As the sun dipped low over the fields, Martha was preparing to wrap up her day when her phone buzzed. It was a local farmer, and he sounded desperate.
“Dr. Martha,” he began, “I need you to come out to the farm. My stud bull won’t breed anymore, and if I can’t get him back to work soon, I’m gonna start losing money.”
Martha glanced at the small glass jar on her desk. Inside, Buck’s shrunken dog head, attached to a tick’s tiny body, barked faintly against the glass.
“Alright,” she said, tucking the jar into her bag. “I’ll be there soon.”
The farm was sprawling, its fields bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The farmer greeted her at the gate, his hat in hand.
“Thanks for coming, Dr. Martha. He’s out in the pasture,” the man said, leading her to the large bull standing idly among a small herd of cows.
The bull was a sight to behold: a massive, muscular creature with a gleaming coat. But his posture was listless, his head hanging low, and his eyes half-lidded.
“That’s my best breeder,” the farmer explained. “Usually, he’s raring to go, but now? Nothing. Won’t even look at the cows. If this keeps up, I’m done for.”
Martha approached the bull, her fingers tingling as she examined him. He seemed perfectly healthy, but something was clearly missing. Her eyes wandered to the edge of the pasture, where a jackrabbit darted through the tall grass.
A risky idea formed in her mind. She reached into her bag, setting Buck’s jar on the fence post. “You’ll get to watch, Buck,” she said, tapping the glass gently. The tiny dog-headed tick barked faintly, his small legs scrabbling uselessly against the jar.
Focusing her energy, Martha directed her powers at the bull and the jackrabbit. A burst of light filled the pasture, startling the farmer, and when the glow faded, both animals were transformed.
The bull now carried the proportionately sized head of the jackrabbit. Its long ears twitched alertly, and its bright eyes scanned the field with newfound vigor. The rabbit-headed bull pawed the ground and let out a sharp, snorting exhale—a strange sound coming from its small face. Within moments, it strode confidently toward the nearest cow, its intentions unmistakable as its “equipment” left no doubts about its readiness.
The farmer gawked at the scene. “Well, I’ll be damned! Look at him go!”
Meanwhile, in the field, the jackrabbit now sported the proportionately shrunk head of the bull. It stood taller than its smaller peers, its muscular frame looking oddly regal with the bull’s head perched atop it. The bull-headed rabbit snorted loudly and bounded toward a nearby doe. The smaller rabbit barely had time to react before the bull-headed rabbit mounted her with the vigor of a revitalized stud.
Martha stifled a chuckle as she turned back to the farmer. “Looks like everyone’s finding their stride,” she said, a trace of amusement in her voice.
The farmer tipped his hat. “Dr. Martha, I don’t know how you did it, but you just saved my farm. That bull’s already back to work!”
“Always happy to help,” Martha replied, though her eyes drifted to the bull-headed rabbit, now hopping confidently through the field.
As she walked back to her car, she glanced over her shoulder. The bull-headed rabbit had finished with one doe and was already bounding toward another, its large head snorting triumphantly as it asserted its dominance over the rabbit warren.
Martha picked up Buck’s jar and smiled at the tiny, barking creature inside. “See, Buck? You’re not the only one having an interesting day.”
The farmer waved as she drove off, her mind buzzing with the events of the day. The stars were just beginning to appear as she returned home, wondering what strange cases tomorrow might bring.
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