Non-Compliant

Some dairy farmers love to have all the latest gadgets and toys, but not Trent. The roar of his 22-year-old Honda quadbike was not a roar at all, but a high-pitched whine as it struggled up over the hill and down into the valley. It was early August and the morning fog was barely noticeable. A radio strapped to the handlebars could be heard as it closed in on the milking shed, “….cterial infection… zzhz… thousands…milk down the drain.” A button press later, a song cut in. A twist of the knob and the volume shot up — “..and all of your dreams are too much to value in one moment”. Trent pulled up to the shed, killed the engines, turned down the music and looked down the hill at the first cows to come over the rise. He stood with his arms crossed, just looking at them for a while longer before going about his work.

On mornings like this he wished more of his job was working outside. Slumped at his computer desk he started the arduous task of what he called “homework”: emails, spreadsheets, websites, etcetera. Only a few minutes after getting started though, a welcome distraction knocked at his door. His 6-year-old daughter Dahlia was standing in the doorway struggling to hold the mug straight in one hand since she had used the other to knock.

“Mum said you neeeeeded this”, she said with a look of confusion.

Trent smiled and beckoned her over.

“Do you want to help Dad with his homework?” he asked as he took the tea.

“Nooo!” she said, giggling and running from the room.

“Yeah, me neither”, he said to no one in particular.

One by one, he checked off the tasks on his lists: ordering supplies, responding to emails, updating his forecasting. While arduous, he was quite proud of how they were tracking for this season, it was turning out to be a good year for production. Trent’s wife Belinda walked in as he went through the Fonterra newsletter.

“Get a load of this, Bel. Bacteria never before seen in milk production”, he said, pointing at the screen while she sat down in an armchair behind him.

“That’s no good, dear”, she said.

“Some people just don’t know how to look after their herd. Dairy farmers get a bad enough rap as it is”, he went on.

Belinda nodded heartily.

“Are you finished with your homework? I was going to take Dahlia down to the market if you want to tag along?” she asked.

“Sure, that sounds nice”, he said.

As the family were about to leave, the phone rang.

“Hello, Trent here”, he answered.

Dahlia and Belinda waited patiently by the door holding empty shopping bags while Trent made polite “ah, yes” and “oh, that’s no good” sounds.

“Sorry, loves, that was Dave. Some of the cattle have gotten into his yard again. Raincheck?” he asked.

“It’s not raining, Dad!” Dahlia said.

Then a grin spread across her face.

“She does take after you”, Belinda said as she kissed Trent on the way out.

Trent grabbed the keys for the quad and headed out too. It didn’t take too long to get the cows back on the other side of the fence and he drove back up the drive to apologise to his neighbour.

“Sorry about that, mate”, he said to the ragged-looking man sitting out on the veranda. “Need to tighten up the fence.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it, we are drying off early this year anyway, so no worries”, he replied. “Going to take the family on a trip, you know — make the most of it while we are still young.”

“Nice!” Trent said. “You and Leesh have really been making a go of it. You deserve a good break.”

“Thanks, yeah, day drinking on a beach in Raro seems pretty appealing right about now”, Dave said.

“Well, enjoy it. I’m going to run down to the markets, see if I can’t catch up with Bel and Dahlia — need anything?” Trent asked.

“Nah, thanks though, have a good one”, Dave replied.

Trent nodded and headed out along the road towards town.

Over the next few weeks everything fell nicely into place, the calves grew quick. Trent didn’t feel the need to do as many early morning checks and hadn’t had to mix electrolytes at all this season. The herd had never looked better.

Each time he thought about it, Trent struggled to figure out what he had done differently this year. Normally he would be dealing with calf deaths, isolation pens and scours. But this season was different. In the end he chalked it up to the good weather coming out of winter, less mud meant fewer places for things to fester.

Trent laughed one morning opening packages he received in the post.

“Get a load of this, Bel. Farmsource have sent us some testing kits”, he shouted across the yard to Belinda, who strolled over to take a look.

“I’m sure some people need them”, Belinda said, “and it can’t hurt to test our milk, better safe than sorry.”

“You’re not wrong, Bel”, Trent said. “I will grab some milk and we can get Dahl to give us a hand when she gets home from school.”

“Sounds good”, Belinda said.

A while later Trent and Dahlia were sitting at the kitchen table, swabs in hands and little pails of milk dotted about the place. Belinda stood in the kitchen working on her world-famous spag bol.

“That can’t be right”, Trent said. “Dahl, pass me that piece of paper please.”

Dahlia handed it to her Dad and he read it through aloud.

“Two lines indicate a positive result, one line is the control and the other is for the test.”

“This one has two lines”, Dahlia said, handing her Dad one of the plastic strips.

“Oh, this one too and this one”, she said again. “That’s good, right Dad?”

He looked at her a little confused.

“Bel, I don’t think that’s what this means.”

He took the test and paper over to show his wife.

“That can’t be right”, Belinda said. “That would mean the milk does have the bacteria.”

“The milk looks and smells fine, though”, he said.

He thought for a moment.

“These tests have to be wrong, or maybe we used them wrong? Was there anything else in the instructions?” he asked Dahlia.

“I don’t think so”, she said, despite not having read the instructions at all.

“Ah, we won’t worry about it then. The cows are so healthy, there couldn’t be anything wrong with the milk. The calves would be in much worse shape”, said Trent.

“I will give Phil a call after dinner and see if he has heard anything about it”, he said.

Phil and Trent grew up together, both sons of dairy farmers, got into the family business at a young age and took over eventually.

Belinda had made a mean apple crumble and wanted Trent to have some while it was hot, but stopped at the door when she overheard Trent talking.

“They dumped the whole tanker?!” Trent stammered through the phone.

He sat in silence for a while longer, listening to Phil retell how it played out.

Belinda listened to Trent listening to Phil.

“Damn fools!” Trent said. “Who do they think they are?!”

Belinda waited for the call to end, then ventured in, warm crumble in hand.

“How is Phil doing?” she asked gingerly.

“Not great”, Trent replied.

“Same thing?” Belinda asked.

“That was Phil. This is us. We take such good care of our cows, they are healthy. Our cows are in the best shape of their lives.”

The next Tuesday Belinda came home from work early to find half a dozen empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter and Trent in his armchair watching TV.

“What’s up?” she asked. “Where was my invite?”

“They won’t take it”, Trent said harshly.

“Won’t take what?” she asked.

“The bloody milk!” he yelled, slamming the beer in his hand down hard.

“It’s okay”, Belinda said. “We will figure something out.”

Trent said nothing.

“We always do”, she said.

Trent stood up, looked at Belinda, then looked away. He stormed past, grabbing another beer from the fridge and heading for his office.

Hours passed. Dahlia came home from school. Belinda and her had dinner together. The girls watched TV, then went to bed.

Trent was still in the study. He had gone to sleep too. He lay on his desk, head resting on his arm, half a beer still in his hand. The illumination from the computer screen was the only source of light in the room.

A document was open on the computer: Options.xlsx.

The spreadsheet was empty.