CHAPTER FOUR - Cow Poop and Stuff -- (you shoulda knew I would write just one more chapter)

    Milking cows and separating milk was the 'cash' crop to provide weekly groceries at our house through the long winters of 1950 to 1956.  The milk was separated into cream and skim milk.  The cream was sold for 5 bucks a can (5 gallons) and the skim milk was fed to the 'bucket' calves.  But if there was one job I really hated, it was sitting on a single legged stool and trying to fill a pail with milk.  My sisters could both milk fairly fast and my Dad could have two inches of foam on top of the milk in his bucket and milk three or four cows to my one.  Finally, Thank God, he said, "Just feed the calves and the pigs and don't bother to come in the barn anymore -- milkin' just ain't your thing".  Oh Joy, nothing could have pleased me more.

    But BEFORE I got a paternal pardon from the blasted milking, we had some problems.  One morning, a cow stepped in Pappy's bucket of milk and made him mad as hell.  He had a scoop shovel on the wall to clean up cow poop as needed .... so he grabbed the dirty scoop shovel to whack the ol' cow on the butt for kicking him and stepping in the bucket of milk.  He took a heck of a swing at the cow's rump and made a good hit, but the scoop slipped and took a quick 180 degree flop and hit Pap square on top of the head.  Cow poop went all over his old hat and on him, too.  He was so mad that me and my brother were afraid to laugh .... but it was killing us not to.  We did our best but finally Bro giggled a bit and I couldn't hold it anymore and laughed like a maniac.  Well, you shoulda seen Pop's ol' fedora -- it was covered with poop and he even had some on his face.  You would have laughed too.  Pretty soon he saw the humor too and we all laughed our rears off.  Huge funny deal - it was.

   Now then, my Dad thought it would be nice if we had a radio in the barn to listen to whilst we milked the cows.  So he nailed up a little rack to set the radio on .. and my Mom mentioned that he nailed it a little low ... about eyebrow high to him.  But he informed Mom that "any damn fool could see a radio and not run into the shelf".  Yep, he narrowly missed it a couple of times, then one cold dark December morning he was plodding along past it and it reached out and knocked him silly.  Never said a word as he was rubbing his head -- just went and got a hammer and busted the rack off the wall ..... so much for the radio idea.   Hell, we could only get one station anyway.

    We had a fair amount of cats too -- and one ol' fat Mom Cat would just sit at the back of the cow while one was milking and wait for a pan of milk.  Milking being the boring task it was, I would aim at the ol' cats face and squirt milk at her and she would drink it as fast as possible.  But -- wouldn't you know, Dad came along and saw why my pail wasn't getting much milk in it and whacked me plumb off the stool --- "Quit wasting that milk and run that ol' cat out of here", said he.  Out went the cat and before long, I was out of the barn for good, too.

    Speaking of hogs -- well, we can speak of hogs here if we want to, can't we ??? ... Folks had an old mean sow that always had about 14 of the wildest pigs in the world every litter.  And true to form, she raised a bunch of them one summer ....  being little pigs, they could go thru the fence and not stay in the hog pen with their momma.  They took to sleeping in the shade - all of them in a big pile -- in the afternoon along side of an old chicken house .  Well, Neighbor, me and my cousin decided to rope one of the wild little rascals and haul him back to the hog pen ... thus teaching the rest of the litter a dang good lesson about staying in.  So we climbed the roof on the off side of the old chicken house and snuck across the roof.  Peeking over the edge of the roof we could look down upon the pile of pigs asleep below.  Carefully easing a loop down we roped a fat little pig and he woke up squealing like a banshee.  We hauled him up a couple of feet and the rest of the pigs took off like a bat out of hell for the hog pen.  But we had ours roped and then was trying to decide what to do next.  We couldn't haul the heavy little devil up on the roof and we couldn't get loose from him either.   He squealed so loud that the old sow came thru the fence and was standing below us snapping her jaws and making a hell of a noise .. and Pardner, I DO believe she meant business.  Wouldn't do to fall off the roof near the old girl at all.   Oh Darn -- what a mess.  Cousin thought it would be well to just let go of the rope -- since old sow was really mad at us --  So we did --  and the damn pig roared off to the hog pen but we still had a problem -- how to get off the roof without getting ate up by a mad 400 lb sow.  She was really mad by now -- we thought it wise to stay put -- which we did for over an hour in the hot sun ..... taught them pigs a lesson though, didn't we ?????????

    Oh, the 'bucket' calves -- I should tell you that the calves were offspring of the milk cows -- Now really, where in the heck did you think the calves came from?  Walmart's used calf aisle or where ??
    But anyway, calves are born knowing how to drink milk from their moms ....... but they have to be taught to drink milk out of a bucket.  Best way was simply to straddle the calf, stick your hand into the milk and scoop out a handful to put in the ol' calf's mouth.  In no time, they would usually figure out that the milk was available in the bottom of the bucket and stick their noses into it and slurp it up.  Well, we had this one ol' calf that was a few fries short of a 'happy meal' and he just didn't get the idea.  So the only thing to do was to keep trying to feed him by hand -- but after a week of this -- Dad decided he would stick this retarded calf's stupid head in the milk til he had to breathe -- thus he HAD to learn to drink by himself.  So down into the milk went the calf's nose and Dad held him 'under' for a heck of a while.  I thought the ol' calf was going to drown -- but when Dad let him up, he looked up into Dad's face and COUGHED and out came a half gallon of milk and slobber -- all over poor ol' Pop.  He looked like a 'rained on' newborn sparrow.  Gosh, but he was mad -- and we laughed like crazy -- He was in no good mood at all the rest of the morning.  Sure was funny though.

     Now then,  the outhouse ---- or 'privy' as it was sometimes called ......
My Dad had a habit of visiting this lovely little hut early every morning about sunrise ....... One morn, he came stomping in the house really toasted .......
    Mom asked "Why, Dad, whatever is that white stuff on your head and your eyeglasses?"
     Not one word from Pop ----- he was still boiling over -- just stomped over to the wash basin and began washing up --- Turns out that the sparrows roosted in the crapper and with Pop sitting there reading the "Farm Journal" or something, one sparrow flew out the door ---- But on the way out he took a dump on poor ol' Pop's noggin.  Later, Pop said "Ya know what really made me mad --- the bird started a fight and then flew away -- wouldn't stay to argue with me even."

    Now Christmas Day was THE biggest day of the year for all of us ...... And even though the folks had very little money -- we all got really nice presents as a rule.  One year, my little brother got a dandy good 'Red Ryder' BB gun ......
    Normally, Pop smoked a pipe ---- but it being Christmas and all, he had treated himself to a fine cigar .... one of those really long, fat ones.  After dinner (lots of quail, and and a wild turkey plus all the good stuff you could think of) Pop was strolling down a long hill in front of our house ....... He was indeed the picture of prosperity .... a slightly fat belly after dinner, you know -- and with his old hat on, he was out for a nice walk.
    Well, little brother was firing at everything in sight with his new air rifle and was doing some serious work from his 'position' behind an old mulberry tree.  Along came Pop on his walk and little Bro shot his damn cigar out of his mouth.  Pardner, I mean it just BLEW UP .... high quality 'once a year' tobacco went everywhere.  Only thing was, Dad didn't know where the bushwhacker was ---- but he damn sure knew WHO he was.  Little Bro did the low crawl about 100 yards toward the windmill, then stood up and gazed the other direction like he didn't have a notion Pop was even on the farm .......    DID NOT WORK at all -- his rifle was impounded and his rump was in worse shape ...... Oh Well...

    Now later on I'm going to tell about the school bus and Holloween -- maybe ....

    For now - HAPPY HUNTING - KEEP THE WIND AT YOUR BACK AND YOUR FEET IN THE STIRRUPS !