to go! Emma will be home for lunch at any minute. So we’ll see you on Sunday, then — and don’t bring anything!" Jenny insisted while waving goodbye.

I hadn’t realized that it was almost noon, and there were still no visible signs of life in the house. The boys were still asleep, and maybe it was time for me to do the same. The fresh air and time change were acting like sedatives on my jet-lagged body, and the idea of rejoining Brian under a cozy comforter was becoming more appealing by the minute. As I exited the yard, I felt sad, even angry, there were no cows grazing in the field. I believed that somewhere hidden within the barn were cows that were intentionally denied access to the pasture, which I found disturbing. I even imagined the little calf in the photograph, if she were still alive, living hopelessly in one of those run-down sheds — and I felt driven to find her.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that inflamed my emotions, but I was determined to get some answers. I reluctantly locked the garden gate behind me and entered the house, rejoining Brian, who was sound asleep and unaware of my absence.

It wasn’t long before I fell into a blissful slumber — as the image of the little calf once again came to mind …

Almost six days had passed since our arrival in Switzerland, and the process of acculturation was well underway for Max and me. The ides of March were upon us: crocuses, primroses, and snowbells (Schneegloeckchen, as the locals called them) were blooming wildly throughout the Seegarten Park along the Lake of Constance.

"What a beautiful park, but wow … it’s freezing out here! We had just left Jenny’s house and I was now regretting leaving her cozy sofa and scrumptious scones. Brian, here’s an idea. Let’s get some of that hot cocoa you’ve been bragging about. My feet are frozen! I hate to complain, but you can take the girl out of Florida, but not Florida out of the girl!"

"Didn’t you tell me once you used to be a Girl Scout? Brian said, wrapping his arms around my waist. You must’ve camped in places colder than this!"

We held each other for a moment, with arms intertwined, standing on the shore of a magnificent lake whose waves reached the shores of three countries. I rested my head on his shoulder until the biting winds were just too much to bear, and the white caps revealed stormy weather was on the way. Hand in hand, we left the beach to seek refuge in a small coffee shop near the harbor. The warm air felt soothing on my hands and face as we entered the cozy café on the lake. As if we could read each other’s minds, we immediately gravitated toward a table for two with a full view of the harbor.

It’s so lovely here, I shivered, while rubbing my hands together, and warm, too! My toes were beginning to feel numb.

It’s no wonder your feet are cold with those silly shoes!

"They’re designer shoes, I stammered, and they cost me a whole week’s pay!"

"They’re cute, I admit, but highly impractical. It rains a lot here, and you won’t be able to walk with those on the hiking trails, my dear. Tomorrow, we’ll go to Constance and get you a nice pair of sturdy, waterproof boots to keep those little toes of yours warm and dry. Speaking about warming up, how about that cup of hot cocoa now? Brian motioned to the waitress to take our order. With whipped cream, please," he grinned.

A man after my own heart! So much for my diet. Between Jenny’s scones and Emma’s cupcakes, I guess a bit of whipped cream won’t make any difference now! I didn’t have long to wait before the waitress served the most tantalizing and delectable cup of hot chocolate I had ever tasted.

How are you enjoying your hot cocoa, my dear? Apparently, quite well, I see. Brian reached over and wiped away a drop of frothy cream from the tip of my nose.

"It’s really delicious! It must be the Swiss cocoa, I said, as I sipped the last drop. So, tell me, what else is there to do in Tagerlingen?"

Well, there’s a castle and a petting zoo. You could always pet the donkeys and sheep!

Stop teasing me!

I’m not! You’d love it. I know how much you like animals. There’s also the aquarium just across the border in Constance.

That sounds great!

Wait a minute, what time is it? Brian glanced at his watch. It’s already six … they’re probably closed by now.

Oh, well, we’ll have to save that for another day. I think Max would like to see the aquarium, too. I have a better idea. Why don’t we just go home and snuggle on the sofa?

And what about a fire to warm up those cute little toes of yours, Brian hinted, with a twinkle in his eye.

Shh … I think that couple over there understands what you’re saying.

Could be, just about everyone in Switzerland knows a little English. Now, what about that sofa? I’m feeling a bit tired myself. Besides, tomorrow is a big day. You’re going to need all your energy for shopping.

Not this girl, I can shop till I drop!

Maybe so, but me and the sofa got other plans! he grinned.

Two weeks had passed since Max, and I had left our home for a new one that was a strange mix of old and new. This stark contrast was never more evident than on the streets of Tagerlingen, where centuries-old, half-timbered houses and churches were juxtaposed with multilevel glass and metal buildings. Its modern architecture compromised not only the beauty of the lake but also the city’s understated charm and cultural heritage. The main street was undergoing reconstruction, and I hoped its new makeover would recapture what had been lost in the drive to modernize.

The old border crossing, the Hauptzoll, was just beyond the main street of the city. As we crossed over from Switzerland into Germany, no customs agents were operating the booth on the German side of the border. I asked Brian if this was customary, and he said with a smile, Depends if it’s time for a coffee break!

I was happy to breeze through without interrogation since that wasn’t always the case, and I focused on the city of Constance, which was quite different from Tagerlingen. I was looking forward to my excursion, and the warmth of the sun felt uplifting after so many days of rain. We parked the car near the Altstadt, the historical heart of Constance, and set out on foot passing through the Schnetztor, a fourteenth-century clock tower, part of a solid stone wall that once encircled the city. As I walked through the archway of the tower, I felt transported back in time to an age of medieval chivalry and knights in armor.

Some of the buildings were adorned with gargoyle-like creatures that sat perched on the tiled roofs to ward off evil spirits, while others revealed their history with hand-painted frescoes. As we made our way to the center of the city, I pointed to one building in particular where the date Anno 1293 was carved into the thick wooden beam above its entrance.

Brian smiled, That’s one of the younger buildings. Constance dates back to the Stone Age!

Quite impressive, Professor, but where is this shoe store of yours? I whined. The cobblestones are ruining my heels!

We’re almost there, my dear. The shop is just around the corner. Afterward, I’ll treat you to the best coffee and cake in town — and I know how you love your sweets!

"That’s the problem. I love them, but they don’t love me!" I said while pinching my love handles.

As we rounded the corner, the narrow street opened up into a broad boulevard that the locals called the Marktstaette, the marketplace that defined the center of Constance. The avenue was lined with beautiful shops and outdoor cafés, where the local inhabitants (despite the chill) were thoroughly enjoying their cappuccinos in the afternoon sun.

A group of children caught my eye as I watched them take turns straddling a giant bronze horse near the Kaiserbrunnen, a fountain that was a unique mix of old and new. A fanciful bronze horse with eight legs, a three-headed peacock, and crowned pigeons surrounding the traditional Kaiserbrunnen were quite charming. These sculptures represented the character of Constance that strove to balance the old with the new in humorous ways.

We finally arrived in front of a large store near the middle of the boulevard that was jam-packed with hiking and outdoor paraphernalia. I knew instantly what Brian had meant when he had said, Boot shopping.

"I thought we were going to buy boots I could wear around town — not these ugly things!"

"Ugly? Those boots are exactly what you need in this climate. You’re not in Tallahassee anymore, my dear!"

I reluctantly submitted to his demands, took his hand in mine, and entered the store to purchase the little red boots, as we later called them. Not only did they turn out to be practical but, in the next two years, they kept me out of harm’s way on more than one occasion.

As we exited the store, Brian was unaware I was about to remind him of his promise.

"Wait a minute, not so fast, mister! What about that cake and coffee you promised me?" When it comes to food, I never miss a beat.

Oh, that’s right …

And you thought I’d forget!

"You? Not when it comes to cake! I was only helping you to stay on your diet … remember?"

To hell with the diet! I shouted as we made our way to indulge in one of life’s little pleasures.

It took some maneuvering, and several wrong turns before we finally landed in front of a charming bakery. The natural stone wall in the entryway gave the shop an earthy quality that complemented the loaves of handmade bread and sacks of flour that adorned the shop window. I noticed a sign that indicated they grind their own flour, which, Brian explained, made them a favorite in the Constance area.

The shop was small and compact, but its selection of bread and cakes was enormous. A large loaf of raisin bread that measured almost a meter long fascinated me. Like a child in a candy store, I was overwhelmed by the bountiful selection.

What’s the matter, my dear, can’t make up your mind? Brian teased. "I have to admit, I’m having the same problem. Wait a minute … I think I just found something. See that Schwarzwaelder Kirchtorte over there? Now that cake has your name written all over it!"

There were several small tables near the bakery area, where loaves of bread displayed in wicker baskets posed as a tantalizing backdrop for all that entered the shop. I chose the table near the meter-long raisin bread which so captivated my senses, I didn’t even notice that Brian had placed in front of me the most substantial piece of Black Forest Cake I had ever seen.

Did you ever see anything so beautiful? I cried out.

And it tastes even better than it looks, he confirmed. Brian was completely unaware that his face was smothered in sweet whipped cream, crumbs of velvety-rich chocolate cake, and dark cherries.

I had to admit he was right, and I ranked this dessert right on top with mom’s apple pie, New York cheesecake, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. Only the cherries weren’t for the faint of heart since they were laced with Kirschwasser, a cherry schnapps that was pleasing for adults, but not for children.

Why are you looking at me that way? Oh, now I get it … you want the rest of my cake! I smiled. Here you are, but that’s only because you took me shopping today. Brian wasted no time in confiscating my leftovers.

Thank you, my dear; I’ve never loved you more!

And I believed it since Brian had a love affair with all spirits, especially schnapps. I looked at his happy face, and for the first time in weeks, I felt content and relaxed.

I was beginning to feel at ease in this new land and warmly hopeful about my future and life with Brian. I had initiated my job search via the Internet, and Max was diligently applying to doctoral programs. I felt uneasy about Max giving up his studies in Florida, but Brian reassured him that he would have no problem finding another program in Switzerland. However, when it came to my own employment opportunities, I didn’t share Brian’s sunny optimism.

Though several weeks had passed, I was still missing my job and colleagues, not to mention the daily routine I had enjoyed for more than a decade. I looked down at my cappuccino trying to hide my brooding thoughts, but it wasn’t long before Brian noticed that wistful look, which always made him nervous and was the reason he launched a preemptive strike preventing me from spoiling our perfect day.

Hey, I have a great idea. Let’s go down to the lake and take a walk along the harbor. We still have another hour of sunlight left. What do you think?

Sounds wonderful, darling. Let’s go. With arms entwined, we bade farewell to the temple of sinful delights and made our way to the marina to watch the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon of our beautiful lake.

As we approached the harbor, an unusual statue, made of red stone and towering almost nine meters high, elegantly guarded the entrance. The sculpture was bewitchingly seductive, but with one noticeable difference, she was curiously holding two male figures in her raised hands.

If I didn’t know better … I’d say she looked like a —

"— Prostitute? You’re right! They call her Imperia, Brian replied. And what about the two statues she’s holding?"

"The bishop represents the church, and the nobleman represents power. But they weren’t the only ones wearing the pants here," Brian smiled.

How do you know all of this?

From the Internet! I’m fascinated by this sculpture.

Sure, you are! I teased. "You’re fascinated by Imperia’s body, that’s the real story here!"

Snuggling closer to Brian, I tried to escape the bitter wind that blew across the lake and chilled me to the bone. The sky was a blend of muted oranges and grays, and the haze covering the shoreline made it hard to distinguish the outline of the cities on the other side. We held each other for a few minutes, enjoying the last rays of sunlight before the evening fog began its final descent over the wintry harbor.

The promise of spring wasn’t only in the air, but in the golden forsythia and daffodils that blossomed in the garden. Birds busily fluttered to and fro, gathering twigs for building nests as I watched the neighbors wash their windows and tidy their gardens in anticipation of spring’s arrival.

I didn’t know if it was the claustrophobic feeling of being cooped up in the house or spring fever itself that overcame me, but I knew that I had to do something other than tidying the house or filling out endless job applications.

The containers carrying the furniture and car were still underway and, although living out of suitcases was bothersome, I could spend more time in the garden, which was not only a stress reliever but also a calorie-burner. I couldn’t believe that I had gained five pounds in one month. The Schwarzwaelder Kirschtorte and Butterbrezeln were proving deadly!

As I surveyed the barren garden, still mostly a mixture of rocks and weeds, I knew that with a little hard work and tender loving care, there might emerge a Garden of Eden from this barren plot of earth. With the strength of Hercules, I grabbed the shovel and began my assault building my Rome one stone at a time …

After a few hours of work, I leaned up against the fence post, admiring the cleared patch of earth that would soon receive my seedlings. I found pleasure in showing Brian that I could sow as well as reap!

Working the soil wasn’t unfamiliar, and I fondly remembered the small farm in New Jersey that I had used to call home. Gardening was in my blood, whether it was gathering juicy strawberries for breakfast, or tomatoes for tomato-and-mayonnaise sandwiches for the warm summer evenings. Those memories were among some of the fondest of my childhood.

The wind was picking up, and raindrops began to dot the sleeves of my sweatshirt and jeans. I looked up at the darkening skies, disappointed that the weatherman, once again, was batting for zero. I knew that I needed to work quickly before the rainstorm rearranged my planting bed into a mud patch. But in a twist of fate or divine intervention, the planting would have to wait because an entirely different day unfolded than expected but strangely foreseen.

Baby and her family were about to enter my life.

I raced to the house, but couldn’t escape the torrential downpour. I was surprised and thankful when Brian opened the door.

"What happened to you?"

"What does it look like?"

My poor darling! Let me get you some towels.

It’s OK … I got most of it. But you could make me a cup of tea.

I’m right on it! Brian beamed.

Brian made the best cup of tea on the planet. He was a Meister, a master craftsman, and I smartly delegated all tea making to him. He proudly handed over a steaming cup of Earl Grey laced with acacia honey — my favorite. The warmth of the tea was healing and restored life again to my cold hands and feet. I was almost beginning to feel normal when an unexpected sneeze caught me off guard.

Sounds like a cold … let me put a few drops of Echinacea in your tea, Brian offered.

Echi … what?

Echi … ne … chia. Everyone here swears by it. Brian tapped a few drops from a small vial into my tea. It’ll get rid of your cold … Just try it!

I continued drinking the tea but detected a slight bitterness. Making a somewhat unpleasant face, I abruptly shoved the cup back into Brian’s hands.

"No more of your concoctions and, this time, I want the real thing! And don’t be so chintzy with the honey, I whined. While sipping my perfectly sweetened cup of Earl Grey, I asked Brian about the cows. I’ve been here for almost a month, and there is still no sign of the cows. I was hoping to see that little calf you sent me a picture of last November."

I haven’t seen any cows since December.

"What? It’s April already. You mean to tell me they’ve been locked up all of these months? Is that normal here?"

I don’t know. It seems too long, but I don’t know the laws here, so I can’t comment, Brian replied while continuing to read his newspaper.

Dissatisfied with his answer, I got up from the table and placed my empty cup in the sink. The torrential downpour had now become a violent storm as I watched the daffodils across the street bend under its fury.

I wondered if the rain would ever stop as a small stream formed on the edge of the curb. I fondly remembered, when very young, stamping my bare feet in the rushing water and collecting bits of treasure as they floated by.

The memories of childhood, although comforting, couldn’t sway my thoughts from the missing cows and, most of all, from the little calf that painfully tugged at my heart these past months.

The rainstorm finally subsided to make way for the glorious sun, which bathed us in its soothing warmth and light. Life stirred once again in our little neighborhood as we emerged from our nests to greet the promise of spring once again. I had discovered that the climate wasn’t only colder here, but at certain times of the year, rain could linger for weeks.

I could smell the scent of hyacinth, which drifted across the yard from the neighbor’s garden; its scent and pastel color reminded me of spring, and I savored its sweet bouquet. I looked up at the sky and held my hands above my brows, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun. I thought about the work that lay ahead, and I was eager to get back to my planting.

The garden was almost in reach when a soft voice from behind the gate interrupted, once again, my plans for the day.

I turned around and opened the latch to find a beautiful child with violet- blue eyes and wheaten-colored hair that flowed like the mane of a palomino pony. In her tiny hand, she held a small bouquet of wildflowers and a single red rose, which I found suspicious.

A specimen from her mother’s garden, perhaps?

For you, she said shyly. I smiled and took the flowers from her delicate little fingers, kneeling down to speak to her.

What’s your name, sweetheart? Where do you live?

Pia, she whispered while pointing at the house near the end of the street.

I smiled and nodded my head. I studied her for a moment feeling enchanted by her sweetness, but it was her boldness that I found most intriguing.

Would you like some cookies?

She nodded and took off her shoes and placed them neatly by the front door, as Swiss custom dictates. Then she followed me into the kitchen, where we sat down to homemade chocolate chip cookies and milk. Pia was reluctant to sample the cookies but, with a little coaxing, she enjoyed the experience.

After our treat, I put the gardening on hold and invited Pia to browse through Brian’s boxes of junk slated for either the recycling bin or the trash can, depending upon the eye of the beholder!

It didn’t take long for Pia to accumulate her bounty, as well as a few things for her younger brother, something I found particularly endearing. Pia always included her brother in everything, a testament to her loving nature and generous heart. I placed her treasures in a used cookie tin as I could tell that she was longing to run home and share her good fortune with her family.

I bent down to say goodbye, and to my surprise, she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, I love you.

Deeply touched, I thought about the innocence of childhood and how it felt to be young and openhearted.

I hugged her gently and whispered, I love you too.

Pia smiled and bent down to pick up her tin box when, suddenly, she screamed and rushed toward the pasture, abandoning her box of treasures. It took only a few seconds to realize what the excitement was about — and years to understand the impact on my life and future.

How quietly they appeared, without so much as a whisper, standing motionless behind the metal fence. The three of them were calm, as if waiting for an introduction. I could feel their eyes anticipating my every move, and their natural inquisitiveness made it easy to reach out and engage their attention.

It was the calf that first caught my eye. She had a sympathetic look that was both endearing and innocent. Her ears were tilted back, which meant she was shy, perhaps even apprehensive, although she was protected by her mother and a rather large bull.

She resembled a Holstein calf, although her body was predominately black except for her white face and tufts of curly, white hair on the top of her forehead and the tip of her tail. A black circle surrounded one of her eyes while the other was set within a dark patch that ran down the right side of her face. Soft, gray whiskers adorned a delicate nose that was speckled with pink and white spots, but the most striking feature of all was the perfectly formed white heart, that appeared as if painted on her front, lower right leg.

I know this calf! I saw her being born! Pia boasted as she told her story with uncanny accuracy about how she had witnessed the calf’s birth in the middle of the night.

We stood for a moment admiring the calf until I broke the silence. What do you think we should call her? She has to have a name!

Pia became suddenly quiet, managing only a blank stare on her innocent face. Whether by chance or providence, I knew the answer even before it left my lips.

"Let’s call her, Baby."

Pia giggled as I reached out to stroke the calf’s nose. She had no problem understanding the word Baby since it’s the same in the German language. Mama naturally followed, and it was only the poor bull who missed out on Papa, and just remained Bully until his last days.

Bully was larger than Mama in stature, but his eyes were deer-like, round and dark, possessing a soft gentleness that was in sharp contrast to his Herculean size. His hair was saddle brown, and a white stripe feathered horizontally down the middle of his back. His horns, compared to Mama’s, were straight and short with silvery-black tips. A white ring encircled his coal- black nose, giving him a teddy bear-like quality.

It wasn’t long before Mama’s curiosity got the best of her as she cleverly nudged Bully out of the way to make room for herself. Mama’s superior intelligence and leadership qualities were evident from our first encounter. Her dominance in the herd gave her a unique status as the lead cow; she was, by far, the most strong-willed and fearless in the herd. I admired her noble appearance, and her curved horns resembled spears perched upon a turret, ready for battle. Her nose was black except for a soft pink border, and her face was white except for her feisty eyes that were set within two dark circles. Tufts of curly black hair hung down between her horns, tempering her wild expression. Her body was predominately black, except for her four white ankles and the tip of her tail that she flung nervously back and forth.

Was she trying to tell me something?

Perhaps she wanted food, not just gentle strokes on the forehead.

My knowledge about the species Bos taurus was limited at best, and I had no idea other than grass, what they might eat, but apples seemed a good guess. I also knew that herd animals often ate carrots. I had purchased a few organic apples and carrots recently from the local health food store in Constance.

I knew I would get an earful from Brian for feeding the cows expensive fruits and vegetables, but I didn’t want to disappoint Pia or the cows. I quickly ran toward the house to retrieve the apples and carrots, leaving Pia clinging to the fence, trying to pet Baby.

When I returned, I took a small paring knife from the bag of apples and, of course, Pia tried to grab it, her impatience getting the better of her. I smiled, remembering that patience had never been my strong suit, and cut the apples and carrots and laid them in a pile.

It was definitely not the first time that Pia had fed the cows, and she took great pleasure in showing me how it was done. I observed, with keen interest, how she carefully placed a small chunk of apple on her palm, letting Mama take it without the slightest fear or hesitation. Pia’s expertise and knowledge were impressive for a five-year-old and, as the years passed, she never ceased to amaze me with her sophistication and maturity that reached far beyond her years.

It wasn’t long before Bully joined in, and Pia was using both hands to feed the cows simultaneously, which was no easy feat. I noticed that Baby hid quietly behind her mother and didn’t seem to want any treats. I tried to coax her with an apple, but she refused to come near the fence. I sensed that Baby was mistrustful of humans, and I couldn’t help wondering why.

Had she been abused or traumatized, either by the farmer or by some other caretaker? It turned out that my hunch wasn’t far from the truth, though it was only later that I would learn about the daily beatings which Baby endured during her first month of life.

The farmer raised cattle not only for meat but also for milk. He took milk from the mothers of calves as often as was possible without completely starving the calves. However, because the bond between Mama and Baby was so intense, the farmer struck Baby with a stick to keep her away from her mother while she was being milked. These beatings, according to Pia, were so severe that Baby was seen licking blood from her nose while cowering in the corner of the barn.

After a few weeks of daily beatings, the farmer decided that it wasn’t worth losing the calf and threw Mama and Baby out of the main barn onto the small pasture behind the house. I later learned the adjoining barns were reserved for cows that were on the hit list — cows intended for slaughter. I often wondered why Mama and Baby were separated from the main herd — now I knew the horrible truth.

I abandoned the idea of trying to lure Baby closer to the fence and decided that whatever was bothering her would reveal itself over time. I finally gave Mama the last carrot, and I could see by her reaction that she was far from satisfied. Out of frustration, she let out a long, soulful moo, which was somewhat unnerving, and I promised myself that I would never shortchange her again.

As the three of them strolled back to their stall, I felt sad to see them leave. Their gentleness and sense of loyalty to their small family moved me. I was intrigued by their presence and could hardly wait to learn more about the beautiful creatures in the coming months.

While learning about the cows, I didn’t realize that the knowledge and experiences gained in the coming years would change my life forever and set a new course that was rewarding but dangerous.

Baby was the last to round the corner, and I smiled as I watched her little tail sway back and forth, a seemingly happy gesture as she returned with her family back to their small shed.

It was time for Pia to go home as well, and I needed to finish the garden work before my seedlings perished in the afternoon sun.

Would you like to feed the cows again tomorrow? I asked.

Pia responded by wrapping her arms around my waist in a joyful hug, and as I looked down at her angelic face, I wondered what it would’ve been like to have had a daughter. I’ll never know, but I liked to imagine she would have been like Pia.

I grabbed her box of treasures and gave it to her with instructions for tomorrow’s meeting, even though I expected that, at her age, she would probably forget them. (It was the first and last time I would ever underestimate this little dynamo!) As I waved goodbye and watched her disappear down the street, like Baby, she seemed happy and content to return to her home and loving family.

That night I couldn’t sleep and watched the curtains sway in the breeze across the bedroom window. The night air felt damp and chilly, and I could almost feel a slight cold brewing.

Could you please close the window, Brian? It feels cold in here, I shivered, drawing the covers close around my neck.

Brian rolled over and, with one stretch of his ape-like arms, slammed the window shut with a bang.

Neither one of us was in the best of moods. The meeting with the realtor earlier that evening was both stressful and frustrating. We had hoped to purchase the house out of the divorce settlement, but all our efforts were in vain, and what was unthinkable just a few hours earlier had now become a terrible nightmare.

Brian was going to lose his home.

We couldn’t afford the new asking price demanded by his ex; the beautiful house I had called home would have to be sold. The news was devastating, and it was heartbreaking to know that everything I owned was making its way across the Atlantic to a foreign land with no port. I felt angry and disillusioned with Brian. By seeking to shield me from the details of his divorce, chaos now ensued in our new family. I felt that losing the home might have been prevented, if only he had trusted more in our relationship.

There was no use worrying about it now. A good night’s sleep seemed a far better alternative than wallowing in self-pity. I needed to reenergize and to consolidate all my resources if we hoped to keep the house in the coming year.

I turned out the light and closed my eyes, conscious of Brian’s breathing behind my shoulder. He had fallen asleep without saying goodnight, but I couldn’t be angry with him. It had been an exhausting day for both of us.

As I drifted off to sleep, the little black calf with the white heart came to mind. How could I gain her trust? The answer was as unclear, and the problem as daunting as holding onto the house.

No sooner did I close the refrigerator door than the irritating sound of the doorbell caused me to drop my apples onto the kitchen floor — Pia was right on time. Even though the five-year-old was too young to understand the concept of time, she was clever enough to make sure she wasn’t late for Baby’s feeding.

Brian! Could you please get the door? I’m busy in the kitchen, I screamed, while scrambling to retrieve the last of the apples that had rolled underneath the kitchen table. I quickly grabbed the plastic container with the apples and carrots and joined Brian at the front door.

Look who’s here, my dear … it’s Petra and Pia.

It’s so nice to meet you! I said while executing the customary handshake. Your daughter is quite the little helper.

Hmm … are we talking about the same girl here? she smiled as she lovingly brushed away several strands of hair from Pia’s eyes. I’m afraid Pia isn’t always so helpful at home!

As I studied Petra more closely, the resemblance between them was extraordinary. Petra had the same intense blue eyes, keen intellect, and high energy as her daughter. She was also sympathetic — crucial in cultivating a genuine friendship.

Pia brought you a small gift for all the wonderful things you gave her yesterday. Pia handed me a beautifully decorated box of handmade Swiss chocolates. They’re made here in our local chocolate factory, Petra said with pride. On the lid of the box were several sprigs of wildflowers and dandelions, loosely bundled by a pink, satin ribbon.

I picked the flowers myself, Pia said timidly, pointing to a small corner of weeds and wild grasses that bordered the pasture. But Mama helped me tie the bow … I like pink …

I like pink, too, I smiled. And thank you for the chocolates Petra, that was so thoughtful of you — and for the lovely flowers Pia. You’re such a sweetheart! I sealed my gratitude with kisses and hugs for mother and daughter alike. In doing so, I may have embarrassed Petra, and as a consequence, Pia cleverly seized an opportunity to exert her will — even at the tender age of five.

Mama, I want to stay with Diana and feed Baby! Pia demanded.

We discussed this earlier, darling. Your grandmother is coming today. Her sharp tone left no room for negotiation.

You can come over tomorrow as long as your Mama agrees, I offered. Pia looked disappointedly at her mother, but she knew it was hopeless.

I’ve noticed that children seem to have a keen sense of just how far they can push those buttons. But Petra wasn’t unreasonable and kept her promise to Pia about feeding the cows.

Brian was unusually quiet during Petra’s visit, and I could tell he seemed nervous and uncomfortable. Petra, after all, wasn’t just my neighbor, but she was the ex’s as well. It’s never easy taking the place of another person, and even harder for acquaintances and friends to understand your new relationship. It takes time for everyone to adjust, and I knew I had to be patient, or I wouldn’t have the strength to hold this family together. I could tell that Brian needed a distraction, and he was relieved when I suggested he continue my job search on the Internet. I needed to find work since our finances were more than tight.

Thankfully, there were no further interruptions as I grabbed the plastic container filled with treats and went to the backyard. The sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky, and there was a pair of ravens hunting for insects in the middle of the field but no sign of the cows. I wondered if the farmer had locked them up, and the idea that he denied them access to the pasture was both irritating and worrisome.

I looked at my watch and had almost given up hope when Mama suddenly rounded the corner from behind the stall. She hesitated only for a moment, curiously studying the plastic container I held in my hands. It took only a few seconds for Mama to recognize what it was and, with the speed and finesse of a thoroughbred, she galloped like the wind across the pasture. When Mama reached the fence, she stopped and uttered one long, melodious moo.

As my relationship with Mama grew, I learned that not all cows were the same. Cows are as individual as people and differ greatly in personality and intelligence. Mama vocalized her feelings as a form of communication. Not only could Mama sing, but she could also speak. And she was coming through loud and clear!

I was careful not to entice Mama too close to the electric fence, consisting of wire cables attached to wooden stakes that were posted along the perimeter of the pasture. During a feeding, I learned the hard way that the charge running through the cable could knock you flat and sting like the devil.

It was unnerving to watch the cows screaming in pain when they accidentally touched it, which sometimes occurred when they reached for grass under the fence. Even the calves were not immune from this barbaric form of cruelty, and would temporarily become paralyzed when they touched the fence of pain. Mama’s handsome Bully was not about to be left out as he cleverly positioned himself to receive his share of apples and carrots. They ate so ravenously that it was difficult to feed them all at once, and it was Mama, as usual, who received the lion’s share. I threw several pieces of apple to Baby, trying to coax her to the fence, but she remained crouched behind Mama’s tail, like a child hiding behind her mother’s apron.

I called Baby by name and, in some strange way, she understood that I was speaking to her. Maybe it was my soft voice or the way I stroked Mama’s nose that made her feel at ease. When she finally made a move for the fence, I tossed her a piece of apple, which landed near her feet but, this time, she didn’t run away. She ate the apple cautiously and then looked around for more but, unfortunately, I was out of treats. I soon realized that I would need more than just a bag of carrots or apples to satisfy their voracious appetites.

Mama seemed to understand the nose petting was a signal that feeding time had come to an end. Even more surprising, Mama enjoyed the affection as much as she enjoyed the food. The treats were the reason for coming — but love was the reason for staying. I found this to be true for all the cows.

Mama and Bully seemed content and slowly made their way along the fence to continue grazing at the other end of the pasture. As I watched Baby leave, I knew that I had gained her trust — if only in a small way. Although this was the first step in a long journey, I believed over time, Baby would regain her faith in human beings.

But would humankind be worthy of that trust?

The days were becoming longer as I watched the pasture behind the house burst with wild daisies and buttercups amidst a sea of lush grass. It was a