Dad and the Calf-V. Allen Chron

It has been raining and the cow lot was ankle deep in green slush. Our only milk cow had a half grown calf not yet weaned. Every time he could, he would jump into the pen with his mother and nurse all the milk. This particular evening, Dad saw the calf jump into the pen, and went right in after him. Holding the calf around the neck and being dragged around in the green slush, he yelled for me to bring him a rope from the garage. I ran into the open garage and looked around. I spotted my pet chicken on a box and picked her up. She seemed lonesome in need of some TLC, so I spoke sweetly in her ear and stroked her feathers. I kind of lost track of time and forgot about Dad.

But Dad had not forgotten about me. The calf had finally gotten the best of him and had literally rolled him in the slush. When I looked and noted Dad standing in the doorway, I knew the jig was up! He was covered in cow manure, exhausted from struggling with the calf and I could tell by the whites of his eyes that he was not happy with his eldest son. I gave the chicken a final pet and pitched her toward the roost just as Dad reached up and pulled down a short rubber hose from the rafters. Take my word that I was properly chastised!