Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-30307610-20170828150610

I went to dinner with my mother last night. It had been a while since I had seen her. I moved to the city a few years back and had been making some headway at the firm I worked at.

We went to this place that sold Bison steaks. I remembered liking them a lot as a kid, but we didn’t get them that often. See I grew up on a farm. We didn’t raise animals or anything just grew some vegetables. With only me and my mom, we pretty much grew enough to sustain ourselves and a little extra for trade. But we always had dogs. I loved those dogs. If people couldn’t take care of them or they were moving somewhere they couldn’t take them, they always ended up at our house.

I ordered my bison and got some wine for my mother and I. We started reminiscing about life on the farm. We had anywhere from five to twenty dogs at a time. People occasionally stopped by and adopted some of the dogs, but most ended up running away.

Being that we grew only vegetables, we never had much in the way of meats. If we had a decent enough harvest, my mother would trade with the nearby farms to get some. She would always try and get bacon for our breakfasts and, if it was a special occasion, she would get steaks. This is what I always had for my birthday. One day however she came home with something new. Bison. I was instantly in love with it. I still don’t know why. It was a little gamey but so tender and juicy.

I asked my mom if we could have bison for my birthday from then on instead of steaks. I remember her looking a bit worried, maybe it was harder for her to get, we didn't have the best harvest that year and someone might have charged her more, but she just smiled and said, “Sure honey.”

I got my bison steak and greedily tore into it. Expecting that taste was something I had looked forward to for a while. However, something was off, it didn’t taste right. I looked up at my mother to ask if hers was alright. She looked at me, and started to cry. 