There Are Still Some Mysteries

My young neighbor attended an
agricultural college and came
home with a diploma and a major
in genetics. He bred the son
of a prize bull to a cow whose
pedigree made her the queen of
the country. Then he bled anxiety
for nine months to pass.
He invited me over when the cow
reached her term. And one day
when the weather let me finish
morning chores before I had to
start the chores at night, I went
to see. His face wore the look
of a man who explored a new land
with the wrong map. He showed
the calf, the cutest little whiteface
you ever saw, lively as a cricket—
but a dwarf! He shook his head,
there are some things, he said,
I do not understand.