I drive to see our cattle. I park in front of their new paddock and curl up to watch them. It’s been seven months since Dad signed his name on the back of a carton of Gold. Our cattle were moved to someone else’s land because our paddocks are dust. I watch them from my car for hours. My battery is getting flat from running the aircon in neutral. I pretend to call Ellen and hold my fingers like a phone to my ear. It’s been ten months since she’s been home. My neck is red because I know I look crazy. I tell her everything I see: The cattle are content. They move across the grass and swallow water with soft, wobbly throats.