"Good morning, ladies," Gwendolyn Miller bellowed, her voice echoing off the metal siding of the barn. The greeting was answered by a scattered chorus of both feral and anthropomorphic groans. Very few were happy to see her.

It was just past 5am, and the summer sun had already risen. Yellow light leaked through the gaps in the walls and ceiling, highlighting the grit and sawdust in the air and giving the barn a hazy, industrial ambience. By noon this place would be scorching hot. Several massive fans built into one end of the barn provided some ventilation, but all they really did was blow hot air from one side of the shedrow to the other. If the occupants had rights under the law, this sort of accommodation would certainly be considered abusive, but the occupants had no such protections.

Alongside the typical feral cattle one might find on farm were a number of anthropomorphic bovines, each with a unique appearance. Some had black-and-white fur, others had red or brown, some had short, glossy coats while others were shaggy and ill-kept. All of them appeared more "feral" than most, having hooves instead of feet, for example, or udders below their bellies, or long, bestial snouts. They were also all prisoners, either by happenstance or by design, punished by transport to Wildur Farms to serve their sentence.

Gwendolyn could have easily fit in as one of the prisoners. She was covered in red, coarse fur, with a shaggy mop of the same on top of her head. She had short horns that curled upwards in a 'U' shape just above her ears, and powerful legs that ended in heavy cloven hooves. She was neither inmate nor warden, however, falling instead into a third category of Wildur inhabitants - indentured servants. Gwen was technically a free woman, at least as free as she could be with her feral bloodline, but she didn't have the resources to actually leave, and there were systems in place to make sure those resources never materialized. She didn't mind, or at least she told herself she didn't. She was too "feral" for the civilized world to accept, but at least here she could feel useful.

"Gwen-d’win!' Came a high pitched voice from down the line, "Gwen-do-win help!"

It didn't sound particularly urgent, Gwen thought, it sounded more like one of those creepy dolls that talked when you pulled a string. She knew at once who the voice belonged to.

"Gwen’s coming, Meadow," she sighed, "Gwen’s coming."

Meadow was another anthro born on the farm, but something wasn't quite right with her. Maybe something happened to her mom when she was pregnant, or maybe she got the smarts beaten out of her when she was younger. Maybe she was a throwback to an animal ancestor way back in her family tree. Regardless of how it happened, Meadow never mentally progressed past the age of three or four. She had trouble walking, could barely talk, and it was often said she had more in common with the four-legged cows than she did with anyone else. But that never seemed to bother her. For all her shortcomings, Meadow always seemed to have a smile on her face.

Gwendolyn walked down the cement shedrow, heavy hooves splashing against the layer of water and muck that collected on the concrete. The livestock - anthro and feral alike - were haltered and tied to a wooden fence on either side, separated by a few wooden planks to keep them from turning around or getting tangled in their own ropes. Meadow was near the end, laying on her side in her pen to take the weight of her enormous pregnant belly off her fragile legs. She was completely naked, like most animals, and her mostly-white fur was caked with dirt, sawdust, and muck. "Meadow," she accused, "you're filthy!"

Meadow tried to hide a giggle. it was as if she liked making more work for the heifer. "Baby!" Meadow pointed to her belly, "Baby now!"

Gwen shook her head. "I don't think so, Meadow," she replied, reaching down to pat Meadow's belly. She'd been saying "baby now" for days and nothing was happening. She was actually starting to get worried, she knew Meadow was expecting a feral calf, and she wasn't sure how a baby so large was going to come out of a body so small. "Maybe tomorrow," Gwen offered. She got up and continued her little morning patrol, noting a feral cow that was on her side.

"Baby, Gwen, baby!" Meadow cried out from behind her. "Not today, Meadow," Gwendolyn repeated without turning around. She figured Meadow would lose interest shortly, like she always did. Besides, this other cow might actually need her help.

The feral cow in question was an older animal named Lavender. Her hindquarters were almost entirely black save for a white streak near her tail, and her other half was almost entirely white except for a black splotch up the underside of her neck and chin. She was down on her side and Gwendolyn saw a telltale strand of clear goo dangling from under her tail. She started an imaginary timer as she crouched down for a closer look. She had a routine here on the farm - she gave every one of her girls a fair shake to deliver a calf on their own before she stepped in to help. She wouldn't describe herself as particularly 'hands-off', but she didn't want to get involved before she knew she was going to be needed, otherwise she got accused by the wardens of being "soft"  or "wasting time". Even if an animal was suffering it wouldn't be good to be seen doting on it when there were so many other chores to be done. So she watched and waited as the cow pushed, her belly and tailhole straining. She watched and waited until her imaginary timer ran out.

Now feeling justified in her concern, Gwendolyn gently slid her hand alongside the cow's flank and then between its bony thighs. The bovine's thick labia squelched as her fingers parted the dark-skinned folds. She felt nothing at first, and then pushed her hand almost entirely inside, wincing as she felt the fluid matting the fur on her wrist. At least, with her entire hand up inside the cow's birth canal, she felt something round and bony. "Well that's not a hoof," she said out loud, "Lav, you didn't tell me you were carrying a two-legger!

Lavender let out a frustrated-sounding moo in response.

Gwendolyn knew she couldn't grab the calf's head while it was still this deep, or her hand would get crushed by Lavender's pelvis. She also couldn't use ropes or chains without trying it around the baby's neck, which was obviously a bad idea. She needed to get the forceps. "Don't go anywhere," She ordered, patting Lavender on her bony rump. Lavender again let out an aggravated moo.

The forceps were in the equipment room alongside the feeding buckets, haphazardly hanging on the wall beside the pantry. Cleanliness wasn't exactly a priority here, the hose was always good enough for anything or anyone that needed watering down. Gwendolyn grabbed the metal tools and walked confidently back down the stallway, eyes flicking this way and that as she made a mental list of chores to do once she pulled Lavender's calf. She could clean out the feed buckets again, she thought, maybe wipe down some of the fan blades to keep them from getting too gross . . . and as usual the whole place could use a hosing down. She was always looking for the next thing to do, another way to make herself useful to justify her continued residency at the farm, because as bad as things could get here, the outside world didn't want her, and the alternative was worse.

She clicked the two halves of the long forceps together like oversize barbeque tongs, earning a few worried looks from the barn's residents. She clicked them again once she got closer to Lavender, then patted the beast on her side and slowly pushed her two fingers back in under her tail. "It's gonna be cold," she warned, sliding one half of the forceps in alongside her fingers. She guided the metal paddle further inside until she felt what she was sure was an anthro head, and pushed the tool to one side around it. "One down," she signed, pulling her hand out with a squelching sound, "one to go."

Lavender started to fidget when the anthropomorphic cow inserted the other half of the forceps, threatening to get up and dislodge the instrument. Gwen set her straight with a firm elbow to her hip. "You know better," she warned, "stay down and this'll be over in just a minute." She pushed the other half of the forceps in alongside the first, and slid her hand deep in alongside it to guide it to the other side of the baby's head before locking the two halves together. "There," she nodded with satisfaction, keeping a loose grip on her end, "You just let me know when you're ready, alright?"

When Lavender started to push, Gwendolyn pulled on the forceps and leaned back. Lavender groaned in discomfort, but she could feel the baby's big, round head slowly making progress. She tried to pull steadily, making sure she didn't jerk the forceps and break the calf's neck. When Lavender stopped pushing, Gwen stopped pulling and pushed her fingers inside the bovine's gaping birth canal. "C'mon, Lav," she sighed, not feeling as much progress as she liked, "I've got chores to do. Let's go!"

As if in protest, Lavender refused to push. Gwendolyn could feel the cow's muscles tightening and straining, and yet the calf didn't budge. "Really?" she grunted, grabbing the forceps and leaning back. She tried pulling the forceps gently from side to side to try and 'rock' the head out, and she could feel a tiny amount of give. When Lavender relaxed this time, however, Gwendolyn kept pulling. Lavender lowed in discomfort, but the farmhand simply gritted her teeth and kept pulling, yanking the forceps down towards Lavender's udders as the head was wedged into view.

Gwendoln let go of the forceps and watched them clatter to the ground. "Quit fightin' me, Lav," she grinned, wiping the sweat from her red-furred brow, "I'm only tryin' to help. Besides," she added, "I'll win."

With the hardest part over, Gwen shuffled closer to the emerging calf and got a better look. The calf's head was almost all black, save for a white splotch around its left eye. She tried to wipe as much of the slime off its face as she could with her hand, and squeezed its black nose to clear out as much of the fluid and mucus from its nostrils as she could. Before she could finish, however, Lavender seemingly regained her strength and suddenly started pushing again. Gwen didn't have time to try and catch the calf, only able to put her hands out to guide the anthropomorphic baby down away from Lavender's tail and toward her udders as it somersaulted out.

"You did that on purpose," Gwen accused, glaring at Lavender who had turned to look at the new arrival. It seemed healthy enough, and was already taking its first noisy breaths while it slowly started to move its arms and legs. The newborn calf was almost all entirely black, save for the white spot on its eye which she saw earlier, and more white fur down near its hands and hooves. Gwendolyn rolled the sticky calf over in the sawdust and pulled the umbilical cord out of the way, laying her eyes on a pair of puffy black hairless labia. The newborn heifer protested by stretching its arms out and letting out a feeble, gurgling cry. She ignored her, instead holding one of her slimy legs down while she pried open the newborn's folds with her thumb to reveal the pink flesh inside.

"It's a heifer," Gwendolyn confirmed, sliding the newborn closer to Lavender's udders so it could figure out how to nurse, "congratulations." She tried to sound sincere, but as a girl born on Wildur Farm, the new arrival's options were limited. If she was fertile she could end up like Meadow, pumping out milk and calves for the rest of her days. If she wasn't, she'd have to find some other way of justifying her existence before the farm owners did away with her, like Gwen. She could also end up like Arlo, an undocumented "wild child" with an uncertain future.

Gwendolyn stayed with the pair for a few minutes, watching the four-legged Lavender lick her crying, squirming, two-legged calf clean. Lavender didn't care what her babies looked like, Gwen thought, she mothered them just the same. More mothers could use that sort of mindset.

The more she sat with the two cattle, the more she noticed that Lavender wasn't settling down. The cow kept shuffling, getting up and down and generally looking uncomfortable. "Something the matter, Lav?" Gwen asked, putting a hand on her bony flank. Lavender lowed in discomfort. She still hadn't passed the calf's placenta, and Gwendolyn wondered if there was something wrong. She slid her hand from Lavender's hip to under her tail, and gently inserted her fingers into the gaping, sticky birth canal. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, but she had grown used to it after years of experience of being elbow-deep in all sorts of livestock. She felt Lavender tense up and relax around her hand before sliding it in deeper, feeling the rubbery umbilical cord against her wrist. Deeper still she found the source of the problem - a slimy, rubbery hoof tucked away deep inside. "Ah-hah!" the farmhand exclaimed, straining to reach the rest of the appendage. It felt small, likely another anthropomorphic calf - which meant she was actually grabbing the calf's leg, which meant it was breech. "Crap." She tried to grab the calf's ankle to pull, but it was too far back and too slippery to grip. "Crap," she repeated, "gonna need the ropes."

Gwendolyn pulled her hand out of Lavender's birth canal with a visceral slurping sound, and the feral beast grunted in displeasure. "Sorry Lav," she offered, "I'm in kind of a hurry now." She walked quickly down the shedrow, her hooves splashing in the wet muck as she went back to the equipment room to grab the ropes.

"The ropes" was actually one long piece of frayed hemp rope, with slipknots tied at both ends. In an emergency, they could be used to loop around a feral calf's legs and pull it out. They could be used on two-legged calves too, but the risk of injury was much higher. Gwendolyn had heard of more specialized tools for pulling anthropomorphic calves, but the administration at Wildur never sprang for new equipment, forcing the staff and inmates to make do with what was on hand. She grabbed the well-used rope and headed back down the shedrow to Lavender, and kneeled down behind her again.

"This might rub a bit," she warned, taking one looped end of the rope in her palm and pushing her hand back up the feral cow's birth canal, wincing as she thought about how the rough rope scratched at the animal's sensitive insides. She pushed the slipknot around the calf's ankle, then fished around to see if she could find the calf's other leg. She felt something small and rubbery, unsure if it was the tail or a bull calf's boy parts, but no other leg. It must have been folded up or crossed over out of reach. One leg would have to do, she thought. She pulled on the rope to tighten it, then pulled some more to try and dislodge the twin. Lavender's response was instant, she threw her head back and let out a pained grunt, threatening to get up off the ground.

"Easy, easy," Gwen reminded her, not wanting to see the newborn calf crushed underfoot, "just stay down and let me do the work." She pulled and jerked on the rope while Lavender complained, and slowly the rounded yellow hoof was wrenched into view, dripping with viscous, translucent slime. Without waiting for Lavender to keep up, Gwendolyn kept pulling, tugging the limb left and right to try and torque the calf out. It seemed to be working - the hoof lengthened into an ankle, then an entire leg, dredging up more fluid as it emerged until the calf's hips plugged up the gaping, sloppy hole. Undeterred, Gwen stood up and leaned back to pull with all her weight, yanking the rope from side to side. In a few moments he baby's hips gushed out and its tucked leg unfurled into the muck. The farmhand thought she spied a penis in the messy pile of limbs, tails, and rope, but she kept that knowledge to herself. She still had work to do.

The anthropomorphic heifer took a moment to adjust her grip on the rope and then pulled upwards, lifting the breech calf's leg and exposing his flaccid, dripping genitals to the humid air. The other leg dangled limply as she pulled the baby's trunk free until progress stalled again at his shoulders. Both of the baby's arms were reaching above his head, making his torso much wider and harder to push out. For an anthropomorphic mother, it would have been almost impossible. Fortunately, Lavender was a big, feral girl with a lot of calving experience, and Gwendolyn was a stubborn farmhand who never took 'no' for an answer. She pulled the ropes up towards the ceiling to dislodge one of the shoulders, and then tried to twist the baby around like a corkscrew to dislodge the other one. It seemed to work, and with one final, tremendous push from Lavender the bull calf was out. Gwen stumbled backwards, dragging the newborn's floppy body into the middle of the grimy shedrow. He was limp and lifeless, and the cow could see his dusky tongue sticking out into a slowly-growing puddle of fluid.

"I think this one's dead, Lav," Gwendolyn announced flatly. She could have rushed to help the newborn, but a fear of being labelled as "soft" or showing some special favour to the livestock kept her from springing into action. Instead, she started another imaginary timer in her head. If the calf showed any signs of life before the timer ran out, she'd do her best to try and resuscitate it. Otherwise, she'd consider it stillborn. That was the deal she made with herself, a way to keep herself useful without being overly sympathetic.

As the seconds ticked by, the seemingly dead bull boy twitched. His chest sucked in and his limbs clenched as he tried to gasp for breath. Gwendolyn let out a sigh of relief and realized she'd been holding her breath in anticipation. "Never mind," she corrected, "we might have something here!" She grabbed the struggling boy's hooves in one hand, rope still attached, and lifted him upside-down to drain the fluid the only way she knew how, rubbing and slapping his back with her free hand to try and get him to breathe. "Cough it up, big boy," she encouraged, "all of it!"

The newborn calf gagged and gurgled, until a mighty slap on the back brought up a thick glob of mucus and he let out his first strained cry. "Atta boy," Gwendolyn praised. She placed the newborn on the ground beside his sister and started to loosen the rope from his ankle, feeling the joint to make sure she didn't break it during his rough delivery. Unlike his sister, the bull calf was a fairly even mix of white and black, with a distinctive white hourglass-shaped pattern on his otherwise black-furred head. She could trust Lavender to take care of them from here, at least until the wardens decided what to do with them. But Gwendolyn was content that whatever they decided, she had done her part without overreaching.

She couldn't afford to dwell on the twins' future too long - her day was just beginning and there were many more chores to do. The shedrow needed to be swept and hosed down, and all the stalls needed to be cleaned. Feed and water buckets needed to be filled, and there were probably fences that needed to be repaired on the grounds outside, or equipment that needed to be cleaned, or perhaps the wardens would invent some other task just to keep her occupied. No matter what, she was going to have a very busy day.