Independent People by Halldor Laxness

WISELY the whimbrel tunes her lay, -all the singers from the south flown home to marsh and heath, the snow-white grass of winter one with the green of the sward, green, all green in the dingles and everywhere along the streams, and yes, so many days of spring gone by that surely it must be time to let out the cow. They talked about it for a few days, but Finna wanted to choose a day that was bright and warm for the ceremony. Soon there came a day that was warm and bright. The cow-shed was opened and the cow unfastened. Unsteady on her legs, hesitant, puffing and snorting through distended nostrils, she stuck her head out of the door with a rumble of anticipation; out of the darkness and stench of winter into the light and fragrance of spring. The change was sudden, she needed time to adjust herself. On the paving she gave a great low at the sun, then, after cautiously picking her way forward for a step or two, she halted once more to drink in the fragrance of fine weather. She tried to low again, but it seemed as if she could say nothing more for amazement; was she dreaming? There had been so many times when she had dreamed of sunshine and green pasture in the darkness and smell of her shed that she could hardly believe that at last her dream was coming true. She made off down the slope at a sober trot, but after a few moments she could confine her joy no longer, this was really freedom at last. She broke into a gallop, clumsy and stiff after the confinement of winter, and, waving her tail in the air, raced away down into the marshes at full speed. Insensible of all dimensions, she galloped aimlessly in great haphazard curves and circles, lowing and bellowing her song for the spring; and the children ran after her laughing and shrieking till at last she halted in a bog, up to the hocks in mud and panting heavily. Day was far spent before she had calmed down sufficiently to think of grazing.

For the first few days she was graciously allowed to stay in the home-field, though Bjartur grudged her every mouthful that she cropped, for the manured grass, though the total yield would do no more than lace the cow's fodder, was indispensable to the ewes towards the end of winter. He continued to talk disparagingly of the animal which had broken in upon his household and upset all proportions. And the bitch followed her master's example. She was an old and conservative bitch now, and in any case had never had the sagacity of her mother, who was wont to take new-born children to foster and give them life. She often lay on the paving, sleepy-eyed and dejected, but always wakeful enough to follow the cow's every movement with sour eyes. When least expected, she would slink out over the home-field and, stealing up from behind, would watch her chance to sink her teeth in the cow's shanks. The cow would try to defend herself and would lash out with her hoofs or turn with lowered head and try to chase her off, but she would give up; the bitch was too elusive. Then they would stand facing each other, the bitch with ugly sideward glance and teeth bared in a snarl, yelping now and then, the cow tossing her head and sputtering.