It was Marge’s turn. Tim liked Marge. She was the calmest. His pride. With a pedigree better than a queen, at least if you asked Tim.

He adjusted his not-so-new white coat. The coat he introduced when he took over the farm from his father to make it modern. He lost count of how many coats he has worn over the past forty years. He threw them away once they were worn out. In his coat, Tim could be mistaken for a doctor. Truth be told, to Marge and the other girls he was the closest to a doctor they knew.

He sat down on a stool.

“There there Marge.” He caressed her soft fur. It reminded him of the most expensive velvet. “My darling. Don’t worry, it’s all right.” He patted her side.

He stroked methodically her udder. The milk started to pour. It landed in the bucket with a metallic sound. To Tim, it was like a symphony. It was full of memories of his parents, his wife, his life. From childhood to this very day.

His eyes watered. He rested his head on Marge’s side, trying to savour the moment, to stop the time.

“Dad, are you there?”

Tim kept on milking Marge ignoring his son’s voice.

“Dad, it’s time.”

“Let me finish this Mark,” Tim said trying to delay the inevitable. Mark was standing right behind him, unsure what to do next.

“I am sorry, dad,” he whispered. Tim looked into his eyes. When did the things go so wrong? He remembered the small excited boy who loved being outdoors. He didn’t see him today. In fact, he hadn’t seen him for a long time. He saw a stranger in his fancy town clothes. A bit of a ridiculous sight in the barn next to the pile of manure.

Mark offered him a hand to help to stand up. Tim thought that Mark had very weak grip. Should he blame the boarding school they sent Mark to when he was just twelve? He hated it there. They thought it was for his best. He never came back the same. He learnt to dislike the farm.

“I am really sorry dad. We can start again, can we?” It was a lie. Tim nodded. He knew it was too late. For him, for both of them. He would be the last generation farming there. He was the sixth and the last.

Tim walked out of the barn into the sun. He didn’t pay attention to Mark or the people from the bank who took all the cows out to sell them at the auction. He didn’t care if it paid Mark’s debt. It didn’t matter. It was over.