Damn Kazakhs

"Damn it! It's just not beef!" Joshua yelled and threw his knife and fork into his plate, splashing the brown gravy his husband tried so hard to make across the table. He kicked his chair away and stomped to the screen door and stared at the ostriches in the yard, pecking at their feed.

"It's just as good, Josh. Calm down," Mike said.

"No, Mike. It's a bird. Beef is a cow. Cows are better, damn it. They taste better!"

Mike wiped his mouth and placed his napkin, folded, on to his plate. He kept his composure, always mindful of portraying the housewife in these parts, to avoid those looks again. He walked up behind Joshua and wrapped his arms around the lean, muscular chest that began to show softness in troubling times. He kissed Joshua's neck.

"Josh, you do this every other night."

"We don't have dinner every other night," Josh snapped back, and shrugged away Mike's arms. "I'm slowly starving you, and you give me hugs?"

Mike rolled his eyes, swallowed a sigh, and returned to his dinner.

"That's why nobody's buying. Nobody wants to eat a bird as a steak," Josh muttered, as he reached for his whiskey sour on the table. His fourth whiskey sour on the table.

"Plenty of people do. It's what's available," Mike said, biting a piece of ostrich off the end of his fork.

"Because of those damn Kazakhs," Josh said and gulped his drink.

"Always the Kazakhs."

"Well, how else do you explain it? All of America's cows die off and suddenly they become number one in the world of livestock production?"

"They've been ostrich farmers for years, Josh. We saw the documentary years ago. You laughed at it, as I remember."

"Because it's a stupid idea. Birds ain't cows," Josh said and finished his whiskey. He stepped toward the bar.

"No, sir. Four is the limit now, remember?" Mike said.

"You ain't my mother."

"I'm your goddamn husband, Joshua. Grab some milk."

Joshua threw his glass into the sink. Mike winced as it shattered. Not in fear, but in frustration. Glass was expensive, and Josh only had two glasses left. Josh pulled open the fridge and stared into it.

"You're going to turn me into a nagger, Josh. Grab the milk and close the door."

Josh slammed the door shut and walked back to the door.

"Birds ain't cows, damn it. Damn Kazakhs," he shouted. Several ostriches flocked away from the yard.

"Then why'd you buy so many? If it's a stupid idea, why are we trying so hard to raise them?"

"Because I am the owner of the largest ranch in Kansas, sweetheart," Josh said through gritted teeth.

"Were."

"Am. Nobody's larger than me still."

"Because everyone else gave up. They've moved on to the simul...no...damn it, what's the word..."

"Synthetic?" Josh said, now staring at his boots.

"Right. Most of America has moved on to the synthetic. The President says it's the future."

"Oh, what does that gook know? He's probably Kazakh himself."

"Stop blaming the damn Kazakhs, Josh!" Mike shouted and stood up to clear the table. "What happened was not their fault."

He punctuated his words with the tableware as he clanked it all into a pile. He carried it to the sink, dropping all of it on top of the shattered glass. He winced again.

"Animals die all the time. Species go extinct all the time," he said, turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. "It's basic biology."

"No, Mike. Animals don't just contract a random disease and wipe out over night."

"But that's what happened! All the cattle died across the world except for those few in Icyland and Hawaii. And nothing can change it, so I just don't know what's the matter with you."

Mike scrubbed at the dishware, being sure to put Josh's uneaten steak aside for breakfast.

"And now I'm losing all my money while some damn Kazakhs and Hawaiians are taking over the world."

"We're doing fine. We're simply not where we were."

Josh picked at the screen, and flicked bugs away as they landed.

"We were rich."

"And now we're not," Mike said, turning off the water and putting the steak in the fridge. "And you know what? I can't care any less."

Mike walked back behind Josh and hugged him again.

"I married you when you first bought this land. You weren't rich then, neither was I. And did it matter?" he said into Josh's back.

Josh sighed. "No."

"So, you're just frustrated right now. You know what you have to do now?"

"What?"

"You have to pour yourself a glass of milk, and remember that all the bills were paid this month, and our flock is healthy, if not pricey," Mike said and turned Josh around. He kissed him on the lips, and lingered. "I love you. Calm down."

Josh sighed again, and closed the door. He walked to the fridge, grabbed the milk and the steak, and sat back down at the table.

"God damn Kazakhs," he muttered.

"I know," Mike said and made him a whiskey sour.