Red flag.
Then another.
Then another.
After two weeks, the stakes formed an imperfect arc around the pond’s center.
Warren looked at the pattern.
Marcus looked too.
Neither commented.
Then the heifer went through.
It happened late on a Wednesday afternoon.
Eli was carrying feed buckets toward the barn when shouting came from the lower pasture.
Marcus ran past him with a rope.
“Stay back!”
Eli followed far enough to see.
A yearling heifer had wandered toward the northeast shore.
Her front legs had punched through the surface.
Not into ordinary mud.
Through it.
Her chest rested against the ground while her hind legs scrambled for footing.
Marcus approached from solid soil.
Dale, who had been visiting, circled from the opposite side.
They looped a rope safely around the heifer and used the side-by-side to take tension while the men guided her backward.
It took twenty minutes.
When she finally came free, she staggered, shook mud from her legs, and moved immediately away from the water.
Marcus inspected her.
No obvious serious injury.
Then everyone looked at the hole she had left.
It was not shaped like a hoof print.