HE CALLED THE CALF «BUTTONS»—BUT WHEN THE TRUCK ARRIVED, GRANDPA COULDN’T BRING HIMSELF TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYE
Buttons wasn’t supposed to be anything extraordinary—just a calf we helped raise in the spring. But Ezra, my son, fell for her the moment they met.
Every morning before school, he’d bottle-feed her, and every afternoon, he’d rush off the bus just to check on her. In no time, she became his best friend.
But she wasn’t ours. She was part of a neighbor’s arrangement, being raised to be sold at auction. Ezra didn’t know that. Then, today, the truck pulled up.
Ezra stood with Buttons, grinning—but when he saw the man in boots, his smile faded. “Why is he here?” he asked softly. I didn’t know how to answer.
Grandpa muttered under his breath, “He shouldn’t have named her.” Ezra gripped the rope tighter. When Mr. Hargrove started talking business, Ezra cried, “No! She’s mine!”
I gently explained, “She’s not ours. We’re just helping.” “Until someone buys her?” he shouted. “Then what?”
He dropped the rope and ran into the woods. Buttons followed, confused. I asked Mr. Hargrove for a moment and went after him.
I found Ezra sitting under the oak tree, tears streaming down his face. Buttons had somehow found her way there too, nibbling on clover beside him.
After a while, he whispered, “Why do they get to decide?” “They own her,” I said softly. “But I’m the one who loves her,” he murmured. “Doesn’t that matter?”
In that moment, I wanted to tell Ezra that love should always be enough—that it meant more than ownership. But life isn’t always fair. Instead, I wrapped my arm around him and said, “It counts more than you think. You made her family.”
He leaned against me. “So what happens now?”
“We finish raising her,” I told him. “And when it’s time, we say goodbye the right way. She’ll remember you—animals never forget kindness.”
Back at the house, Grandpa told Ezra he’d asked for more time with Buttons. “A month,” he said. “Figured you both needed it.”
Ezra hugged him tight. Grandpa pretended to be tough, but I saw the smile behind his gruff exterior.
In the weeks that followed, Ezra made the most of every moment—running through the fields with Buttons, lying in the sun, laughing together. I captured everything, knowing those memories would become precious.
When Clara, the new owner, came to pick up Buttons, Ezra asked her to take good care of her. Clara promised, and just before she stepped into the trailer, Buttons paused, locking eyes with Ezra—as if to say goodbye.
Ezra stood still as the truck pulled away. I held him close. Some goodbyes don’t need words. Time passed, and Ezra stayed busy, but he missed her.
Then, one day, a package arrived. Inside was a photo of Buttons in a lush green field, happy and free. Clara had written, “Thank you for loving her.” Ezra hung the photo above his bed.
That evening, as we watched the sunset, he asked, “Do you think she remembers me?” “I know she does,” I replied. “Love lasts, even when you’re far apart.” And for the first time in weeks, he smiled with all his heart.
