A gentle breeze floated in the open window, rustling the curtains and cooling the thick August air. All senses on full alert, I suddenly heard the noise that had ripped me from a deep sleep: the terrifying sound of seemingly every cow and sheep in the entire city of Logan mooing and bleating in terror.
The hair on my arms stood up. It was unsettling. It was unnatural. Why would an entire herd of animals be in distress at three-something in the morning?
In the stillness, my brain could only recall two things.
1. The night Joseph Smith was killed, it was reported that the cows went crazy, bellowing all night. But who had died? Anyone high profile enough to upset cows and sheep who hadn't even been told yet had to be someone serious.
2. My sister told me once that during the county fair, someone broke into the barns and beat the animals. They could hear them squealing in the middle of the night. The images that began to evoke in my brain left me feeling sick.
Neither scenario--the only two on file in my overly-alert brain--left wildly pumping heart ready to roll over and go back to sleep.
What horrible event was nature trying to communicate?
What was I supposed to do?
We had recently moved to Logan and lived on a hill above the university barns. Here I was, in the middle of the night, with the cries of hundreds of animals pleading for my assistance.
Unable to reason on my own at such an hour, I jabbed an elbow into my slumbering husband.
"Paul...Paul!"
"Mmmmm?"
"Paul! Wake up! Something's wrong!"
"What? What's the matter?"
"Do you hear that?"
"Yeah...."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
Well, what? I thought. Typical response. As if I would be waking you up at some horrendous hour just to inform you that there are animals making noise. Please...
"Well....I think there's something wrong. Animals don't just...make noise like that in the middle of the night for no reason. I'm from Idaho. I would know."
"So close the window."
"No! The animals! I'm worried about the animals! What if...if someone got in? Or some drunk college kid is harming them? You know how I feel about people harming animals! I mean, hurting each other is one thing, but animals?"
"So???"
"So what should I do?!"
"I don't know. You can call the police..."
"CALL THE POLICE?"
"Yeah. They can go check it out."
"I am NOT calling the police. What am I going to say. 'Uh, hi! There are some animals making noise outside.'?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"I'm not calling the police."
However, I had been married long enough to know that if I asked for advice and then didn't take it, my husband would determine his job was finished, and would promptly roll back over--falling asleep in roughly 0.6 seconds.
I wrestled with myself. Internally I played out the police scenario. It didn't go well. I searched the universe. What were my other options?
Drive to the barn myself?
And then what?
Excuse me? You, harming the animals? Yeah, um...I need you to stop that, because we don't do that.
Hardly.
The longer I contemplated, the more stressed I became at the crying animals. Desperately, I felt my pride begin to crumble.
"I can't call 9-1-1," I firmly insisted.
"Why not?"
"Because, this isn't an emergency!"
"Well...then call campus police."
"I don't know the phone number for the campus police!"
And then, in a move that can be understood only to those who are married to engineers, his phone was before me, ready to hit "Dial," the number of the campus police already programmed in (probably the day after we moved in).
My heart beat faster. Was I really going to do this? Seriously?
I hit the green button and heard the campus police phone begin to ring.
"Campus Police, what is your emergency?"
"Uh...yeah...um...there are some cows and sheep that are really loud...and...uh...I'm worried that something might be wrong."
LONG SILENCE.
"Some cows and sheep?"
"Yeah...I...uh...live above the university barns, and I...um...I can hear them through my window. And they're...they're really loud...and I'm worried maybe someone got in...or there's something wrong...."
"So...you're hearing animals?
"Can you see in the barn?
"Did you see someone go in?"
"Um...no. I am at home. I heard them from my window. It's...open."
"So you didn't see anything?"
"No."
"And you weren't there? At the barn? Where the animals are?"
"No."
("And how many drinks have you had?" I could hear her thinking. "And what sorority do you belong to? And who dared you to call me?" I could almost see her eyes rolling through the glowing cell phone.)
"Okay, well, I'm going to need to get your information..."
(Oh, great, I thought. I can see it now. My information. In a full police report. In some file or record somewhere that someone will find one day when I am in a desperately critical situation and use it to prove I haven't been mentally well for a long, long time. Disrespect for law enforcement. Erratic behavior. Fake police reports.)
Demoralizing. Absolutely demoralizing. The conversation continued to spiral downward until she promised she would send campus police to go "check it out."
I hung up the phone, filled suddenly with overwhelming emotion--equal parts relief and humiliation. I could feel the red flush on my cheeks in the darkness. I handed the phone back to my husband.
"Well?"
"She said they'll check it out," I said.
I got up and--in one firm push--shut the window and closed the blinds, then crawled back into bed.
The burden of the welfare of the barnyard animals of Logan was off my shoulders. They were now in the capable hands of the campus police. Satisfied, I rolled over and fell into a deep sleep, knowing I would be second guessing myself the next morning when my husband would confirm it was definitely not a dream.
I have since decided that when I reached the pearly gates one day, I am remembering this one.
No doubt I will have a mile-long list of offenses I've committed on Earth, but you better believe I will be sure to note that I risked my own reputation to save the animals.
I hope the cows and sheep are happy.
