I SLID OFF THE STILE and took a few steps towards the stack. The cut ends of grass felt prickly under my feet. I took ten more steps, then another ten, and nobody noticed. By the time I got to where Clop finished his walk, I’d given up counting. Jerry grinned. “G’day, Maggie.” His face brown with dust, bits of hay stuck in his hair, his nose burnt red, he looked like his father. It popped out. I heard myself saying, “Can I lead Clop?” “I don’t know if he’ll let you. He’s not all that good around strangers.” Jerry clicked his tongue and tugged at the halter so Clop backed up, the rope ran through the pulleys, and the stacker lowered its long teeth. “Clop knows me.” I said, reaching up and patting his neck. “I talk to him in the yard at the factory, when your father takes the milk over on his cart.” Clop was wearing blinkers, so he could only see straight in front. He lowered and turned his big head, snuffled my hair, and gave an enormous wet snort on my hand, as I rubbed his nose.
