Flash Fiction - It’s tough being a vegan hob
She’s left me dairy again.
And after I did the dishes and tidied the pantry so neatly. Some gratitude.
The first week was whole milk from a pint-sized jug. Tonight, it’s cream. A full, saucer of it poured thick over hand-painted violets ringed with gold leaf from one small plastic tub in the fridge door bought specially for me.
Is it so farfetched to imagine enchanted creatures could prefer plant-based?
I’ve chatted to the heifers while they carefully skirt cowslips to grind their way through sweet clover and thin blades of juicy grass. Listened to mouthfuls of their mumbled complaints. When it gets cold, I wriggle my way under a wing in the chicken coop. They have plenty to cluck about what goes on.
I decided long ago I didn’t want to be a part of that. But the lore persists.
leave a dish of dairy out.
Lest your cottage friend turn foe,
I blame the milk float driver. Vested interests and all. He was at it the morning they moved in. This here home’s got a hob, don’t you know? Shouldn’t upset ‘em. Tales say, anger ‘em enough an they’ll come wi’ ye forever. He deepens the dialect for any new arrivals to the village. Partial to his folk horror films, is Callum.
I smashed a mug the first evening. Nudged it off the shelf. Could block the sink tonight, let it flood the kitchen just enough to be a nuisance. If that doesn’t work, I’ll let one of the foxes into the pantry.
When the last exhausted owners sold the place in a panic, I grumbled my complaints to a wise old toad. Always calm and practical, she asked why I hadn’t simply told them my preferences. A fair point, but I had tried.
I’d unscrewed the lid from the milk and wrapped my arms around the bottle with a violent squeeze until a volcano of milk erupted. Took myself down to the stream for a moonlit bathe after that. Then, same as these folk, the owners had progressed to cream for a more decadent second offering. I’d amused myself recreating a fjord with it, inlet fingers spreading out across the table. What I did with that ramekin of custard the following week was the last straw for them.
But crumpled dishcloth in hand over the plughole, I wonder now if there truly is another way I could explain.
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“Izzy, get down here this instant!” Beth hollers, squinting bleary eyed into the fridge now stuffed full of their houseplants.
A wrinkle of pink-posey pyjamas and wavy brown knots tumbles down the stairs. The thump of small feet across wood flooring stops, and Izzy’s sleepy eyes widen as she picks up the sense of parental anger brewing in the kitchen.
“Mmm?” she asks her mother warily, undoubtedly searching her memories to compile a quick list of things she’s done that she knows she shouldn’t have.
“Good morning,” Beth says, tone matching her glare. “Mind getting me some milk from the fridge?”
Izzy’s mouth opens in protest, but she closes it again, cleverly swallowing the first question that springs to mind. Because they both know her mother could get it herself. There is a point to this odd request – Izzy can surely sense it – so she grabs the handle and opens the fridge.
But piercing laughter bubbles up inside of her before she even reaches in. “What! Mum?”
“Care to explain?”
Izzy’s eyebrows take flight. “I didn’t put them in there!” The door swings wide and Izzy crumples with a cackle, catching sight of the milk bottle stuffed with grass. “Honestly!”
Izzy’s multi-talented, but she’s a terrible liar. This coupled with the genuine surprise, and Beth is inclined to believe her. She flops down at the kitchen table, head in hand.
“Is it really the hob?” Beth asks, floundering.
Izzy lights up at the mention of their own mythical creature. “Told you the milkman wasn’t lying!”
She’d insisted leaving milk and cream out for it like Callum suggested, despite Beth’s reluctance to let the milkman sell them things they didn’t need. But could it actually be true?
“Well, what did we do to make it so grumpy already?”
“Maybe it’s vegan?” Izzy shrugs, pointing to the now pastoral milk bottle. “Eating plant-based foods is good for the planet. We talked about it in science yesterday. I’m vegan.”
“Since when?”
“Since yesterday when I told Katie at school.”
“Right. Well, I guess Katie doesn’t need to know you ate shepherd’s pie for tea last night?” Beth says with a smirk.
Izzy pouts. “From this morning then.”
“Okay.” Beth extends a hand and they shake on it with a smile. Then she sighs. “Guess we need to stop by the shops on the way home tonight.”
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