THE RED COW

AND HER FRIENDS

BY PETER McARTHUR

AUTHOR OF "in PASTURES GREEN," "THE PRODIGAL AND
OTHER POEMS," "TO BE TAKEN WITH SALT," ETC.

TORONTO: J. M.DENT & SONS, Ltd.
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY

MCMXIX

COPYRIGHT, 1019,

By JOHN LANE COMPANY

i 0 G 8 0 9 1

Press of

J. J, Little & Ives Company

New York, U. S. A.

THIS BOOK

IS DEDICATED

TO ALL CITY MEN

WHO FEEL SURE THAT THEY

COULD FARM AT A PROFIT.

IT EACH ONE BUYS A COPY I CAN

AFFORD TO KEEP ON FABMINQ

PREFACE

It is always a pleasure to avoid responsibility and
it gives me a feeling of relief to be able to announce
that I am not wholly responsible for this collection
of sketches. When it was suggested that I should
put together the articles dealing with the Red Cow,
and the other farm animals, I felt reluctant to
trouble the public with a somewhat frivolous book at
the present time. It seemed as if Fate were with
me for when it was decided to go on with the book
it was found that my file of clippings had been lost.
But the matter was still urged and, remembering
that at different times readers had written to me
saying that they were in the habit of clipping the
articles for future reference, I published a para-
graph telling of my predicament. The result was
that I received clippings from all parts of Canada
and some were even sent from neighbouring States.

Through the kindness of my unknown friends I
am able to offer a book which they have really ed-
ited. Some of the sketches used would have been
rejected had I relied on my own judgment, but find-
ing that they had pleased some readers I decided

7

PREFACE

that they might please others. Having the chance
to shift the responsibihty for the book from my
own shoulders, I accepted it joyously. The un-
known friends who did me the honour of preserving
these articles as they appeared are the real editors.
I can further plead in extenuation that the clip-
pings I have used were all sent to me by people who
are familiar with the domestic animals and their
habits. This should protect me from any charge
of farm-faking.

Ekfrid, Ontario, January, 1919.

8

CON TEN T S

cows

PAGE

I. A Sick Cow 15

II. Cow Troubles 22

III. Fly Time 26

IV. The Red Cow's Calves 29

V. Insurgent Cows 31

VI. Cow Troubles 36

VII. The Bran Habit 42

VIII. The Farrow Cow and Others .... 43

IX. Cow Enjoyment 50

X. Cow Kaiserism 52

XI. A Night Session 55

XII. A Calf Puzzle 58

XIII. Cow Char^^cter 61

XIV. Calf Feeding 63

XV. A Cow Trick 66

XVI. Cow CUSSEDNESS 72

XVII. Teaching a Calf 75

XVIII. Calf Exuberance 77

SHEEP

XIX. Our First Sheep 83

XX. The First Lamb 90

XXI. Sheep Surgery 93

9

CONTENTS

PAGE

XXII. The Patient 98

XXIIJ. SHEAniNG 100

XXIV. Vain Regrets 104

XXV. Sheep Sculpture 106

XXVI. Our Lawn Mower 113

PIGS

XXVII. Clementine 117

XXVIII. Feeding Pigb 121

XXIX. Beatrice 124

XXX. Pig Frightfulness 128

XXXI. A Pig Bath 130

XXXII. In Extenuation 132

XXXIII. Beatrice Announces 134

XXXIV. Receiving 137

XXXV. Feeding Time 140

XXXVI. Beatrice Belligerent 144

HORSES

XXXVII. Dolly's Dat Off 147

XXXVIII. The Colt 154

XXXIX. Horse Contrariness 166

XL. A Great Scheme 158

TURKEYS

XLI. The Gobbler 163

XLII. His Prussianism 167

XLIII. His Desertion 1C9

XLIV. His Belligerenct 171

10

CONTENTS

PAOE

XLV. His Cabes 173

XLVI. His Troubles 175

DOGS

XLVII. A Moral Tale 179

XLVIII. Sheppy's First Coon Hunt 181

XLIX. A Rabbit Chase 189

L. Fights and Feuds 192

CATS

LI. A Page of High History 197

LH. A Spring Orgy 200

BIRDS

LHI. A Disgusted Blackbird 205

LIV. A Visitor 209

LV. A Farewell 211

GENERAL

LVL The Whole Bunch 215

LVn. Human Nature in Dumb Creatures . . . 221

LVin. Early Observations 227

LIX. Bantams 232

LX. A Little Tragedy 234

LXI. A Scientific Query 236

LXII. a Poultry Note 238

LXIIL Spring and the Livestock 240

LXIV. First Snow 242

LXV. a "Skift" of Snow 244

11

CONTENTS

PAGE

LXVI. A Spring Showeb 247

LXVII. Doing Chores 249

LXVIII. Fishing 251

LXIX. A Lonesome Squirrel . . . ." ". . . 255

LXX. Fall Poultry Troubles 258

LXXI. Thanksgiving Day 263

LXXII. September Notes 270

LXXIII. "The Demon Rabbit" 273

LXXIV. The Fate of "The Demon Rabbii" ... 278

LXXV. My Friends, the Trees 282

n

cows

A BALLADE OF COWS

Fenceviewer I. a cow of parts,

Aggressive, competent and bold.
At every milking gives twelve quarts

And doesn't give a — hoot! — (don't scold!)
My Kerry cow, as good as gold;

Fenceviewer II. — (boss, they say)
La Veau, turned three; Beans, two-year-old —

These are the cows I milk each day !

When Phoebus shoots his morning darts,

Or wet or dry, or hot or cold,
One to the dewy pasture starts

With clanging pails and pants up-rolled.
Again when evening doth enfold

The earth and sky in twilight grey.
Him at that chore you may behold —

These are the cows I milk each day!

Although unskilled in dairy arts

I've soaked some lore by experts doled.
With gentle words that win their hearts

My cows from kicking I've cajoled;
And of all cattle, horned or polled,

Pure-bred or grade, own them who may.
Mine suit me best. They'll not be sold —

These are the cows I milk each day I

ENVOY

Prince, if you ever in the wold

At milking time should chance to stray,

I'll let you drink all you can hold —
These are the cows I milk each day !

/. — A Sick Cow

THIS week the monotony of the winter has
been broken. I have been sitting up with
a sick cow. Fenceviewer I. has suffered the
first check in her career of rapacity, vo-
racity and capacity. A couple of days ago it was
noticed that she was off her feed — that she only
nibbled at the blue grass when it was put in her man-
ger. Knowing that in her normal condition she is
an incarnate appetite — "A belly that walks on four
legs" — I knew that something was the matter. I
could not imagine her refusing to eat until Death
had "clawed her in his clutch," so I took the matter
seriously from the beginning. I also noticed that
she did not take kindly to water, but stood over it
and shivered. There was no doubt about it. She
was a sick cow. After a hasty consultation it was
decided to give her a dose of salts, and I comman-
deered all that we had in the house — almost a pound.
After it had been dissolved in about a quart of warm
water I took some further advice and added to it,

15

THE RED COW

for her stomach's sake, a couple of tablespoonfuls
of a sovereign liniment and embrocation, good for
man and beast, and paramount for poultry, a rem-
edy for all ills that any kind of flesh is heir to, may
be used internally or externally at any time of the
day or night without regard to the phases of the
moon or the signs in the almanac. All I know about
this remedy is that it is a red fluid made of red pep-
per, red whiskey and all the other red-hot things in
the Pharmacopoeia. It is the stuff that was once
given to an ailing coloured woman, and when she was
offered a second dose she declared with vigour, "No
thankee ! Ah've done made up ma mind never again
to take nuttin' that wattah won't squench." Having
added this mixture to the salts I put it in a quart
bottle, called for help, and proceeded to put the red

dose into the red cow.

* * * *

We did the trick in the most approved fashion.
I caught her by one horn, slipped my thumb and
finger into her nose, and elevated her head so that
the other man could pour the mixture down her
throat. After the last drop had gurgled down I
turned her loose and stepped back to watch results.
She shook her head, rattled her chain, lashed her

16

A SICK COW

tail, wriggled her backbone, coughed and sneezed
and showed other unmistakable signs of wrath and
discomfort. She did not seem to appreciate our ef-
forts in her behalf, and after I had thought it over
for a minute I realised what she was objecting to.
I put myself in her place. What would I want to do
if any one had forced a dose like that down my
throat? I would want to spit, of course. That was
what was the matter with old Fenceviewer. She
wanted to spit, but the limitations of a cow are such
that she couldn't do it. If she were only able to do
it she would spit like a cat. I felt truly sorry for
her, but as I had done everything for the best I
didn't do any worrying. While watching her I no-
ticed that she grunted faintly every time she breathed,
so I decided that we needed some expert advice and
called in a neighbour who has had much experience
with cows. After he had pressed his ear to her side
for a while he diagnosed her case as pleuro-pneu-
monia. It had never occurred to me before that
dumb animals could have diseases with Latin names
and that probably needed high-priced treatment.
He advised calling in the farrier at once, and I dis-
patched a boy to the nearest telephone to do this,
and we went to the house to await his arrival. The

17

THE RED COW

boy reported that the farrier was out, but that he
would come as soon as he could. While waiting we
talked about all the sick cows we had ever known,
and as most of them had died I found the conversa-
tion somewhat depressing. I can honestly say of
Fenceviewer I., "With all thy faults I love thee still."
She is the progenitor of the whole flock, and her
strain is the kind I need. She can rustle for herself
except when she is chained up, and if she had to do
it she could get through the winter by licking the
moss off the trees. She is no stall-fed exotic, but a
hardy annual who in spite of her good breeding has
a touch of the qualities that made the pioneer cows
endure hardships and give rich milk. I could ill
afford to lose her from either a financial or scientific
point of view. We whiled away several hours with
gloomy forebodings, occasionally taking the lantern
to go to the stable and look her over. But there
was nothing we could do for her, and she grunted
rhythmically every time she breathed, sometimes
standing up and sometimes lying down. About
twelve o'clock we decided that the farrier was not
coming, and the neighbour went home and I went to
bed. Just as I got sound asleep the household was
aroused by shrill whistling, and I got up to find that

18

A SICK COW

the farrier had come. Getting into my clothes as
quickly as possible I took the lantern and hurried
to the stable. The farrier examined her, confirmed
my neighbour's diagnosis and added that the attack
was complicated by a serious case of "impaction of
the rumen." I was glad that he didn't say that she
had appendicitis or adenoids, for I had made up my
mind that I was neither going to pay for a costly
operation nor to send her south for her health.

n» ^ 'T- '^

While the farrier was mixing another dose — he
had approved of the one I had given — I enquired
cautiously about her ailment. When the big words
had been simplified for me I found that what she
was suffering from chiefly was indigestion and pains
in her tripe. This gave me much relief, for I felt
that if there ever was a cow that deserved to have
indigestion it was old Fenceviewer. Some of you may
remember that a couple of years ago she gave me a
scare by eating a bushel or so of corn. But she got
away with that without any bad results, so I was
puzzled as to what she could have eaten that had
disagreed with her. I knew that she had not had
too much of anything, for she is kept tied up most
of the time. Then I remembered that when feeding

19

THE RED COW

the bottom of the stack of cornstalks I had noticed
that the butts of some of the sheaves were mouldy.
As the tops of them were fresh and good I had fed
them, thinking that the brutes would know enough
not to eat the parts that were damaged, but it doesn't
do to bank on the intelligence of even the brightest
cows. The farrier agreed that that had probably
started the trouble, and I felt somewhat disgusted
with myself. When I didn't know enough not to
feed such stuff I need not expect the cows to know
enough not to eat it. It was a wonder that more of
them were not ailing.

After the farrier had filled the quart bottle with
a mixture that smelled suspiciously like doses I have
had to take myself when my stomach has been out
of order, we went through the exercise of holding up
her head and pouring it down her throat. This time
she tried so hard to spit that she almost did it and
I wished that she had been able, for I know what nux
vomica and such stuff tastes like. The farrier then
mixed a bunch of powders to be given her in a bran
mash, every night and morning, and judging from
the way she goes at the bran she has forgiven him
everything. I may say, by the way, that the bran
is now about the most expensive part of the dose, and

20

A SICK COW

if prices keep on as they are going we will soon have
to get our bran for sick cows at the drug store in-
stead of at the flour and feed emporiums. I am glad
to be able to report that at the present writing
Fenceviewer I. is taking her feed standing up, and
chewing her cud between times, so I guess she is
going to pull through all right.

21

II. — Cow Troubles

I KNOW I should have a silo for the corn-stalks
or at least a cutting box, but I haven't either,
and the result is that I have trouble. How to
get ten-foot stalks into a four-foot manger is a
problem that I have to wrestle with every day and I
am no nearer the solution than I was at the begin-
ning of the winter. I have to stand them on end in
front of the cows and as the soft ears were all left
on the stalks, the cattle go at them wildly and toss
them all over the place in their hurry to get the ears.
The result is that every few days I have to clean
out the rejected stalks from the mangers and the
front of the stalls and that makes more trouble. I
wish some one would tell me why it is that the tines
of a fork will slip through corn-stalks so easily and
are so hard to pull out. I do not find very much
trouble in getting a good forkful of the stalks but
when I carry them out to the hole in the barnyard
where I am piling them in the hope that they will

cow TROUBLES

rot some time I have a wrestle with them that starts
me quoting poetry:

"On Astur's throat Horatius

Right firmly placed his heel;
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel."

When I have thrown down my load I find that
every tine has three or four stalks on it so that it
looks like Neptune's trident entangled with sea-
weeds. But though it is a nuisance clearing out the
stalks in this way I have a vivid recollection of try-
ing to pitch manure that had corn-stalks mixed with
it and I have made up my mind that that will never
happen again. I try to keep them out of the manure
as far as possible, even though I may be robbing the
"stercoraceous heap" of some of its most valuable

fertilising constituents.

* * * *

The more I work among cows and study their
ways the more puzzling they become to me. Some-
times when I am feeling a bit conceited I think I
understand them pretty well and then something
happens that puts me entirely out of countenance.
One warm day last week, when I had let them out
to water, I thought I would let them stand out and

23

THE RED COW

sun themselves for a while before driving them back
to their stalls. I half remembered that the gate to
the young orchard had been opened when the snow
was deep and left opened, but I did not give it a
thought. The government drain had been flooded
and was covered with slippery ice that I was sure
they could not cross, and I felt that everything was
serene for a pleasant sunbath for the cows. Half
an hour later I took a look to see where they were
and every last one of them was in the young orchard
picking at some long grass that had been brought
into sight by the thaw. There was no waiting about
starting to get them out, for you know the way cows
have of rubbing their necks against young trees and
breaking off limbs. Luckily they had not started
rubbing and had done no damage, but I had to do
some rushing around before I finally got them out
of the orchard. But when I got them back to the
icy government drain there was all kinds of trouble.
You never saw such a timid bunch of cows in your
life. It was absurd to think that they could walk
on ice like that and what was more they wouldn't
do it. But I knew that they couldn't fly and that
they had crossed that ice on the way to the orchard
and I was just as stubborn as they were. Gritting

24

cow TROUBLES

my teeth with determination I went at those cows
and in a few minutes each one of them had been per-
sonally conducted across the ice by an earnest man
who was earnestly twisting her tail. I then made the
discovery that twisting a cow's tail puts a lot of
ginger in her for when the last one was across they
began to romp around the field. I saw that I would
have trouble getting them into the stable and went
to the house to get some one to help. I don't think
I was in the house five minutes, but when I went out
again with reinforcements, those wretched cows were
on the other side of the government drain again and
headed towards the orchard gate. Apparently it was
no trouble at all for them to cross ice when on the
way to mischief. I may say that on the return trip
they did not wait for much tail twisting. Possibly
the second twist hurts more than the first. Anyway
they hustled back and didn't stop to argue with me.

S5

in.— Fly Time

AS a rule old Fenceviewer hasn't much faith
in me. Of course, this is entirely due to
her independent and predatory nature. She
is accustomed to rustling for herself and
apparently does not feel the need of cultivating a
thankful spirit for anything I do for her. I even
suspect that she would renig at milking time if it
were not more comfortable to play the game and
give down. Up to the present we have continued
to live on the same farm without serious disagree-
ment, and yet without any bond of affection being
established. She goes her way as far as the fences
will allow, and I go my way. But there are signs
of a change. During the past week her actions have
indicated that she thinks I may be of some use after
all. This is because the flies are unusually bad this
year. The cattle have been simply covered with
them. When we took them into the stable at milking
time they were in such misery and so restless that it
was almost impossible to milk them. They were all

26

FLY TIME

the time lashing their tails, swinging around their
heads and trying to paw up hooffuls of dust and
dirt against their sides. Though we have ingenious
little contraptions for holding their tails it seemed
positively cruel to use them when they were being
pestered and bitten, so, after due consideration, we
bought a spray pump and a gallon of some coal tar
by-product that smelled like a political investiga-
tion. After milking we proceeded to spray the cows
thoroughly with the vile smelling stuff, and if they
had not been thoroughly chained the trick could not
have been managed. But though the operation
seemed unpleasant to every one concerned it was
most unpleasant of all for the fhes. Hundreds of
them fell to the ground stupefied, and those that kept
on the wing kept at a distance from the cattle. After
the cattle had been sprayed a few times they objected
less and less, and old Fenceviewer seemed to get it
through her head that the spraying was being done
for her comfort. Although some of the younger cat-
tle still struggle she lowers her head and wiggles her
ears and stands perfectly still. Apparently she un-
derstands that the spraying rids her of the flies, and
the look in her eye when I come along with the spray
pump is positively friendly. In fact, she doesn't

27

THE RED COW

seem happy till she gets it and I suspect that if I
missed it any morning she would bawl for it. But
all nonsense aside, spraying the cattle to keep off
the flies strikes me as being not only a humane but
a profitable thing to do. They cannot be expected
to do business as usual in the way of giving milk
when they are tormented by hordes of flies. We are
also spraying the calves at feeding time and they
seem much more comfortable.

28

IV.— The Red Core's Cakes

TALK about excitement ! When I came home
from the excitements of the city to enjoy
the quiet life on the farm I ran into more
excitement than I had met with on my trav-
els. Althoucrh it was after dark when I got home
nothing would do but I should go out to the stable
to see the new calf. Although I wanted to have my
supper first I was over-ruled and I followed the lan-
tern, with the whole family at my side. I might have
suspected that tliere was something unusual about
Fenceviewer's new calf, but I put down the enthusi-
asm of the children to the fact that it was a brand
now calf. The little comedy was properly staged.
I was not allowed to see anvthincp until I had reached
the calf pen. The lantern was then swung in front
and every one yelled at once. I got the situation at
a glance, and I guess I yelled too. The red cow had
given birth to twins ! There they were, as nice a pair
of red calves as any one would wish to see. I couldn't
blame the little folks for being excited. According

29

THE RED COW

to those who know, this is the first pair of twin calves
that ever was born on the farm. But what interests
me is this further development of the red cow strain.
You may remember that when summing up their
good qualities I recorded the fact that Fenceviewer
and her progeny give me aid in farm work by testing
the fences every spring so that I put them in good
shape for the summer. Moreover, they almost in-
variably bear heifer calves, so that the flock in-
creases rapidly. To these excellent quahties is now
added the unexpected pair of twins. The strain is
developing steadily, and some day Fenceviewer and
her descendants will force the authorities to give
them a corner in the herd book.

SO

V. — Insurgent Cows

THESE are the days when the cattle become
discontented with their pasture and begin
to go on a rampage. Fenceviewer I. and
her brood are running true to form and liv-
ing up to their best traditions, but I have lived with
them too long to be taken entirely unawares. As soon
as the pasture withered with the long drought they
beo-an to take an undue interest in the cornfield. Al-
though it is a comparative failure it still looks green
and succulent compared with everything else on the
farm, and the cattle have been stretching their necks
over the fence and bawling. The first to get through
and enjoy a feed were Fenceviewer's twins. Although
they are small they are thrifty and seem to inherit
much of their mother's resourcefulness. Already they
are taking a lively interest in the fences. Although
I felt quite safe on that point, it happened that dur-
ing the haying a board was broken in a gate. The
twins found it and worked their way through and

SI

THE RED COW

had their first feed of stolen corn. After they had
been driven out and the gate had been mended I felt
secure again, but it was a false security. A few
days later I happened to notice a commotion among
the cows and saw at once that Fenceviewer II. was
beyond the fence and making straight for the corn.
The Government drain was dry and she had man-
aged to push through where the ice had loosened the
wires that were used for a home-made flood-gate. But
would she go out where she got in? Not if she knew
it. She seemed to have an idea that if she fooled us
about that hole she could get through some other
time. She was evidently working alone when she
found it for even her piratical mother had not no-
ticed it, and had failed to follow, though she bawled
with surprise to see her daughter so near the corn-
field. After three or four attempts to make her
go out through the ditch we finally had to give up
and drive her out through the gate. Then we fixed
the hole and now we are waiting for the next out-
break.

The cattle had not attracted our attention all
summer except at milking time, but a few days ago
the alarm was raised that Mars — the yearling steer
— was in a well, and the whole family had to be as-

32

INSURGENT COWS

sembled to get him out. The well is not really a
well, but a drinking place that has been fixed so
that the cattle can help themselves. There is a low
place in the woods where there is a quicksand bottom
about four feet from the surface and for many years
it has furnished an unfailing supply of water. Many
years ago a shallow well was scooped out from which
the cattle can drink at all times simply by having a
plank left off the top so that they can drink as from
a trough. As there is a pond nearby which sup-
plies them during the rest of the season they do not
use the well except when other supplies fail. This year
the other supplies failed completely and the drinking
well was fixed for them with scantlings nailed across
the opening a couple of feet apart. It was looked
upon as quite safe, but apparently when a yearling
steer ventures to go for a drink before his betters
he is likely to be taught a lesson. Mars must have
been down on his knees drinking when one of the big
cows came along and poked him right through. When
found he was not worrying a bit. He was standing
in about two feet of cold spring water contentedly
chewing his cud. He didn't seem to care whether
he was rescued or not. As the day was unusually
hot I could understand his feelings exactly. But for

33

THE RED COW

the good of the water supply he had to be disturbed.
We found that all we needed to do was to enlarge
the opening, give his tail a twist and let him do the
rest. Then we cleaned out another well of the same
kind so that the water came clear and cold from the
quicksand and closed the first one so that nothing
could get in. I know that a quicksand bottom is not
considered a good thing on a farm, but there is only
this spot of it, and in a dry season it seems like a
dispensation of Providence.

* * * *

On the way home I had an experience that I had
not enjoyed since returning to the farm. While we
were busy cleaning out the well clouds began to
gather, and even though a thunderstorn did not de-
velop, rain began to fall. It was a sun shower of
the kind that used to make children sing:

"Rain, rain sunshine !
Sure to rain to-morrow!"

We had no time to make a dash for the house, so
we took shelter under some spreading beech trees at
the edge of the woods. There used to be a tradition
that lightning never strikes a beech tree, but that was
not our reason for choosing them. They had the thick-

■34

INSURGENT COWS

est branches and most plentiful leaves and offered a
better umbrella. At the beginning of the shower
tree-toads began to call, and many kinds of birds
sounded notes that were unfamiliar. Everything
seemed too happy to keep still. The cattle in the
pasture stopped eating as if to stand and enjoy the
coohng, shower bath. The sunhght filtered through
the falling rain and altogether the scene was one that
offered Nature at her best. But before long the rain
began to drip through our roof and we had to do a
lot of stepping about before we found a comfortably
dry spot under the thick trunk of a leaning maple.
As there was no lightning there was no objection to
leaving the beech trees. Presently the shower passed
and we walked home with everything greatly re-
freshed. But when I looked at the thermometer and
found that it stood at ninety-six in the shade I al-
most wilted. If I had known it was so hot I wouldn't
have dreamed of undertaking so strenuous a job aa
cleaning out a well.

m

VI. — Cow Troubles

SAY, what do you do when a cow swallows a
rubber ball? I don't mean one of the hollow
kind, but a solid rubber ball about the size of
a small Ben Davis apple — one of the kind that
used to sting our fingers when we played "Long
Injun" with them at the old school. I hadn't seen
one for years, but this spring an old one was
ploughed up in one of the fields, and as it stiU re-
tained its shape and would bounce the children used
it to play with. Well, last night one of the boys
went to bring up the cows, and when a cow strayed
apart from the bunch and stood still he threw the
ball at her. He missed her, but as the ball rolled
past she ran after it and grabbed it, apparently un-
der the impression that it was an apple or a potato,
or something good to eat. I was in the stable when
the boy came to tell me about it as a great joke, and
I was inclined to think that the joke was on him, for
I felt sure that as soon as the cow found that she

36

cow TROUBLES

had been fooled she would drop the ball. But when
I went out to the gate to let in the cows I found
"Beans," granddaughter of old Fenceviewer, with
her head and neck stretched out, doing her best to
chew and swallow something that was stuck in her
throat. She was half choked, for her eyes were pop-
ping out, and she was red in the face — or at least
had the same expression that a human being has
when red in the face. With my customary presence
of mind I rushed to her side and began to slap her on
the back the same as we do to the children
when they choke on something or when some-
thing "goes down the wrong way," But it did
no good, and the slapping made her bolt to her stall
in the stable, I immediately began to feel her throat,
and was not long in discovering a lump that seemed
about the size of the missing rubber ball. I then
followed my usual practice when in real trouble. I

sent for a neighbour.

* * * *

By the time my neighbour had arived the cow had
stopped her frantic swallowing, and I had become
suspicious that the lump I had been feeling in her
throat was not a lodged rubber ball, but the end of
her wind-pipe. My neighbour confirmed this suspi-

37

THE RED COW

cion, but he could not suggest wliat I should do un-
(der the circumstances. Tliat is tlie trouble with my
cattle. They are all the time doing things that are
outside of the common fund of experience. Other
people's cattle seem to confine themselves to ailments
that can be treated according to recipes given in the
Veterinary Guide, or in the back numbers of "The
Farmer's Advocate," but mine are all the time doing
something unexpected. Still, I got a line on what
was an entirely new wrinkle to me. A person of ex-
perience brought me a beetle ring and told me that the
way to dislodge a substance from a cow's throat was
to open her mouth and keep it open with the beetle
ring. Then I could slip my hand through the ring
and remove the obstruction with my fingers, or take
a piece of rubber hose and poke it down her throat.
That sounds to me like a very plausible method, but
as the little cow had stopped gagging and had com-
menced chewing her cud, it was considered unneces-
sary to try the operation. And speaking of her cud
* — she should not be in any danger of "losing her
cud" in the near future. That rubber ball should
provide her with just about the most serviceable cud
that a cow ever had. Whenever the pasture gets
short she can bring up her reserve rubber cud and

38

cow TROUBLES

keep herself contented with it until the pasture grows.
Seeing that most of our young people seem to find
it necessary to provide themselves with cuds of dura-
ble, rubbery gum on which they chew during most of
their waking hours, isn't it just possible that our
cows would be more contented and give more milk if
we provided them with rubber cuds? If I could only
get scientific endorsement for the scheme I would
have no trouble in promoting a company to supply
rubber cuds for cows. Anyway, "Beans" seems to
have suffered no inconvenience from having swal-
lowed that indurated knob of gutta percha. When
I was driving her back to the field after milking she
hastily picked up a nice clean corn-cob and put it
down as dessert to the rubber ball — all of wliich leads
me to believe that she inherits her grandmother's di-
gestion as well as her appetite. I am willing to bet
that a post mortem on Fenceviewer would reveal a
collection of junk that would give impaction of the
rumen to an ostrich. Still, if any authority on cows
thinks that having a rubber ball in her midst may be
injurious to "Beans," I wish he would write and tell

me what I should do.

* * * *

And now having asked for help, there should be

39

THE RED COW

no objection if I offered a couple of suggestions that
seem to me to be valuable. Of course, they may be
quite well known, but there are sure to be a few back-
ward farmers like myself who will be glad to be en-
lightened. The first deals with the value of the old-
style wire fences when feeding calves. The most an-
noying thing about feeding calves in a pen is that
when trying to teach a new calf to feed without the
finger a man usually has to step inside. While he is
wrestling with the beginner other calves wiU try to
get into the pail or to get nourishment from his coat-
tail, occasionally administering a bunt to express
dissatisfaction with the taste of the cheap dyes they
now use in cloth. If you have the right kind of wire
fence around your calf pasture you can keep on your
side of it and let the calf stick his head through.
As his head is the part you really have to deal with
you can gradually teach him to take his milk with-
out inhaling too much, and at the same time you have
less trouble in slapping interfering calves on the
nose. The wire fence has robbed calf-feeding of half
of its terrors for me. So much for that suggestion.
The other has to do with greedy horses. One of our
horses usually tries to get all her oats in one mouth-
ful, and, when she tries to chew them she scatters

40

cow TROUBLES

them all over her manger and stall. On advice, we
have put several com cobs in her feeding box, and
now when she is given her oats she has to take rea-
sonably sized mouthfuls and there is no waste.

41

VII.— The Bran Habit

I AM once more in trouble. Fenceviewer the
Third, direct descendant of Fenceviewer the
First, has acquired the bran habit. For the
past month I have been giving her a bran mash
every milking time but when I was away on a trip
those in charge had cut off her supplies and as
nearly as I can judge she is suffering from a sort of
bran delirium tremens. She comes to the gate of the
pasture field whenever she sees any one around and
bawls and bawls. When We bring her in to milk she
whines and bawls during the whole milking time, and
judging from her tones her sufferings are really
acute. With bran at its present price I feel that
she must be cured of the bran habit, though I hardly
know what to do in the case. She is so nervous and
unhappy that I think something should be done, and
if any reader knows how to cure a cow of the bran
habit I shall be delighted to receive instructions.

4g

VIII. — The Farrow Cow and Others

I DON'T know that I ever sat down to write an
article when feeling so full of improving
thoughts as I do at this blessed minute. A lot
of things have happened lately, and all of them
were of the kind that seem designed "To point a
moral and adorn a tale." To begin with, the boy
and I were working in the garden yesterday, when I
happened to notice some dark object on the ground
between two of the cows that were lying down in the
pasture, up near the woods. I ventured the opinion
that it was a newly arrived and not unexpected calf.
The boy took a look and said it was a stone. I could
not remember having seen a stone in that place, but
I was busy and did not stop to argue the matter.
After a while I chanced to look up again and saw
that all the cattle in the pasture had gathered
around the dark object on the ground and were snif-
fing at it. Once more I ventured the opinion that
it was a calf.

43

THE RED COW

"But that is not where the cows were when jou
were looking at them before."

"Why, yes it is."

"I am sure it isn't."

"Don't talk nonsense. Don't you think I can re-
member where the cows were when I was looking at
them.'' And that calf, or whatever it is, is lying ex-
actly where it was when I spoke to you about it."

"But it was not there they were at all. And now
I can see the stone that was between them as clear
as can be."

My temper was rising but I looked and saw a stone
about ten rods to the east of the object I was look-
ing at. A couple of questions brought out the fact
that we had not been looking at the same couple of
cows, nor at the same object on the ground. That
explained everything, and while we were settling the
matter the dark object I had been looking at got up
and began to stagger around on wobbly legs. It was
certainly a calf. But you can see the lesson to be
learned from the incident, can't you.'' Before you
get into a red-hot argument with any one be sure
that you are talking about the same thing. Thus
endeth the first lesson,

V V ^ V ▼

THE FARROW COW AND OTHERS

The calf belonged to the purposeful and strong-
minded red cow. Of course, she was very proud of
her calf, and mooed solicitously when we approached
to examine it. But strange to say she was not nearly
so excited about it as her oldest daughter, a quiet
and hitherto well-behaved cow that has been milking
all winter and is farrow this season. Judging from
her actions she had adopted the new calf, and had
taken out adoption papers before we arrived on the
scene. She ran around and bawled and acted silly
as soon as I began to push the calf towards the barn.
By the way, pushing a young calf that braces its
front legs and insists on lying down every couple of
rods while its real mother and an idiotic farrow cow
are threatening to run over you all the time, is a
job that is rather trying on the temper. But 1
finally got it through the gate, and proceeded to
push it along towards the drive shed where I could
get it out of sight. The mother objected, of course,
and bawled her protest as loudly and ineffectively
as a loyal Opposition when a Government is putting
through a railway subsidy. But the farrow cow
made as much noise as a self-elected reformer. She
stood by the gate and pumped up basso-profundo
bawls from her second or lower stomach. Every

45

THE RED COW

time she bawled she humped her back and moved her
tail up and down like the handle of an old-fashioned
wooden pump. But I paid no attention to her. I
could not see where her feelings were being lacerated,
and I kept right on picking up the calf and setting
him on his wobbly legs and pushing him towards the
drive-shed. But just as I reached the door and the
calf had gone down again I was startled by a yell
behind me. I turned hastily, just in time to see the
farrow cow in the act of shredding herself through
a tight barbed wire fence. I was too late to head
her off, and, as I watched her struggles, I felt that
when she got through she would be of no use for any-
thing but Hamburg steak, and I reflected with some
satisfaction that the new onions in the garden are
ready to be used for a meat garnish. But when she
got through she did not sink on the earth in a pile of
little pieces as I expected, but ran like a deer, bawl-
ing like a fog-horn, to where a calf that had been
weaned the day before was bleating for its mother.
By this time the red cow had become excited and
was threatening to follow her fool daughter through
the barbed wire fence. And the cow whose calf had
been taken the day before also went into hysterics.
I don't believe there was ever so much noise and ex-

46

THE FARROW COW AND OTHERS

citement on the farm as there was for the next few
minutes. The boy kept the red cow from going
through the fence, and I opened the door of the
drive-shed and hurled the calf under the buggy,
where it lay down once more with a little grunt of
satisfaction. Then I went after the farrow cow to
see how much she was damaged. It seems incredible,
but there was not a scratch visible on her silly car-
case. Now, will some learned man please explain
how that could be possible. Whenever I try to go
through a barbed wire fence, even though I go at it
with the greatest circumspection and care, the barbs
catch in my hat, coat, trousers and stockings, and
even catch the rag on my sore finger — not to men-
tion the bias patches they tear out of the most sen-
sitive skin in Middlesex County. And yet that cow
ripped through that fence by brute force and didn't
get a scratch that was visible to the naked eye. Be-
fore I got peace restored on the place I had to cap-
ture each cow and lead her into the stable. I had to
put in the three of them before they would stop
threatening to commit hari-kari on the barbed wire
fence. As I think over the occurrence the lesson that
sticks in my mind is that the farrow cow was won-
derfully like a professional reformer. Though her

47

THE RED COW

interests were not involved in any way she made a
bigger disturbance and got more thoroughly worked
up than the cow that was really bereaved. And no-
body thanked her or gave her a word of praise. I
admit that this lesson came home to me with great
force.

^f '^ ^V ^n

Though I got the cows in the stable the excite-
ment was by no means over. The cow that had lost
her calf the day before is a kicker by nature, but
after getting excited she simply refused to be touched
when milking time came around. When she was be-
ing broken in last year sympathetic friends sent me
many receipts for conquering a kicking cow, but in
the state she was in none of them was of any use.
Though I could keep her from kicking by tying a
strap around her hind legs and another around her
body in front of the udder, my friends neglected to
tell what to do when a cow tries to lie down on top
of the milker. But just when I was in the thick of
this trouble an experienced milker came along and
gave me a plan that was so simple that it seemed
silly. I took off the leg and body straps and then
took a rope and looped it loosely across the cow's
back in front of the hip bones and then tied it be-

48

THE FARROW COW AND OTHERS

hind so that the rope rested loosely against her
knees. There was no pressure of any kind. The
rope simply hung around her rump and lay against
her hind legs. This plan had not been recommended
by any of my correspondents, but it worked like a
charm. She would lift her feet but would not kick
and she gradually quieted down. Apparently that
loose rope gave her much the same feeling that we
humans have when our clothes begin to come undone
in some public place. We do not feel like putting
forth violent efforts of any kind. Anyway, it was
the conquering scheme and I pass it along to all who
may be having trouble with kicking cows. And the
lesson to be learned from that is — Pshaw I forget
just what lesson I was going to draw from the kick-
ing cow.

49

IX. — Cow Enjoyment

DID any one say that a cow has no sense of
humour? I am not sure that any one did,
but cows, as a rule, are regarded as very
serious-minded. When Bill Nye tried to
emphasise the fact that he could occasionally be seri-
ous, he wrote: "There are times when I can be as
serious as a cow." He might also have written that
there were times when he could be as happy as a
cow having her will with a stack. Just let a cow get
free swing at a stack and she can have more solid
enjoyment than anything else on the farm. Up goes
her tail, down goes her head, and she rushes at it
as if she were going to pitch it over the moon. Then
she will throw herself against it sideways and rub
against it like a tom-cat in a catnip bed. If it hap-
pens to be a stack of sheaves, and she comes out of
her merry bout with a sheaf hanging rakishly from
one horn, she will look as happy as a woman coming
out of a bargain-counter scrimmage with a new hat.
As there is a stack between the stable door and the

50

cow ENJOYMENT

gate of the pasture field the cows manage to have
considerable fun every night and morning in spite of
wild yells and the use of a buggy whip. Sometimes,
when driving through the country, I see straw-stacks
to which the cows are allowed free access, and most
of them are so rubbed out at the bottom that they
look like big mushrooms. I shouldn't wonder but it
is a good thing for the cows, too. There is an old
proverb which says, "Laugh and grow fat," and who
knows but the cows might lay on beef more rapidly
if allowed to enjoy themselves in this way. I offer
this suggestion to the scientific department for ma-
ture consideration. Although they have done well,
there may be a few tricks about beef-raising that
may have escaped their attention, because they have
been considering the matter so seriously.

51

X. — Cow Kaiserism

FEEDING a dozen head of cattle, watering
them, cleaning out the stable, milking four
cows twice a day and separating the cream
take up a lot of time, and when the ther-
mometer is hovering around zero it is none too pleas-
ant. And besides the regular routine there are
bound to be incidents that try the temper. For in-
stance, when I was doing the chores one day last
week, with the thermometer at six below, I cut the ice
on the Government drain and turned out the cows
to water. When I had finished cleaning the corn-
stalks out of the mangers and had put in a fresh
supply of feed I noticed that only the red cow and
her eldest daughter, who never leaves her side, had
returned to the barnyard. An investigation showed
the rest of the herd standing around the water-hole.
I started down to find out what was the matter, and
found the Jimmy-cow standing over the hole in the
ice keeping the rest of the cattle away. She had her
fill of ice-water and was shivering with cold, but she

52

cow KAISERISM

was in possession of the visible water supply and was
bound to show her authority, even if she fr-fr-froze.
She got out of the way of the swinging kick I
launched at her, and my leg almost pulled itself out
by the roots. Such conduct on the part of a cow
leads me to believe just the opposite to Gratiano,
who was inclined

"To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men."

I incline to the belief the souls of men infuse
themselves into the trunks of animals, for it does not
seem possible that by any process of evolution ani-
mals should develop such human meanness. I have
often seen human beings play just such tricks as
that cow played, and it strikes me as being of wholly
human origin. In the same way I have always
doubted the "dog in the manger" story. I have
never seen the trick of keeping another animal from
using something that was of no use to itself played
by any dog of my acquaintance. The trait is wholly
human, and can be accounted for only on a theory of
transmigration. The Jimmy-cow must be occupied
by the spirit of some gripping old miser, for she has

53

THE RED COW

other traits that are entirely human. She is so dis-
contented with her lot that she bawls whiningly even
when she has her mouth full, and in that way contra-
dicts a verse in Job, which I cannot locate this morn-
ing, which asks if the ox "loweth over its manger."
If I can only manage to sell the Jimmy-cow to some
back-to-the-lander next spring he will learn much by
studying her exasperating little ways.

54

XI. — A Night Session

THE cattle seem to suffer from insomnia oc-
casionally, and the hot nights rouse their
predatory instincts. Last night as I was
gasping on the floor besides a screen door
I heard something stirring on the lawn. Glancing
out I saw one of the calves investigating a bed of
poppies as if meditating a dose of laudanum to in-
duce sleepfulness. Further investigation found all
the cattle and the horses in the orchard. Dressing
lightly and hurriedly, I called Sheppy and started to
drive them out. For almost an hour we raged
around the orchard and the buildings before we got
the brutes back into the pasture. I found that the
pasture gate was open and at once jumped to the
conclusion that the boy who put out the cows after
milking had left it open. While running around in
the moonlight and under the shadows of the apple
trees, getting tripped by furrows and switched in
the face by branches, I thought of a number of in-
teresting things to say to the boy about his careless-

55

THE RED COW

ness. At first I intended to waken him and tell them
to him while thej were fresh in my mind, but when I
got a drink of cold water at the well I thought better
of it and decided to let the matter rest until morn-
ing. The evidence was all against him, for he was
the last one through the gate, and as the gate was a
new hardware-store gate of steel tubing and wire,
with a regulation catch, I felt sure it couldn't have
come open accidentally. But it was just as well that
I decided to let things stand over until morning.
About 3 o'clock, when I was again snoozing fitfully
on my sofa-pillow by the door, Sheppy began to
bark and a cow rushed past. They were in again.
Without waiting to dress I joined Sheppy, and we
took the Kneipp cure together while rounding up the
cows and getting them back into the pasture. The
new hardware store gate was open again, and my
thoughts shifted to the hardware man. I pictured
myself leaning over the counter and saying things
to him about that gate and the fastenings on it. Yet
that would hardly do. He did not make the gate;
and, anyway, it was of the kind used by all other
farmers. The real trouble was with the gifted Red
Cow and her unhallowed progeny. I knew from ex-
perience that if there was any way of getting into

56

A NIGHT SESSION

mischief they would know it. The gate fastenings
that were good enough for listless and pampered
pure-bred cows were no defence against their enter-
prising energy. So if any one was to blame for the
night's trouble it was myself — for owning that par-
ticular strain of cows.

6T

XII.— A Calf Puzzle

THE things that a spirited and energetic calf
will do are beyond the power of an ordi-
nary man to foresee or provide for. When
the new stable was built the corner came
within less than a foot of the corner of the granary.
Of course it was intended to nail a board in the
opening so as to make a complete shelter for the cat-
tle in the winter, but somehow we never got around
to doing it, and in the meantime the opening was
handy for the children to squeeze through sideways.
No one ever thought that any of the livestock, ex-
cept the cats, would ever attempt the passage, and
that mistaken idea almost cost us a calf. When the
cattle were being put in last night one of the calves
felt altogether too frisky to go in to be tied, even
though the manger was full of choice hay. He ran
away into the orchard, and when brought back made
a break into the pasture field. When rounded up
once more we were all on hand to shoo him through
the stable door. A boy had him by the tail to steer

58

A CALF PUZZLE

him straight, but at the last second he made a jump
sideways, dragging the boy with him, and plunged
head-first through the opening between the stable
and granary. His head and shoulders went through
easily, showing that he has the wedge shape valued
by breeders, but his hip bones were too wide. When
I reached him he had pulled through so that he
couldn't be backed up because of his spreading ribs
and couldn't go through all the way because of the
hip bones. He was as firmly fixed as one of those
bass-wood plugs the boys used to force through a
board when boiled soft. They used to offer it as a
puzzle, and ask you to get out the plug. It had
been put in, so why couldn't it be taken out? When
I examined that calf I almost made up my mind that
he would have to be boiled before he could be taken
out. At least he would have to be taken out in sec-
tions or we would have to move one of the buildings.
Before taking desperate measures, however, I exam-
ined things carefully and decided that by prying a
couple of the siding boards off the granary there
was a bare chance that there would be room to get
him through. This was done by the expenditure of
much man and boy power, and he got through by a
hair's breadth. In fact, I think it was a closer shave

59

THE RED COW

than that, for there are hairs on the corners of both
buildings. The experience took the foolishness out
of him, and as soon as he was free he meekly al-
lowed himself to be driven into the stable. And that
reminds me that I haven't nailed a board on that
opening yet. I must attend to it at once or one of
the bigger animals will be trying the passage, and
I shall have real trouble.

60

XIII. — Cow Character

IT is when a fellow settles down to do the chores
twice a day and every day that he gets thor-
oughly acquainted with his livestock. When
the cattle are in the pasture field they look
pleasant and pose for their pictures when people
come along with cameras, but when they are put in
stalls and waited on hand and — I mean foot and
mouth, they develop all sorts of little meannesses —
just like human beings. One little cow starts to
shake her head until her horns are simply a dan-
gerous blur every time I go to loosen her chain to
let her out to water. I have had several narrow
escapes from being prodded, but it is useless to yell
at her, or even to use the whip on her. She will
start shaking her head as soon as I lay my hand on
the chain, and she keeps it up until the chain drops
from her neck. Another brute has the habit of
swinging quickly towards me as soon as she feels
the chain loosen, and I have to side-step like a prize-
fighter to get out of the way of her horns. But I

61

THE RED COW

am glad to record that the Red Cow, variously known
as Calamity and Fenceviewer I., can be untied safely,
even by a child. When the chain is opened she backs
quietly from the stall and walks to the stable door
in a dignified manner — unless there happens to be a
pail standing around where she can poke an investi-
gating nose into it. She is always on the lookout
for something to eat, and she always enjoys it bet-
ter if it is something she should not have.

.^%.

62

XIV.— Calf Feeding

AFTER all, it is the things that we see every
day that are the hardest to see. Here we
have been feeding the calves by a method
of our own all summer without realising
that there was anything unusual or amusing about
it. It was a city visitor who finally opened our eyes,
or at least partly opened them, to the comedy of our
calf feeding. Frankly, I can't see that there is any-
thing very funny about it yet, but as he persists in
throwing fits over it every time the calf feeding oc-
curs I am going to describe it in the hope that some
one else may get a good, health-giving laugh. All
summer we have had three calves that came to the
orchard fence twice a day to get their ration of
skim milk and feeding flour. When feeding time
came the pails of feed were placed beside the fence
and the calves stuck their heads through between the
wires and helped themselves. As the work settled
down to part of the regular daily routine Sheppy
was also taught to attend to one of the details.

63

THE RED COW

As all who have had dealings with calves are
aware, they will stand around for half an hour after
feeding time and suck one another's ears in a vain
attempt to get more nourishment. In order to break
them of this practice it was Sheppy's part to wait
until they had finished their meal and then scatter
them to different sides of the pasture. The whole
business became quite a matter of fact. Sheppy
wouldn't bother the calves while they were waiting
for their feed or while they were feeding, but just
as soon as they lifted their heads from the pails
Sheppy jumped for them, and with tails in the air
they scattered over the pasture at no ordinary rate
of speed. Our city visitor regarded it as the most
remarkable combination of a quick lunch counter
meal superintended by a saloon bouncer that he had
ever witnessed. He would point out as well as he
could between fits of laughter that the bouncer added
to the free lunch counter was a wonderful improve-
ment, and that he was going to recommend it to the
managers of city cafeterias as soon as he got home.
Such places sometimes get crowded at lunch hour by
people who will linger over their coffee, but if an
efficient bouncer were employed who would send them
on their way as Sheppy sends the calves, fewer peo-

64

CALF FEEDING

pie would have to wait in line for their "sinkers" and
coffee. Moreover, the patrons would be startled
into taking an amount of exercise that would proba-
bly help their digestion. Now you have the whole
story and can decide for yourselves whether the city
visitor had any cause for his unhallowed mirth. We
certainly regard it as part of the daily routine, and
Sheppy goes about his part of the work as solemnly
as if the whole management of the farm depended
on it.

65

XV.— A Cow Trick

I HATE to revive the old-fashioned cow-
poke, but I don't know what else to do.
Fenceviewer II., eldest daughter of the Red
Cow, has discovered that even a wire fence
can't stand the pressure of a little over half a
ton of muscular beef. Part of the wire fencing
on the farm is of a kind that was popular a
number of years ago. It consists of seven strands
of wire tightly stretched along the posts, with up-
right slats fastened every few feet. It is a presenta-
ble-looking fence, and for all ordinary purposes is
entirely satisfactory, but this cow has discovered
that by pushing her head through between the wires
and throwing her weight against the fence she can
break the wooden uprights and walk right through.
The result is that unless she is watched she helps
herself to apples in the orchard whenever she feels
like it. She can go through the fence anywhere
whenever she wants to. But, though the other cows
see her do it, they do not seem to learn the trick.

66

A COW TRICK

This convinces me that the Red Cow is not quite so
intelligent as I thought. When her daughter pushes
through the fence, and is helping herself to the ap-
ples, the red pirate sticks her head over the top wire
and bawls enviously. Of course, as long as she ap-
proaches the fence in that way it turns her success-
fully. Fenceviewer II. pokes her head through
about half way up on the height of the fence. When
she pushes forward she is able to step over the lower
wires, throwing the top wires over her back after
the upright slats are broken. She shows some intel-
ligence in the way she attacks the fence, but what
interests me is that she knows enough to exercise
her whole strength in getting through.

If our domestic animals once learned to use their
strength in this way there would be no controlling
them. They would cross the country, in spite of
fences, like the new "tanks" they are using in battle.
The little tricks of cunning the animals develop,
such as throwing down rail fences and working gates
open, can be defeated by a little care, but if they
once learned how strong they are and the effect of
their whole weight when thrown against an obstacle
we would not be able to manage them. They could
break through the walls of their stables, and no or-

67

THE RED COW

dinary fence could withstand them. Of course, I
know that if I put an old-fashioned poke on this
brute it would probably beat her, because the pole in
front would go under the lower wires and bring them
against her chest, so that she would have to break
the wires to get through. But pokes haven't been
seen in this part of the country for years, and I am
afraid that if I made one and put it on this insur-
gent cow it would cause an awful lot of talk. People
going past in automobiles would see it, and they
would talk also. As it is getting near the end of the
season I shall get over the difficulty by keeping the
cow in at night and putting her out to pasture in
the daytime in a field that has proper woven fences.
I know the poke would do the trick, but really,
though you may not believe it, there are some things
that I haven't the nerve to do.

When Fenceviewer II. is on her depredations she
indulges in one cow trick that I should like to have
the scientists explain to me. After she has eaten
all the apples she wants she makes for the hay stacks
and proceeds to root at them with her horns and to
push herself along against them as if she were trying
to knock them over. I have no doubt she does this

68

A COW TRICK

to brush off the flies and scratch herself pleasantly,
but when I see her at it she looks to me to be enjoy-
ing herself in a way not wholly accounted for by the
fly and itching theory. When attacking the stack
with her horns she flings her tail in the air and
prances as if she were trying a new tango step. Then
she hurls herself against the stack and rubs along
against it until she reaches the other end, where she
throws up her head, with a wisp of hay on her horns,
and looks as if she were enjoying life to the full.
All cows will do this when they get a chance — at
least all cows I have had dealings with. Perhaps
purebreds that have their names in the herd book
may be above such tricks, but I doubt it. Anyway,
cows are the only animals that do this. I have never
known horses, pigs or sheep to do it, though the flies
no doubt bother them too, and they also must feel
itchy at times. But if you let cows get at a stack
they will rub against it until it looks like a monster
mushroom. I have even known cows to keep on rub-
bing against a strawstack until the central stem got
worn so small that the heavy top tumbled over on
them, and they had to be dug out with much labour.
I wish some scientist who isn't busy would tell me

69

THE RED COW

why cows go at stacks in this way. They didn't
have stacks to rub against in their wild state, and I
never see them rub against trees or buildings. And
when the scientists are at it I wish they would tell
me why it is that a horse when rolling seems to pre-
fer a soft spot where he can get all muddy, so that
you will have to put in an extra half-hour when
currying him before driving to town.

Drat that cow ! She must have known that I was
writing about her and decided to give a demonstra-
tion. When I stepped out a few minutes ago I
found her helping herself to apples from the lower
branches, and as I had my mind on the present price
of apples I didn't call to her to make herself at home
or tell her that she was welcome. Quite the con-
trary. And when Sheppy and I started to put her
out she made for the nearest haystack with a joyous
little bawl and almost upset it as she ploughed along
the side of it. I am afraid I must resort to a poke,
no matter what people may think or say about it.
And you may be sure that when any more fencing
is done on the farm I shall use woven wire, or rather
fencing that is fastened together without the use of
brittle wooden slats. This cow will probably be a

70

A COW TRICK

nuisance until we either sell her or put up new fences.
She knows too much, and as she has inherited a full
portion of her mother's impudence there will be no
controlling her.

*^>'~>

71

XVI. — Cow Cussedness

MUCH as I hate to admit it, Fenceviewer and
her tribe have me beaten to a standstill —
or, to be more exact, they have been keep-
ing me on the run all the time. Some weeks
ago I told how Fenceviewer II. had solved the mys-
tery of the wire fence that is made of separate
strands of wire strengthened by upright slats. She
found that by poking her head through between the
wires and throwing her weight against it she could
force her way through wherever she wanted to. At
the time I threatened to make a poke for her, but as
it was the orchard she was breaking into the need
for keeping her out disappeared when the apples
were packed and shipped. But a couple of days ago
the carrots and beets in the garden were dug and
the red brute immediately took advantage of the
fact that one side of the garden is fenced with slatted
wire. After she had reached the carrots a couple of
times I listened to advice and fastened a board on
her face — a sort of wooden veil.

1%

cow CUSSEDNESS

Making cow-pokes is quite a job, and the art has
been lost in this neighbourhood, where they have
well-bred cows that lack ambition. But I was told
that a board on her face would do the trick just as
well. They did not know the Fenceviewer strain.
After dressing her in her new costume I turned her
loose and watched through a knothole in the drive-
shed. She walked straight to the fence near the car-
rots and began to experiment. The board bothered
her, for she couldn't make a head-on attack on the
fence, but it didn't bother her long. She soon found
that by approaching sideways she could see well
enough to swing her head between the wires and then
push through. I interrupted her before she reached
the carrots, and then Sheppy drove her to the other
side of the field so that I could get time to cool off
and think things over. But I didn't cool off. I had
noticed that while the brute was working her way
through the fence she was being watched by her
mother, Fenceviewer I., the original red cow of the
lot, but as the old pirate had not learned the trick
sooner I did not think she would learn. Ten min-
utes later I found her at the carrots. It had finally
dawned on her how the trick was done. I drove her
out with sticks and harsh cries, but I had barely

73

THE RED COW

closed the gate before she was poking through the
fence again in the most approved manner of her
daughter.

That settled it. I rounded up the flock and drove
them into a field that is surrounded by woven wire
fences and left them there. The pasture doesn't
amount to much, but it is not likely that the weather
will make it possible for us to pasture them more
than a week or two longer, so they will have to be
given extra feed night and morning and have their
run confined to the cow-proof field. Next year, if
they have not forgotten the trick, they will have to
be sold or I will be forced to put up new fences such
as would not be needed for reasonable and right-
minded cows.

74

XVII. — Teaching a Calf

WHEN I got home I found a fresh calf
waiting to be taught how to drink out
of a pail. Now that several days have
passed, I feel that I can mention the
subject in proper language. Breaking in young
calves is just the same job now as it was when the
world was young. I dare say there is really nothing
new that one can say about it, but there seems to be
a sort of relief in saying some of the same old things
over again. This is a particularly lusty and likely
calf, grandson of Fenceviewer I., "that serpent of
Old Nile," familiarly known as the Red Cow. He
proves that there is something in the law of atavism,
for he takes after his unregenerate and belligerent
grandmother rather than after his gentle, though
somewhat sneaky, mother. Anyway, when I took
the pail of milk and started in to nourish him I found
him more stifF-necked than a Cabinet Minister. Still,
the line of approach was better. I straddled his
neck and pushed his head into the milk so that he

75

THE RED COW

was forced either to drink it or inhale it. One could
hardly treat a Cabinet Minister in that way, much
as he would like to. But to our calf. Once more
the lesson has been forced on me that when feeding a
calf one should not be arrayed in the glory of Solo-
mon, or in other words that he should not wear the
clothes he wore to the city especially if he ever ex-
pects to wear them there again. Even a commodious
pair of overalls is not a sufficient protection. The
boy who was hovering on the outskirts of the trou-
ble and pretending to help was properly dressed for
the occasion in a three-piece suit — shirt, pants, and
one suspender. When that calf gave a sporadic
bunt that squirted milk into my eye and variously
plastered me, I wanted to give him a six months'
hoist with the toe of my boot, but I restrained my-
self. (You will notice that Parliamentary phrases
stick in my vocabulary after a visit to Ottawa.)
However, I am glad to report that the calf is now
so much subdued that the boy in the three-piece suit
is able to attend to him.

76

XVIII.— Calf Exuberance

LAST night Juno got loose, and for a few
minutes there was excitement around the
stable. Juno is a fall calf, daughter of
Fenceviewer II., and owing to the scarcity
of stable room she is being pampered and fed up for
veal. At the time of her arrival the children named
her Jupiter, but on second thought it was consid-
ered that Juno would be more appropriate. Up to
last night she had lived in a small calf pen at the
end of the stable, but the fastening on the gate came
loose and she discovered what her legs were for.
She shot out through the stable door in a way that
sent the hens flying over the hay stacks. Then she
tripped over a sheaf of cornstalks that I had
dropped on the ground while preparing to feed the
cows, sprawled at full length, bounced right up and
rushed ahead until she was brought to a standstill
by a wire fence in a way that almost telescoped her
neck into her body. Finding that the wire fence

77

THE RED COW

would not yield she said "Bah-wah" and started in
another direction. Sheppy was coming around the
corner of the granary in his most sedate manner,
when the pop-eyed avalanche almost stepped on him.
When last seen Sheppy was plunging blindly be-
tween two haystacks with his tail between his legs.
A flock of hens that were enjoying their evening
bran mash next attracted her attention, and she made
an offensive straight at them. When they were
thoroughly scattered she rushed the ducks from a
mud puddle, and the squawking they made startled
her so that she applied the brakes and threw on the
reverse. It was a wonderful exhibition of vitality,
and showed what a milk diet can do for one. The
next I heard of Juno was when I was stooping over
to pick up a sheaf of cornstalks, and if you can pic-
ture to yourself a dignified man in that attitude with
a lusty calf prancing behind him and going through
the motions of getting ready to bunt you can under-
stand the joyous laughter with which the children
shouted a warning. I sidestepped in the nick of
time and shooed Juno away to the orchard, where
she could enjoy herself without getting into trouble.
After the chores were done I took a pail that was as

78

CALF EXUBERANCE

empty as a political platform and she followed me
right back into the pen just like an intelligent voter.
I could do a little moralising right here, but it is
not considered good form to talk politics just now.

79

SHEEP

"^-^'-.-f^

/

(

XIX. — Our First Sheep

A GREAT event has happened on the farm.
Obeying the urgent appeals of the Food
Controller, the littlest boys decided to go
into sheep-raising. Having ideas of my
own about sheep, I did not presume to advise them
in their plans. If I were going in for sheep my in-
clination would be to invest in the old pioneer va-
riety that were half goat and half greyhound. Those
sheep were entirely capable of taking care of them-
selves. You never had to worry lest the}' should get
cast in a furrow. They were much more likely to
get marooned on the ridge pole of the barn while pur-
suing some of their adventures. Fences meant noth-
ing in their lives, and no matter where they strayed
you could trust them to "come home, bringing their
tails behind them." But so many scientists call to
see us that even the children are getting high-toned
notions and nothing would do them but properly
registered, pedigreed sheep from a prize-winning
flock. They made their own negotiations, drew their

83

THE RED COW

savings from the bank and started into business with
four ewe lambs. My first active interest in the new
venture occurred when the sheep were brought home.
I was called out to help get them into the sheep pen
that had been built for their reception. When I
appeared on the scene the sheep all had their backs
to the door, and in their eyes there was an expres-
sion that suggested the popular song: "Where Do
We Go From Here?" It was quite evident that they
had no intention of going through the door. As we
crowded in on them I spread myself out so as to
cover as wide an area as possible, feet well apart and
arms outstretched. I am not exactly clear as to
what happened, but the sensation I had was that one
sheep went under each arm, one between my legs and
the other over my head. Anyway, by the time I had
recovered my scattered wits they were in a far cor-
ner of the orchard, bleating pathetically.

The children rounded them up once more, while
Sheppy, though a thoroughbred Collie, hovered
around wondering what these creatures were. I don't
believe he ever before had a close view of a sheep, but
if Darwin is right, he would very soon show inher-
ited instinct, and know just what to do in order to

84

OUR FIRST SHEEP

handle them. But the children had no faith in Shep-
py. They threw clods and told him to "go home,
sir!" which he did in a humiliated manner. As the
sheep were again approaching the pen I had a chance
to observe their startling efficiency in the control of
burrs and weeds. I have been assured that if we
had kept sheep the farm would have been in a much
tidier condition, and I am inclined to think that the
statement is true. One of the sheep, on its way back
to the pen, saw a well-loaded burdock that had been
overlooked. It stopped to nibble a few burrs, and
when it was shooed on, it didn't stop to walk around
the obstruction. It simply walked straight over it,
and when it had passed there was not a burr left on
the stalks. Every solitary one had been caught in
the sheep's wool, much to the disgust of the youthful
owners, but I felt a certain amount of relief, because
there is now no danger that the neighbourhood of
that burdock will be seeded down for next year. It
appears that what the sheep do not eat in the way
of burrs they gather in their wool, and in that way
clean up the farm. I am not quite sure that the
scientists will approve of this method of weed con-
trol, but that is how the matter stands at the pres-
ent writing. After several attempts at driving the

85

THE RED COW

sheep into the pen we finally decided to corner them
and catch them one by one. This was done, and the
perspiring family was presently in a position to take
a good look at the little flock in their pen. Far be
it from me to dash the optimism of the youthful
shepherds, but I could not bring myself to verify
the belief that triplets are almost as frequent as
twins among lambs. Still, wool promises to be a
good price and the speculators stand a good chance
of realising on their venture. Best of all, they will
be helping the work of food production, which is
now so urgent.

The human inhabitants of the farm were not the
only ones that were interested in the advent of the
sheep. The young cattle ran for their lives when
they saw them, and you could hear the colts snort for
at least a mile. The Red Cow did not get excited but
she bestowed a disdainful glance on them that re-
minded me of the lady in Tennyson, who

"Stretched a vulture neck
And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile."

She is too blase to get excited about anything ex-
cept another cow, with whom she might have to fight

86

OUR FIRST SHEEP

for the leadership of the herd, but she shewed in
every line of her face and form that sheep were
something new to her and that she didn't think much
of them. The colts were the most excited of all.
They ran around the sheep in large circles, snorting
and shying. Whenever they crossed the tracks of
the sheep they seemed to catch the unaccustomed
scent like hound dogs and their excitement increased
amazingly. Finally they got the sheep frightened,
and in order to prevent trouble, we had to put the
colts in another field. Though several days have
passed the colts do not seem to get used to their new
neighbours, and they snort with terror whenever
they have to pass the sheep pen. It is quite evident
that they cannot be allowed to run together for
some time.

The arrival of the sheep on the farm caused me
to give them some attention, and the more I medi-
tate on them the more I regret that we did not go in
for sheep-raising long ago. They have opened to me
an entirely new field for articles. I had never real-
ised how completely and intimately sheep are bound
up with the history and literature of mankind. In
symbolism they date back to the earliest chapters of

87

THE RED COW

Genesis. It might even be shown that we owe much
of our civilisation and learning to the care of sheep.
Shepherds have been poets since the time of David
and earlier, and they have even figured among the
rulers of the world. The Biblical patriarchs were
all shepherds, and in the history of Egypt we have
the Hyksos dynasty — the fierce shepherd kings, who
ruled, I think, for six hundred years. One has only
to let his mind wander over literature and art to
realise that man and sheep have been companions
from the dawn of history. Pastoral poetry is a dis-
tinct branch of literature, and what would landscape
painting be without woolly bunches in the middle
distance to represent sheep? I understand that it is
to the shepherds we owe the sciences of astronomy
and algebra, and they have also made contributions
to medicine and botany. It was of a shepherd that
Touchstone said : "Such an one is a natural philoso-
pher." Perhaps the most up-to-date contribution to
civilisation that we owe to the shepherds is the an-
cient and royal game of golf. It began with the
shepherds who whiled away their hours knocking
about a woollen ball with their shepherd's crook.
Assuredly the sheep will furnish me with an ample

88

OUR FIRST SHEEP

field for research, investigation, experiment and non-
sense of all kinds. I may even be able to get some
political hints from them, because of their habit of
following a leader. I look forward to a pleasant and
profitable winter studying the children's sheep.

89

XX.— The First Lamb

IN spite of the persistent cold weather there has
been enough excitement on the farm to send
up the temperature several degrees. One day
last week, when the mercury was sulking at zero,
three lambs arrived on the place. Alas only one
survived, in spite of tender care and the best ad-
vice of all the experienced sheep-raisers in the neigh-
bourhood. One died at once and another followed a
few hours later, tho.ugh it was carefully fed and
tucked in a warm nest beside the kitchen stove. The
mother sheep could not be induced to take any in-
terest in the weakling. One of her lambs was strong
and vigorous, and to it she gave her whole care,
seeming to know by instinct that nothing could save
the others. And it is doubtful if she could have
saved the one we have if we had not shared the cares
of motherhood with her. At nightfall the ther-
mometer went down and down until it reached IS be-
low, and the new lamb began to lose interest in this
cold world. The frost penetrated to the snug box-

90

THE FIRST LAMB

stall, and the poor little lamb shivered and refused
to pay attention to its mother. She pawed at it to
make it get up, but it couldn't get on its feet. So we
wrapped it in a horse-blanket and took it to the nest
beside the stove. For the next couple of days we
kept it warm and carried it to its mother for brief
visits at meal times. In that way we kept it from
being chilled to death, and now that the weather has
moderated it is living with its mother and being
much admired. But I am afraid that some of the
interest taken in it is rather sordid. When the ex-
citement was at its highest I found a boy studying
the market reports. He was looking up the price of
wool.

^ ^ ^ ^

Like all the other live stock on the farm, the lamb
has a name of its own. Its owner informed me that
it is to be called Mary Belle. Why he was so super-
fluous as to give it two names I did not inquire. The
name sounded good to me — the sound of it reminded
me of how:

"Winking Mary buds begin
To open their golden eyes.

With everything that pretty bin-

91

THE RED COW

Mary Belle — Mary buds. There is a distinct as-
sonance, but it is a slim one on which to hang a quo-
tation. Still, the "Mary buds" reminded me of
spring — and that led to results. Lambs are always
associated with spring in literature, and why
shouldn't they be in fact? My personal recollec-
tions of lambs all coincide with days :

"Whan that Aprille with his showres soote,
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote."

So what on earth was a lamb doing in this world
in January .f^ On inquiry I learned that one must ex-
pect such things if he goes in for pure-bred, pedi-
greed sheep that may take prizes at the fall fairs.
Any lamb that is born after 12 p.m. of December
31 of the preceding year is entitled to rank as a
spring lamb. When the fall fairs come round Mary
Belle will have the advantage of several months'
growth over the lambs that come in the springtime —
"the only pretty ring time." This makes it look
to me as if prize-winning were rather more impor-
tant than sheep-breeding. Poor Mary Belle will have
to spend the most frisky months of her life in a lit-
tle pen, instead of skipping about among the flowers,
as a lamb should. She is being robbed of her youth
in the hope that she may win a blue ribbon.

92

XXI. — Sheep Surgery

WHEN I got home from the village a
couple of evenings ago a bareheaded
delegation met me at the road gate
with bad news.
"Strafe's leg — was chased by a dog — was broken
— and I must set it — Oh, the dog was a stranger —

Strafe couldn't "

At least that is what it sounded like. One thing
is certain, and that is that two excited boys can't
tell a bit of news as quickly as one. After both had
blown off steam at the same time, I questioned them
and found that Strafe, one of the twin lambs, had
his leg broken. It seems that a stranger dog fol-
lowed one of the children from the village in the af-
ternoon, and in spite of being told to "Go home, sir,"
he persisted in following. But he no sooner reached
the farm than he began chasing the sheep. To es-
cape him they rushed to the barnyard, and as the
gate was only partly opened they got jammed, and
poor little Strafe, in spite of his warlike name, had

93

THE RED COW

his leg broken. The dog was promptly chased away.
None of the family had seen him before, and they
did not know who owned him. Evidently he was
a stranger. I was distressed to hear the news,
for there is something so gentle about lambs that
one hates to think of them suffering. In spite
of his belligerent name, Strafe is an unusually
gentle creature that is ready to stand and be petted
whenever any one is in the humour to fuss with him.
It almost seemed as if one of the family had been
hurt.

My first thought was that the lamb might have
to be killed to put him out of his misery. That is
what usually happens to a colt that gets his leg
broken, and having heard of several that had suf-
fered in this way — or was it that they had a tendon
cut on a wire fence? — I began to see the gloomy side
of the matter at once. Still, on second thought, I
reflected that a lamb with a limp might raise just
as much wool and mutton as one with the use of all
his legs, but it was quite evident that his prospects
of figuring in the blue-ribbon class at the Fall Fair
were probably ended. This was quite a calamity in
itself, for he is purebred and the children had hopes

94

SHEEP SURGERY

of him. As quickly as possible I got to the sheep-
pen and looked over the little patient. He was ly-
ing down in a comfortable attitude, though it was
easy to see that his leg was broken below the knee,
as the crook in it was quite noticeable. He made
no objection to having me examine his leg, though
it must have hurt to have the broken bone han-
dled. What surprised me was that there was no evi-
dence of swelling, though the bone had been broken
for some hours. Another strange thing was that
the bones lay so loose. The parts barely touched
each other, though in cases of human fracture the
bones sometimes get drawn past. It was no com-
minuted fracture I had to deal with, but a very
simple case of simple fracture. Of course, the whole
family gathered around to make comments and give
advice, and I quickly found that I was expected to
play the surgeon and give Strafe a leg that would be
as good as new. Though surgery had never come
within my experience in the past, I felt that this
was no time for false modesty, and prepared for
action.

While making inquiries among persons of experi-
ence as to the best way to proceed, I brought out

95

THE RED COW

the curious bit of information that surgeons use
only three splints when setting a human broken leg.
My own instinct was to use four, but being assured
that the doctors use only three I felt that there
might be some mystic reason for it that was beyond
the lay mind and made my preparations accordingly.
Strafe had been placed on a bench, where he lay
quite composedly while I took his measure for his
new set of splints, which I was whittling from a
shingle. Apparently he was not a bit frightened or
distressed. Judging from his appearance he seemed
to think he was coming in for an extra lot of petting
from the boy who was holding him, and he seemed to
be enjoying himself. Finally, I got my splints ready,
packed a bunch of loose wool around the broken leg
and then began to wind a cotton bandage around my
somewhat clumsy looking attempt at surgery. A
visitor held the bones straight while I was doing
this and Strafe did not struggle a particle. Evi-
dently a lamb's sense of pain cannot be as acute as
that of a human being. Though I was as gentle as
possible I am sure that my touch was clumsy and
that a broken bone in the human body if handled so
inexpertly would have caused acute suffering. The
lamb neither struggled nor protested, but allowed

96

J

SHEEP SURGERY

me to move the leg about and do what I liked with
it. After it was carefully bandaged he was set down
on the ground, and hopped away on three legs to
where his anxious mother was waiting for him. Yes-
terday he was feeding as usual, and as the splints
were firmly in place I am hopeful of a perfect cure.
By the way, I wonder if they give prizes for animal
boncsetting at the Fall Fairs. I must find out.

m

/

XXII.— The Patient

THE progress of Strafe, the lamb that had
his leg broken, is about the most surpris-
ing thing I have seen in a long time. One
naturally thinks of a broken leg as a seri-
ous thing, and it is to a human being, but it doesn't
seem to cause so very much discomfort to a lamb.
Two days after the accident I saw him taking part
in a brisk game of "King of the Castle" with Clarissa
and Mary Belle. Of course he was hampered by his
game leg, which was bound up in the splints I had
put on it, but he found little difficulty in climbing
to the top of a pile of hay that had been thrown from
the top of a stack and defending his position against
assaulting forces. Though he carried his leg in the
air he could still bunt vigorously, and though he
sometimes got knocked over, he would immediately
return to the fray. Evidently the nervous system
of a lamb is not so sensitive as that of a human be-
ing. A child with a broken leg could not be taking
part in games so soon after the accident. Although

98

THE PATIENT

it is only a week since he was hurt I notice that he
is already using his leg, though with a very decided
limp. It is still too soon to take off the splints, so I
cannot tell whether my attempt at bone-setting has
been a success, but folks of experience who have
looked at him assure me that his chances of figuring
in the blue-ribbon class are ended. It will be his
destiny to figure as mutton. This is not only a dis-
appointment, but a considerable loss.

99

XXIII. — Shearing

THE sheep changed their flannels this week
and as the weather changed at the same
time, I am afraid they are not feeling very
comfortable. With wool at present prices,
they were given a very thorough clip, and in spite of
the pleasant proverb the wind has not been tempered
to them. We have had the reliable north wind with
which we have become quite familiar this spring, and
I was sure they would catch their death of cold. I
investigated to see that we had a proper supply of
mustard and goose-oil in case I should have to put
plasters on their chests and give them the proper
dosing. But up to the present writing they seem to
be doing very well, though they keep on the lee side
of the buildings and of the hedge that runs along
the road. They almost look uncanny in their pres-
ent condition of undress. It is surprising to see
what a small sheep emerges from the fleece when the
shearing is done. The mother sheep look very little
bigger than their lambs. By the way, as those lambs

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SHEARING

already have noticeable fleeces, I am afraid the
warm weather will be rather hard on them. One
warm day last week I noticed Mary Belle, with her
mouth open, panting after a short run. What will
it be like for her in August, when we have real heat ?
While speaking of the lambs, I am glad to report
that my attempt at bone-setting proved fairly sat-
isfactory. Strafe is able to gambol about much as
usual, though he limps a little and is thinner for his
experience. There is a lump on his leg where the
bone knit and those who speak with authority say
that although he is a fine lamb he must now be con-
sidered in the mutton class. But I am proud of the
fact that my efforts preserved his leg for everyday
use if not for show purposes.

As this has been the first sheep-shearing we have
had on the farm in many years, I was interested to
note the improvement. When the boys brought word
that the shearers had arrived and were shearing the
sheep I hurried to the barn to view the operation.
As I approached I heard a sound like that of a
cream separator, and was surprised to find that the
shearing was being done by machinery. With these
tame, modem sheep shearing is not the exciting

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process it used to be. The legs of the creatures
were not tied up in a bunch with a hame-strap to
keep them quiet. The shearer merely made the sheep
sit on her hind-quarters, while he tucked her head
under his arm. He had a contrivance that looked
like a small mowing machine, and was busily cutting
swaths of wool along her sides. It was doubtless
a great improvement on the old shears — the kind
that memory associates with boyish haircuts. I
have always thought of the shears by its Gaelic
name, but it is past my power to spell it. It was
imitative of the sound made by the shears when in
use. If you take a pair of shears, close and open
them and then try to pronounce the sound you hear,
you will have the Gaelic name. It sounds some-
thing like "dwnguist." Pronouncing it is just as
hard as it looks. One needs to be born to it. I
found that they had an old-fashioned shears with
them to clip off spots that the mower could not be
put over safely, but it was very little used. I
noticed that the new method of shearing leaves the
sheep free from the ridges that used to be prominent
features of old-time shearings — and haircuts. I
shouldn't wonder but they could cut hair with these

102

SHEARING

new machines, but as I have never seen anything like
them in even the most up-to-date barber shops they
cannot be practical for hair-cutting. But they are
certainly the proper caper for sheep-shearing.

103

XXIV. — Vain Regrets

JOHN MILTON was a noble poet, but he was
not a safe guide in matters pertaining to
animal husbandry. For the ordinary man,
the bulletins of the Department of Agricul-
ture are safer reading than the masterpieces of
literature. If it were not for John Milton I might
to-day have a bank account that would outshine
"the wealth of Ormuz or of Ind." Just listen to this
piece of foolishness that I have been cherishing all
these years :

"Alas ! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade.
And strictly meditate the thankless muse?"

You couldn't expect me to go in for sheep-raising
while giving that quotation a place of honour in my
memory, could you? The boys, not caring for
poetry, and caring much for the practical bulletins,
obtained my permission to go in for sheep-raising.
Remembering the kind of sheep we had when I was a

104

VAIN REGRETS

boy, I thought they wouldn't be much trouble, as
they would pasture most of the time with the neigh-
bours anyway. But the boys didn't go in for that
kind. They got pure-bred registered sheep, and
started under the best auspices, with a little flock
that was partly bought and partly taken on shares.
I admired the addition to the farm live stock, but did
not get excited. These quiet, plump sheep did not
seem to promise adventure of any kind. The sheep
I used to know were more like Ancient Pistol's
"damned and luxurious mountain goat" than they
were like these pampered pets of the show-ring. Of
course. I recorded the arrival of Mary Belle and
Clarissa and Strafe, and told something about their
doings, but felt no inclination to take up "the
homely, slighted shepherd's trade." And now see
what has happened. Last week a buyer of fancy
sheep came along, gave the flock the once over, and
then bought Mary Belle. When they told me the
price he was paying, my wrath against John Milton
boiled over. "Slighted shepherd's trade," indeed!
That buyer paid sixty-five dollars for Mary Belle!
You could have bought a whole flock of the sheep I
used to know for that price. Why, O why, didn't
I go in for sheep when I came back to the land?

105

XXV. — Sheep Sculpture

THERE are no such sheep as those that take
the prizes at the Fall Fairs and have their
pictures printed in the papers. I never be-
lieved that such sheep really existed, "so
large and smooth and round," and now I know that
they do not. At least they do not exist as a natural
product of the farm. They are just as much a
manufactured article as the little woolly "baa-baas"
in the baby's Noah's Ark. I know this, because I
saw a show sheep manufactured. When Mary Belle
was sold it was stipulated by the buyer that she
was to be clipped before being delivered. In my in-
nocence of the guile of the show-ring I thought that
this meant that she was to be trimmed a little around
the edges so that her little fleece wouldn't look too
ragged and ill-kept. When an experienced showman
came to do the clipping, I naturally stuck aroimd to
see what would happen. I knew Mary Belle was a
pure-bred sheep of some kind, but I thought it

106

SHEEP SCULPTURE

was an ordinary kind. I had seen sheep and lambs in
pasture fields that looked much like our sheep, so I
did not think there was anything unusual about
them. I supposed that the show sheep, with their
wonderful points, must be specially bred and must
belong to kinds that do not run in ordinary mortal
pastures. But I know better now. I saw Mary Belle
transformed from an ordinary playful scamp of
a lamb to a primped and perfect darling of the show-
ring. I have learned that sheep-raising and sheep-
showing are two entirely different things, and I
have been forced to the conclusion that Touchstone's
shepherd didn't know much about the possibilities of
sheplierding. He was only a "natural philosopher,"
but the modem shepherd is an artist. I suppose it
wouldn't do for me to say "fakir."

When Mary Belle was captured she acted much as
an untamed youngster might when about to have his
hair combed and neck washed before being exhibited
to company. She jumped wildly and blatted for her
mother, but it was no use. A strong man held her
by the wool around her neck, while the experienced
showman looked her over with a critical eye. He ad-
mitted that she had many good points — but there

107

THE RED COW

were a few little things — still it didn't matter — they
wouldn't show when he got done. After these cryp-
tic remarks he took a couple of carding combs — I
am not sure that that is the right name, but they
were the kind of thing I used to see in my youth in
the hands of old pioneer women who carded their
own wool. They look like curry-combs. They are
made of wire teeth, set in leather on a wooden frame.
They look and feel something like a cockle burr.
Anyway the showman took these instruments and
started at Mary Belle's fleece. The process was
much like combling a particularly snarly head of
hair and was received in the same spirit. The lamb
jumped and called for mother, but as I did not re-
gard the operation any more cruel than many a
hair-combing I had witnessed I did not protest.
With these carding combs the lamb's fleece was all
pulled out so that she suddenly looked twice her
usual size. But there was no improvement in her
appearance. In fact she looked shaggier than ever.
But presently her wool was all pulled out on end, and
into separate strands, and the real work of trimming
or clipping was ready to begin.

Taking an especially sharp pair of shears, the
showman tried their edge on his thumb in quite the

108

SHEEP SCULPTURE

old shepherd manner that I could remember from
earlier days, and looked over the unkempt mass of
wool before him with a critical eye. Though I didn't
realise it at the time, his attitude was much the same
as that of Michael Angelo before the mass of marble
from which he hewed his David or of Canova when
he stood before the lump of butter from which he
carved the lion. The showman was really a sheep
sculptor, and he was going to snip and clip a prize-
winning lamb out of the mass of wool before him.
With a sure hand he mowed a slight swath of wool
along Mary Belle's back. Where there were humps
he cut fairly deep, and where there were depressions
he skimmed lightly. The result was a back-line that
was as smooth and straight as if cut to a ruler.
Swiftly but carefully the shears went snipping along
her back and down the sides. What surprised me
most was the surface left by this skilful shearing. It
looked like a fine felt. If I didn't know better, I
would say that the lamb had been clipped right to
the skin. Yet there were probably two inches of
wool under that deceiving surface in some places.
The sculptor proceeded with his work with artistic
sureness of touch. He had in his mind an ideal lamb,

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THE RED COW

and he proceeded to cut to that ideal. As he worked
there began to emerge just the kind or lamb one
sees in the show ring or pictured in the agricultural
papers. The new lamb was not the harum-scarum
Mary Belle in any sense of the word. She looked
twice the size, and her smooth coat, entirely free
from snarls and elf-locks, made her look as fat as a
seal. I had to poke at her new coat in order to con-
vince myself that it was not really a convict-clip,
right close to the skin. The surface seemed to show
the movement of the flesh underneath, and her sides
palpitated to every breath, just as if there was no
covering of wool.

As the expert worked she took on a wonderful
smoothness and roundness. Her hams looked like
legs of lamb such as had never been. Her back
became broad and plump and her breast was a de-
light to look at. I watched admiringly while an en-
tirely new Mary Belle was carved from the raw ma-
terial of the old. And the strange thing of it was
that she seemed to like the transformation. Be-
fore the work was half done there was no need of a
strong man to hold her. She stood with her chin
resting in the showman's hand while he snipped and
clipped her to shape. Finally he turned her over to

110

SHEEP SCULPTURE

the other man to hold and then stood back as a sculp-
tor might to view his work. He walked around her
and looked her over from every angle — occasionally
stepping up to trim some point to a more desired
shape. When she was finally done I half-expected
him to go over her with a piece of sandpaper, but
that was not necessary. The shears had left her
smooth enough. Wlien the art work was completed
she looked exactly like the impossible sheep they
have at the shows and she seemed proud of the
change. She stood to have her picture taken just
like a belle who was dressed for some grand occa-
sion. Her nature seemed to undergo a transforma-
tion as well as her figure. I could not imagine her
romping and playing king of the castle with Strafe
and Clarissa. In fact, I doubt if her mother would
have known her when she was turned back into the
pasture if it were not that sheep know their off-
spring by the sense of smell. Everything was
changed about her except her characteristic odour.
She looked to be fully as big and much heavier than
her mother, who had recently been subjected to a
skin-tight shearing. As I looked her over I felt
that the time had come to add another stanza to the
many parodies of "Mary Had a Little Lamb":

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Mary had a little lamb —

They took her to the show,
And though she had a perfect shape

It really wasn't so.

After seeing her in her finished form I have no
doubt that Mary Belle will win prizes in the show
ring, but I feel that the prizes should not go to her,
but to the sculptor who fashioned her. She is more
of a work of art than any of the lambs and sheep we
see in pastoral paintings.

P.S. — I almost forgot to tell that the showman
enlightened me on another trick of the prize-ring.
While I stood behind Mary Belle he caught her un-
der the chin in such a way that her back and rump
looked broader and fuller than ever. Then as I
walked around in front of her he changed his posi-
tion and with a skilful flick of his toe separated her
feet so that she stood with feet well apart. This
made her breast look broader and plumper than any
breast of lamb could possibly be. All of which made
me wonder if the fall fairs influence sheep-breeding
as much as they do the art of sheep-showing. I
wonder if all the other animals of the show-ring are
handled in the same expert way.

112

XXVI. — Our Lawn Mower

ONCE more opportunity has knocked at my
door and I failed to take advantage, and
now it is too late. When the lamb had
his leg broken he and his mother and sister
were kept in the orchard, so that he wouldn't have
to run about so much. The orchard includes the
lawn around the house, and as the spring advanced
the lawn naturally was the first spot to offer in-
viting pasture. The result was that the sheep came
right up to the door to nibble the young and juicy
grass. Mary Belle pushed her way through the
fence so that she could be with her young friends
and the flock were able to make quite a showing
in their attacks on the grass. I was not long in no-
ticing how well they did the work that I usually
have to do with a lawn mower, and I saw where I
could have some freedom from this irksome task this
summer, simply by turning the sheep to graze on the
lawn from time to time. From this discovery it was
only a logical step to think of having the sheep

113

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patented as lawn mowers so that any one who used
my idea would be obliged to pay me a royalty that
might grow to such proportions that it would at-
tract the attention of the Minister of Finance. It
was a beautiful idea, for if I could only get all the
lawns in the country paying tribute to me there
would be no end to my income. But while I was
talking about it and telling people how they could
sit around wearing diamonds when I made my
fortune by my new idea the papers brought the news
that President Wilson had just bought a dozen
Shropshire sheep to clip the lawn at the White
House. This makes the great idea public property.
It is too late to get a patent on it now. Still there
is some satisfaction in remembering that great minds
run in the same channel. The busy President has
hit on the same trick as I have to get out of the
tiresome job of running the early-rising lawn mower.

114.

PIGS

XXVII. — Clementine

IN spite of the prevailing atmosphere of laziness
there is one brisk thing on the place. Clemen-
tine, the pet pig, broke out of her pen this
morning, and as the children are at school she
is allowed to roam at will. She is positively brisk in
hustling for apples in the orchard and for heads
of oats around the oat stack. And wherever she
goes Sheppy follows her, growling and barking. He
knows that she should not be running loose, but he
hasn't the courage to put her in her place. There
were no pigs about when Sheppy was receiving his
somewhat skimpy education, so he doesn't know
what to do with Clementine. Apparently she un-
derstands this, for she pays no attention to him ex-
cept when he gets too tiresome with his barking and
growling. At such times she opens her mouth and
runs at him, and Sheppy almost falls over himself
in his attempts to get out of the way. Of course, it
looks absurd to see a big dog running out of the way

117

THE RED COW

of a little pig, roasting size, but I think the secret
is that Sheppy feels ashamed to snap at so little a
creature. But some day she will get a terrible sur-
prise. If she comes around when Sheppy is having
his dinner and tries to help herself there will be im-
mediate trouble. That is where friendship ceases
with Sheppy. I have known him to kill a pet kitten
in about two seconds because it tried to help itself
from his dish. Clementine will be sure to try it if she
is around when he is being fed and then there will
be doings. She will be even more surprised than
she was in the stable last night. When we were milk-
ing Clementine strayed in, grunting pleasantly, to
see what she could find. The kittens had also come
for their evening portion of fresh milk. Presently
Clementine, like her namesake in the song.

"Stubbed her toe upon a kitten,
Drefful sorry, Clementine!"

The kitten let out a yeowl when the pig stepped on
it that would have done credit to a full-grown cat.
Its mother. Lady Jane Grey, rushed to the rescue
and raked Clementine from shoulder to hip with
distended claws. "Wheel Whee!" said Clementine
as she shot through the door. She may think herself

118

CLEMENTINE

capable of bossing dogs, but she has no illusions
about cats.

While sitting in the hammock after dinner I had
a chance to observe Clementine closely as she nosed
around to see if any pears had fallen lately. While
looking at her I was haunted by a sense of something
familiar. Where had I seen that smile before? You
know that the pig is the one thing in nature that
has the "smile that won't come off." The corners of
its mouth are permanently turned up so that it can
hardly stop smiling even when it is squealing for
swill. And when it is contented it seems to be smil-
ing from the corners of its mouth to the jaunty lit-
tle curl in its tail. While watching Clementine I
realised that I had seen that smile before somewhere.
After cudgelling my memory for a while I suddenly
remembered. Her smile is exactly like that of the
get-rich-quick promoter, the newly appointed of-
fice-holder, and other men who have been selfishly
successful. As I realised this I called up pictures of
scores of men with smoothly-shaven jowls and the
pink cheeks of eupeptic high feeding — and all of
them had the same smile as Clementine. From deal-
ings I have had with them I know that they also have

119

THE RED COW

much of her nature. It may seem to serious-minded
people that I might be better employed than in
studying the smile of a pet pig, but I do not think
so. In future I shall be on my guard against sleek
citizens who habitually wear Clementine's smile.
You know I have been misled in the past by Shake-
speare's lines:

"Let me have about me men that are fat,
Sleek headed men and such as sleep o' nights."

I had an idea that fat men are usually good-
natured and honest, and that that was why Ca?sar
wanted them in his Cabinet. But when I recall the
actors who played with Booth I remember that most
of the conspirators who killed Cassar were fat.
Moreover, I remember that in his recent book on
dieting Vance Thompson asserts that most of the
men guilty of the crimes of high finance are fat men.
Though he didn't say so, I am willing to bet a cookie
that they all had a smile like Clementine's. Come
to think of it, there are a distressing lot of fat men
with that kind of smile to be seen around the hotel
lobbies in our big cities just now, but I have made a
careful study of the pet pig and shall be on my
guard.

120

XXVIII.— Feeding Pigs

C

ONSARN a pig anyhow. I know how im-
portant pigs are just now, and we are
making arrangements to raise our share
of them, but that doesn't make me like
them a bit better. Until this year we have contented
ourselves with raising an occasional pig for our own
use, but when preparing for this year's meat sup-
ply I felt expansive and bought a couple of plump
little pigs. I admit that I like little pigs — both alive
and roasted. Their perpetual smile, which even a
session in the oven can't take off, appeals to me.
But a full-grown, able-bodied pig is another matter
— especially at feeding time. The two that we have
finishing for winter pork have long since passed
from the innocent, engaging sucking pig stage and
have developed all the disagreeable mannerisms of
the full-grown hog. To make matters worse, our
arrangements for keeping hogs are of the old-fash-
ioned kind that bring out all the bad qualities of the
pig. When making necessary changes about the

THE RED COW

barn the old pig-pen was torn down and this year's
pen is a makeshift of the kind that you find among
backward farmers — a small pen for them to sleep in
and a larger pen built of rails, where they get their
feed and take the air. The trough is a light affair
made of a couple of boards, and they have no trouble
in rooting it all over the pen, so that it has to be
pulled around and turned right side up every time
the brutes are fed. Things were not so bad until
the pigs grew up, but now I dread feeding them
more than any chore on the place. They can see
me mixing the chop feed and the whole neighbour-
hood can hear the abuse they heap on me for being
so slow. The remarks that they make in hog lan-
guage about the Food Controller on this farm would
not look well in print. When I start towards the
pen with their rations my two fat friends are always
standing up with their front feet hooked over the top
rail of their pen and their mouths wide open and
squalling. I have a club handy so that I can beat
them back while I pull the trough into shape, but I
have to drop it when I go to put the feed before them.
This job is a regular fight. I have to hold the pail
as high as I can and try to tilt a little of the feed
into one end of the trough, in the hope of occupying

122

FEEDING PIGS

them while I spread the rest evenly. I am lucky if
I manage the trick without spilling the feed, and the
racket is deafening. By the time I am done I am
"all het up" and feel like taking the club and giv-
ing them a good mauling. I know I am to blame
myself for having things in such shape, but that
doesn't make me like the pigs a bit more. How-
ever, the trouble will be over in about a week, and
we shall have a new pen and a proper trough for
the next batch of pigs that we are arranging to raise
for the good of the country. A man can fight
a couple of pigs at meal times, but a whole litter
would probably prove unmanageable.

123

XXIX.— Beatrice

THE big sow that has been added to the farm
live stock is making herself quite at home.
She doesn't expect us to make company of
her. She is willing to help herself and
seems to feel hurt when we insist on superintending
her helpings. The children have named her Beatrice,
though I can't figure out just why. Beatrice sug-
gests to me something slim and gracile rather than
two hundred pounds of hump-backed and enterpris-
ing pork. They couldn't have picked up the name
from anything they have heard me calling her since
her arrival on the farm. I have called her many
names, but I am quite certain that none of them
sounded anything like Beatrice. It must have been an
inspiration on their part, and we shall see how it
works out. As Beatrice is not being fed up for pork
but just being given a ration calculated to keep her
in good health, she has a wide margin of unappeased
appetite. Whenever she hears any one stirring she

124

BEATRICE

is up and about at once, and to cross the barnyard
with a pail of anything is quite a feat. Occasion-
ally I take a pail of swill to the granary to add a few
handfuls of chop-feed before giving it to Beatrice
and I find the experience rather exciting. She makes
a squealing rush at me as soon as I open the gate
and tries to get her nose into the pail. I kick her out
of my way and then cross the yard to the granary
door, kicking back like a horse at every few steps, I
have heard at different times about educated pigs,
but I seriously doubt if any trainer has been able
to teach a pig table manners. You can teach a dog
or a cat or a horse to beg for a dainty morsel, but I
don't believe any one could teach a pig to wait when
food is in sight. Beatrice wants what she wants
when she wants it, and she doesn't care who hears
her asking for it.

When Beatrice arrived she was put in the pen in
which we kept the two pigs that we fattened for
home-cured pickled pork and bacon, but it didn't
seem to give her a chance for sufficient exercise, so
we decided to shift around the pigpen so that it
Would give her an entrance to the barnyard. Since
that has been done there has been nothing but

125

THE RED COW

trouble. Not a door or gate can be left open for a
moment, or the marauding Beatrice will be in mis-
chief. As a matter of fact, she no sooner got ac-
cess to the barnyard than she deserted the pigpen
altogether. Although her sleeping room was filled
with nice clean straw, she woudn't look at it. In-
stead, she began to root around the strawstack and
to gather a big pile of loose straw on the south side.
She chose the side that was sheltered from the pre-
vailing northwest wind, and constructed a nest that
is entirely to her own taste. When she gives up hope
of getting any more food each day she burrows her
way into her pile of straw and tucks it around her
like a blanket. When I go to the barnyard after
night I can hear her grunting rhythmically under
about four feet of straw.

As long as I do not bang a pail or make a noise
like something eatable she remains at rest, but if any-
thing happens that conveys to her the idea that
something to eat is about, there is an instant earth-
quake in the pile of straw, and Beatrice emerges
with open mouth and complaining lungs Then the
business of kicking and name-calling is resumed.
We are hopeful that Beatrice will do her part in

126

BEATRICE

the urgent business of meeting the pork shortage,
and for that reason are willing to put up with her
bad manners, but we do not expect to learn to love
her very much.

127

XXX. — Pig Frightfulness

BEATRICE continues to make her presence
felt on the farm. A few days ago a boy
whose mind was not synchronising properly
with his body was doing chores. While his
body was getting oats for the horses his mind was
tilting with Wilfrid of Ivanhoe or "running a course
with grinded lances" with Richard the Lionheart,
or the knight of the Couchant Leopard. As he was
away back in the Dark Ages his mind could not be
expected to make his body attend to such trivial
things as shutting granary doors in the last days
of 1917. He left the granary door open. Beatrice
saw her opportunity and heaved up her bulk among
the bags and the bins. Shortly afterwards another
boy of a tidy nature happened to be passing the
granary. As his mind was right up to the needs of
the minute he shut the door — without looking in-
side. Presently word was brought to me that Bea-
trice was lost. I ordered a search on the sideroad

128

PIG FRIGHTFULNESS

and concession line, but not a trace qf her could be
found. It was fully four hours later that some one
went to the granary and she was discovered. The
granary looked like the scene of a Hun raid. Bea-
trice's frightfulness was astounding. She had torn
open bags of beans, shorts, bran, chop-feed and cot-
ton-seed meal. Apparently she had sampled every-
thing in the granary and was so full that she couldn't
grunt. When kicked out she gave a little protest-
ing squeal, but she had an extra curl in her tail that
showed how happy she was. She was so full that we
were afraid to give her the usual ration of swill for
fear she would swell up and burst. But there have
been no evil effects, and when I go to the barnyard
she gets under my feet and grunts with friendly im-
pudence. But it is likely to be some time before
she finds an open door again. We have had our
lesson.

1S9

XXXI,— A Pig Bath

BEATRICE, like myself, was inclined to rush
the season. She seemed to think as I did
that spring, or even summer, was back. On
the perfect day I have been talking about
she hunted up a sunlit puddle and indulged in the
first wallow of the season. I am afraid it must
have been a rather cold bath, for there is still ice
in the bottom of all the puddles around the barn-
yard. But Beatrice must have felt the heat, for
she made a thorough job of her mud-bath. When
she got through she was just about as piggy a pig
as you would want to see. She was plastered with
black mud from head to foot, and the tone of her
grunting expressed about the top note of content-
ment. She wandered into the field where the plough-
ing had commenced and began to root in a hopeful
spirit. As her nose has never been restrained with
a ring she was able to throw her whole vigour into
the work, but I imagine that it was merely a spring
rite rather than a food conserving effort. She might

130

A PIG BATH

be able to find a reddock root that would be good for
her blood, but I doubt if there was anything else
available. She didn't stick to the job long, prob-
ably coming to the conclusion that it is more profit-
able to stick around the granary door. A while
later I saw her sunning herself on the south side of
the strawstack, where the mud could dry on her
sides. Now that she has had her bath she looks sur-
prisingly fresh and clean. The mud must have
scaled off as soon as it was dry, and when it crum-
bled away it took with it all the winter's accumula-
tions. She may have done some rubbing against
the gate post or other convenient object, but I did
not see her at it. Anyway her mud bath has left
her whiter than she has been all winter, with a tinge
of pink showing that suggests a proper tubbing.
The spring seems to have an improving effect on
her temper. Of course she is always hungry, but
she is not so clamorous about it.

131

XXXII. — In Extenuation

LETTERS that reach me these days usually
conclude with a word of solicitude for Bea-
trice. Tender-hearted people appear to be
shocked by my references to kicking her out
of the way when passing through the barnyard. I
really wish they would tell me what to do when she
comes over the top at me when I am carrying a pail
of swill to which the chop-feed has not been added.
It is entirely useless to try to explain to her that if
she will wait a minute she will get a much better
dinner. She wants it right away or sooner,
and my kicks simply make her say, "Whoof!
whoof !" As soon as I lower my guard she rushes
to the attack again, and it takes skilful work to
get into the granary with the pail of swill without
having it spilled. At present the net result of our
combats is that I have a stubbed toe. I haven't
managed to make any impression on her, mentally
or physically. One correspondent urges that I am
doing injury to the "keep-a-pig" campaign by ex-

IN EXTENUATION

patiating on her undesirable qualities. I don't think
it is quite so bad as that. I merely show that pigs
should be interned. No one has a deeper apprecia-
tion of a pig as a public duty or as a possible source
of profit, but I don't think I need be blamed if I
wish she had better table manners. I think the lit-
tlest boy hit the nail on the head when he confided to
me: "I guess folks call pigs pigs because they are
so piggish." As we have never gone in for hog-
raising he had learned the meaning of piggishness
before he learned anything about pigs. Conse-
quently he thought the name very appropriate. Al-
though Beatrice raises a "pathetic plaint and wail-
ing cry" whenever there is food in evidence that she
can't get at, she is still a highly esteemed member
of the live stock. The trouble is that I have not
learned enough about Froebelism to be able to "pun-
ish her in love."

133

XXXIII. — Beatrice Announces

WOOF ! woof ! woof !"
Translated and properly censored,
this means that Beatrice presents her
compliments to the Food Board and
announces the arrival of nine hungry little bacon
producers,

"Woof! woof! woof!"

She also announces that she is food controller for
her family and doesn't care a "woof" for regula-
tions that are made at Ottawa. She recognises only
the law of supply and demand, and if she doesn't
get her full rations of swill, bran and similar necessi-
ties she is not afraid to express her opinions of
everything and everybody, including the censorship.
She now has to do the eating for ten, and the job
is one for which she is fitted by both personal in-
clinations and hereditary instincts.
"Woof! woof! woof!"

She furthermore announces that she is ready to
bite the head off any one who lays a finger on any
member of her family. She stands ready to fight for

134

BEATRICE ANNOUNCES

them instead of expecting them to fight for her.
Good for Beatrice !
"Woof ! woof ! woof !"

In spite of her high state of belligerency, Beatrice
is evidently very proud of her interesting family.
Others may be able to boast larger families, but none
can boast a plumper or lustier brood. (Nine seems
to be the right and mystic number with swine.
Hasn't Shakespeare something about a sow and
"her nine farrow"?) They were ready to fight for
their rights and squeal their protests for fair play
before they were an hour old. Every one who has
approached the pen to have a peep at them acknowl-
edges that they are little beauties. They have the
irresistible charm of youth — which can make even
the young of a rattlesnake interesting if not lov-
able. Beatrice has every reason to be proud of
them, though there doesn't seem to be any reason for
being so gruff about it. A couple of weeks ago
The Globe accused me editorially of being lacking
in love for Beatrice. I admit the charge, but claim
that this is a merciful provision of nature. Pigs
are only lovable when they are small and plump and
roly-poly. Our love for them does not endure,

135

THE RED COW

"At length the pig perceives it die away
And fade into the light of common day."

If it were not so we would not have the heart to
slaughter our pigs and turn them into necessary
bacon. By the time they are full-grown they have
developed their piggish instincts to such an intol-
erable degree that we are glad to be rid of them.
Instead of berating me for being lacking in affection,
the editor should have drawn a lesson from the fact
that when the time comes to turn our hogs into
bacon we are mercifully enabled to do it without any
wrench to our finer feelings. I protest that at the
present time I view the little pigs with tenderness
and affection, but when they are finally fattened I
shall have no compunctions about loading them into
a car and shipping them to Toronto — the place
where every good Ontario pig goes when he dies.

136

XXXIV, — Receiving

BEATRICE is having so many visitors that
we are thinking of having a guest book and
requesting all callers to register. Certainly
her family is worth looking at, and up to
the present there have been no casualties. The whole
nine are feeding and frisking and laying on fat.
It is really amazing how fast they are growing.
They are not only plumper, but more certain on
their feet. Most of them can now stand on three
legs and scratch an ear with a hind foot without
losing their balance. And fight! — I am really
ashamed of them. If a couple of the little rascals
meet when wandering around the pen they promptly
rush at each other with open mouths. Of course
they are not able to do any damage, and they may
really be playing, but their actions look bloodthirsty
and they manage to raise weals and welts on each
other's skins with their little teeth. All of them
have red marks along their sides, faintly visible, that

137

THE RED COW

were caused by embryo tusks in these little battles
that are probably due to an instinct inherited from
fierce old tuskers of the jungle. When not fighting,
most of their waking hours are spent in efforts to
root, though their big, floppy ears seem to overbal-
ance them and they fall on their noses when they
try to put steam in their work. But most of their
time is devoted to sleep, which also has its activities.
They huddle together side by side and on top of one
another, and look like a pile of plump sausages.
Every few seconds one of them gives a convulsive
little jump as if suffering from nightmare, and the
pile is never still. While watching them yesterday
I had a chance to verify an observation made by a
friend. He told me that in cold weather the little
fellows at the end of the pile get chilled and at once
get up and root their way into the middle of the
pile, where they will be warm. At present the air
is mild and they were not troubled much in that way,
but once when a draft from an open door struck
them the fellow on the outside felt a chill along his
spine. He promptly got up and pushed his way
into the centre by lying on top of the others and
gradually wriggling down. Presently the one that
was left exposed felt a similar chill and followed the

138

RECEIVING

example of the first. One after another went
through the performance, and while I was watching
them the sleeping pile moved across the pen, as the
changes were all being made from one end. If it
were really cold, so that the fellows on both ends
would be getting chilled and constantly pushing into
the centre, their sleeping hours would be almost as
active as the waking hours. Beatrice has quieted
down since the first day and does not seem so much
alarmed when any one approaches. In fact, if one
of the family is picked up and makes a protesting
squeal she merely grunts inquiringly. She is very
proud of her family, and already it is evident that
she has her favourites. One little fellow with a cow-
lick on his back gets Benjamin's portion at feeding
time, and whenever he comes poking around her head
she seems to caress him with her nose instead of
rooting him out of the way. But in a few weeks she
will bite their heads off if they come around her when
she is feeding. As soon as they are able to root for
themselves her affection for them will disappear.

With half a squeal and half a howl
At mealtimes Beatrice starts to prowl;
Her family following close at her heels —
Nine little pigs with nine little squeals.

139

XXXV.— Feeding Time

PIG feeding is now the noisiest function on the
farm. The little pigs are taking their share
of skim milk and chop feed from the trough,
and when their complaining falsetto Is added
to the guttural roar of their mother there is an in-
tolerable racket on the place. Being every bit as
greedy as she is, they pile into the trough so that
it is almost impossible to get the feed before them.
As Beatrice Is always consumed by an ambition to
get her nose into the pail while the food Is being
poured the work of feeding is accompanied by much
kicking and language. As this interesting family
has the run of the barnyard Its members have con-
siderable scope for enjoyment. The recent rains
have made possible a number of satisfactory wal-
lows, and the little pigs get as thoroughly plastered
as their mother. I am not sure whether their care-
free condition excites envy, but I do know that they
are not obliged to have their ears washed and they
can go to bed without having their feet scrubbed —

140

FEEDING TIME

priceless privileges. Although it would be better if
they had a bit of pasture to run in, they are not en-
tirely deprived of green food. At noon every day
they are allowed a run in the orchard with a boy to
watch them and keep them out of mischief. (N.B. —
I must cheer up the boy who has the job by telling
him the history of the royal family of Serbia, which
is descended from a swineherd. Also I must en-
courage him to read Ivanhoe and get acquainted
with Gurth, the swineherd.)

Of course it is a nuisance to have Beatrice and
her family at large in the barnyard, but the world
must have bacon, even if we are not properly
equipped for hog-raising. All gates and doors must
be kept closed at all times or there is sure to be
trouble. Still, her alert presence disciplines us to
tidiness and occasionally develops a bit of comedy.
Yesterday morning I arrived at the barnyard just
in time to witness an exciting little scene. The boy
who looks after the hens had neglected to take a pail
with him when he went to the granary for chicken
feed, and thought he could carry it safely in a straw
hat. With his hatful of oats he turned to close the
latch on the granary door, and Beatrice saw her

141

THE RED COW

chance. With a quick rush she grabbed the hat by
the crown. The boy turned with a yell, but he was
too late. For a couple of seconds there was a tug-
of-war — pull boy, pull pig, and then the hat tore
apart. The boy had the brim and Beatrice had the
crown with its load of oats. Holding her head
aloft, as pigs do when trying to escape with some
tidbit, she held up the crown of the hat and rushed
into her pen. She didn't spill a grain and had a
good feed all to herself in a dark corner. The boy's
first impulse was to cry, but when he saw me he be-
gan to scold about having Beatrice loose in the barn-
yard. The joke was spoiled for me later in the day
when I found that it was my cow-breakfast hat that
had provided the sow breakfast. The boy had worn
it by mistake.

142

Y

XXXVI. — Beatrice Belligerent

ESTERDAY I received from a correspond-
ent a little jingle that deserves wide pub-
licity at a time when every one is inter-
ested in pigs.

"A little pig with a curly tail
As soft as satin and pinky pale
Is a very different thing by far
From the lumps of iniquity the big pigs are."

That expresses the situation to a T. The nine
little pigs on the place are playful, winsome and
amusing, but their able mother, Beatrice, is a loath-
some creature. Among other depredations she put
the finishing touch on our lane. This lane is of
evil repute among auto drivers who visit us, on ac-
count of the twists and bumps in it. Well, Bea-
trice selected a spot where a defective drain had
left the ground soft and trenched it with a luxuri-
ous wallow. Several visitors did not dare to take
a chance on her bathing beach when approaching
the house, so left their autos in the lane and came

143

THE RED COW

afoot. Beatrice has also made a couple of sudden
raids on the border of flowers beside the lawn, and
managed to get a few bulbs — whereat much lamen-
tation. Really, it will be a relief when she finally
goes into retirement in a pen to prepare her for
doinff her bit on some Allied breakfast table. But
her family is still at the lovable stage.

144

HORSES

\

XXXVn.— Dollys Bay Of

I WONDER if any scientist has figured out the
exact properties of blue grass. I don't re-
member seeing anything on the subject, but I
am going to look it up, for blue grass hay
seems to have food qualities that are not suspected
by ordinary farmers. Besides being hay it must
have the protein content, fat, starch and all other
things that are to be found in a ration of alfalfa,
rolled oats, oilcake and condition powders. It seems
to be as potent as that brand of old English ale of
which it was said that a quart contained "meat,
drink and a night's lodging." Anyway, our dow-
ager driver has had nothing but blue grass to eat
all winter, and instead of developing "that tired feel-
ing" as spring approaches she is so full of "pep"
that she is teaching mischief to her own colts. Of
course, she hasn't had much to do this winter, having
convinced us that trotting was too great a strain
on her constitution, and that even walking must be

147

THE RED COW

indulged in cautiously and slowly. In short, she had
managed by her conduct in the harness to have all
the driving done by the other horse, which is a will-
ing if rough-gaited traveller. As we couldn't spend
a whole day on the road when it became necessary
to go to the village we stopped trying to use the old
malingerer. And it is not that she is so old, for she
isn't. But whenever the harness was put on her
back she seemed to develop sleeping sickness or some
other obscure ailment, so we gave up using her ex-
cept for farm work. But blue grass will out, and
now we have fathomed her deep duplicity. She has
simply been imposing on our good nature and there
are strenuous days ahead for her.

A couple of days ago she and her colts were
turned out for a run while the chores were being at-
tended to. They seemed to enjoy their freedom and
galloped around the field until they appeared to be
tired. By the time the chores were done they were
all standing at the barnyard gate, waiting to be let
through, and I suspected nothing. When I opened
the gate I reached for Dolly's halter, but she wheeled
in her tracks and let fly at me with both heels. At
the same instant the two-year-old crowded up and I

148

DOLLY'S DAY OFF

caught him instead. I led him to the stable door
and started him in and then turned to head off his
mother, who had started towards the lane. Instant-
ly she squealed and started towards the road with
the yearling at her heels. The two-year-old heard
her and popped out of the stable.

A moment later the three of them were off towards
the road, where the gate had been left open on ac-
count of the snowdrifts. Not suspecting anything
more than an ordinary frolic, I stood by the stable
and whistled for them and called, "Cob Dolly" in my
most seductive tones. But it was useless. When
they reached the road they rushed north until
checked by the drifts. Then they stopped, wheeled
round and rushed south, passing the gate as if they
had no interest in it. Before reaching the corner
they slowed up. I whistled coaxingly and they
stopped to look back. At this critical point a man
with a horse and buggy turned the corner and
started south. At once the three truants started
after him, Dolly in the lead, with her tail in the air.
I watched until they were almost a mile away, and
then harnessed the other horse, conscripted a boy
into active service and started in pursuit of the run-
aways. By the time we reached the road they were

149

THE RED COW

nowhere in sight, having turned a comer about a
mile away. The chase was now on in earnest.

When we reached the corner we saw the frisky
trio nosing along the road and moving slowly to the
east. Approaching cautiously as near as we dared
the boy started on a wide circuit through a wheat
field so as to get ahead of them. To any casual ob-
server it would appear that he was cutting across
the field towards the village to the north, but Dolly
is no mean tactician herself, and she was not to be
fooled. Before he had time to swing towards the
road she snorted defiance and galloped away, with
the colts at her heels. The boy came back to the
road, climbed into the buggy, and we started a stern
chase. Presently the three turned in at an open
gate, and hope revived. If I could only get past
that gate we could head them off. But the farmer
whose property they had invaded thought he would
help by "sicking" the dog on them. I drove wildly,
but it was no use. They beat me to the gate and
raced along the road ahead of me.

At this point I released about seven thousand cal-
ories of language, but it didn't help any. It merely
raised my personal temperature to about one hun-
dred and four. With tails up they galloped along

150

DOLLY'S DAY OFF

until they came to a little road that cut across a
gore that had been left by the original surveyors
of the township. I saw a chance, and sent the boy
across the fields to head them off. As the little road
had rail fences on both sides it was choked with
snowdrifts, so it looked as if this manoeuvre would
work. They stopped, and the boy climbed over the
fence ahead of them. In the meantime I drove along
until I had passed the little road and took up a stra-
tegic position where I could head them off and start
them towards home as the boy drove them back.
Alas for the vanity of human wishes ! The mail car-
rier had let down the fence a few rods down the
little road so as to avoid the drifts by crossing
through a field. Dolly saw the opening and took
advantage of it at once. Into the field they went.

I admit that it was a beautiful sight to see them
cavort around that ploughed field. It reminded me
of a passage in Mazeppa:

"They stop^ they snort^ they snifF the air.
Gallop a moment here and there.
Approach, retire, wheel round and round.
Then plunging back with sudden bound.
They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside !"

But I didn't meditate on the poetry. Instead, I

151

THE RED COW

meditated fondly on a blacksnake whip we used to
own when I was a boy. It had a weighted handle,
and a long, snaky lash, and it was said that a man
could draw blood with it. If I had that whip and

had Dolly where I could get at her But it

was no use thinking what I would do. Dolly had
seen the gap opening out of the far side of the field
on to another road and she led the way to it in high
fettle. I believe they would have been going yet
had not a kind-hearted farmer who saw the ap-
proaching cavalcade stepped out on the road and
headed them off. This enabled the boy to get ahead
of them with the buggy whip. He started them to-
wards home and I managed to get them past my
corner. Then they went into a pasture field through
an open gate they had missed on their outbound trip.
Noticing that they were hemmed in by a sheet of
slippery ice I took an ear of corn that we had
brought along, and by cornering her and tempting
her at the same time I managed to catch her. But
I didn't give her that ear of corn, even though I
know one should never fool a horse in that way. I
was afraid she might take it as a reward for her
exploit.

When I led her back to the buggy I found that

152

DOLLY'S DAY OFF

the rope we had taken along had been lost in the
excitement, but I was too mad to saj anything about
it. For a dreary mile I led the brute along the road,
and when we reached the home corner I let her go
and laid the buggy whip along her ribs. Really
there is little satisfaction in the cheap, light buggy
whips they make nowadays. I merely raised dust
from her hide as if I were beating a carpet, but I
didn't feel that the cut I gave her had any sting to it.
When we reached the lane gate she went right past
it. She didn't intend to live with us any more. But
another neighbour headed her off and we finally got
her home. This morning I hitched her up to drive
to the village. She started off slowly, picking her
steps like a cat, but I began signalling to her with
the buggy whip that I was looking for some of the
speed she had shown the day before. Her hide is an
excellent non-conductor, but I finally made an im-
pression. She eventually caught my meaning and
made a record trip to the village — I mean a record
for her. Now what I am wondering is what she
would do if she were fed on oats as well as blue
grass. Anyway, I am going to cure her of the sleep-
ing sickness, even if I have to invest in a blacksnake
whip. ^

153

XXXVin.—The Colt

WHEN I got home from the city I found
that a great event had happened. A
colt had arrived, and although it was
almost eleven o'clock on a cloudy night,
there was great disappointment because I would not
take a lantern and hunt through a fifteen-acre mead-
ow to get a look at the little stranger. I was firm
on the point, however, and denied myself the pleas-
ure until the following morning. But we all went
out to see the colt before breakfast, much to the
distress of Dolly, who thought we had come to take
him away and was ready to defend him with her life.
She circled around him with her ears laid back, and
when any one approached too near she unlimbered
her heels for action. I foresee quite a job when she
must be caught and put into harness again. Consid-
ering the matter from an artistic point of view, I
fail to see why she should be so proud of her off-
spring. At present he seems to be all neck and legs
— like the chickens they use to make boarding-house

154.

THE COLT

fricassees. His appearance reminded me of a re-
mark I once heard : "We shall soon have a horse,
for we already have the frame up." And besides be-
ing all legs, his legs are all joints. Still, "he has his
mother's eyes," and I suppose that makes up for
everything else. Real framers who have looked at
him say that he is the makings of a fine horse, and
they have seen lots of colts at his age that were more
gangling and wobbly. Just now there is a fierce dis-
cussion raging as to what he shall be named, but
there is a strong probability that he will be called
"Brownie," though I am assured that in a few years
he will be called "The Old Grey."

165

XXXIX. — Horse Contrariness

IT is bad enough to have wells go dry, but to have
a horse complicate matters by refusing to drink
good, pure water when it is offered to her and
threaten to die of thirst unless given access to
one particular pond, is an added exasperation. One
of the horses used to be quite well satisfied with the
somewhat inferior water in a tank at the barn, but
when it went dry she became as nifty and pernickety
as a connoisseur of rare wines. Although she goes
to the village almost every day she declines abso-
lutely to drink village water — even pure, cold rock
water drawn from an artesian well. In the same way
she sniffs superior at the water from the house well
— the water that we use every day for drinking and
cooking. It is not good enough for her. But there
is a somewhat disreputable pond at the other side
of the wood lot and as far from the stable as the
farm will allow, and from this pond she is wiUing
to drink until she almost bursts. When she gets
busy with it you would think she was half camel and

156

HORSE CONTRARINESS

trying to lay up a suppl}'^ that would last at least
four and a half days. The other horses are quite
willing to take a refreshing drink from the Govern-
ment drain when nothing else is handy, and this
brought to light a strange peculiarity of the finicky
one. She is willing to drink from the Government
drain sometimes, but only from one particular spot
in it. Lead her to any other part of the drain and
she will stand over the water without tasting it, but
let her get to her favourite spot and she will drink
with relish even from a cow track. As the water in
the drain is flowing steadily I cannot see how it can
possibly taste better in one place than another. It
is just a case of pure cussedness on the part of that
tiresome horse. I have trouble enough doing the
chores without catering to her whims. I am afraid
that some day I shall get real peevish and let her go
dry till she is willing to drink any decent water that
is offered to her. I know there is a proverb which
says that "You can lead a horse to water, but you
can't make him drink," but I think if I set my mind
to it I can make her drink. Anyway, I have no in-
tention of leading her to her favourite pond twice a
day when the weather gets below zero.

157

XL, — A Great Scheme

I HAVE just discovered a new and effective way
of gathering burrs, which I take pleasure in
passing along to farmers who may happen to
read this column. Along the Government
drain at the end of the young orchard there was a
luxuriant growth of burdocks this year. I never
saw them without making up my mind to cut them — •
some other time. They throve lustily, and as I was
always a week behind my work I never found time to
cut them, so in due season they ripened and devel-
oped a crop of especially clinging burrs. Occasion-
ally I gathered a few of these burrs when hunting
for rabbits, and Sheppy gathered quite a few, but
not enough to lessen the supply very materially.
But one day last week the two horses and two colts
got into the orchard because some one had care-
lessly left the gate open. They had been there some
time before they were discovered — but their work was
done. They had gathered every burr in the orchard.

158

A GREAT SCHEME

Those that they did not get with their tails, manes
and forelocks they got with their fetlocks. The
youngest colt, having longer hair than the others,
also managed to get quite a few on his sides. But
between them they managed to make a complete job.
I doubt if you could find a burr in the whole or-
chard, even if you made a careful search. When we
got the brutes in the stable all we had to do was to
pick the burrs off them and the job I had been in-
tending to do all summer was done. At least it was
in a fair way to being done. By much diligence we
got the horses that must appear in public free from
burrs, but the colts still carry some of their tro-
phies. Still I think we should get the job finished
soon if we have a few rainy days. Besides, the chil-
dren can help on Saturdays. Real farmers may not
approve entirely of this method of gathering the
burrs on the farm, but I defy them to tell of any
way in which the job can he done more thoroughly.
A lively colt will gather more burrs in ten minutes
than an industrious man can pick out of its mane
and tail in a day. I offer this plan to farmers for
what it is worth, and I wouldn't mind a bit if some of
them called and helped me to pick the burrs from the
colt's tail. He is incHned to kick.

159

TURKEYS

l/s

XLI.—The Gobbler

THERE are times when I wish that I
had a proper scientific education. For
instance, I would like to know just now
whether turkey gobblers ever suffer from
speaker's sore throat. None of the bulletins I
have on hand throws any light on the matter. It
would cheer me considerably to learn that gobblers
occasionally suffer from aphonia or speechlessness.
It sometimes seems to nie that our bubbly jock is
getting hoarse, though he is still able to gobble with
vigour and authority. But unless he loses his voice
before long I shall have to wring his neck — no easy
job — or do without my usual amount of sleep. The
trouble is all due to the fact that when the turkey
hen tried to hide her nest she selected a bunch of
long grass at the foot of a tree not far from the
house. As she had been put off the cluck a couple
of times to make her lay the proper amount of eggs
it was decided to let her keep this nest. When she

163

THE RED COW

iSnally got broody she was given seventeen eggs and
allowed to settle down to the task of incubating
Christmas dinners. As far as she was concerned
this was all right, for she is a modest, quiet bird,
whose presence would never be noticed. But this is
not the case with her lordly spouse. Every morning
at about a quarter to four he comes down from his
perch on the ridge-pole of the stable and struts down
to see if his lad}^ has passed a comfortable night. As
the grass is long and wet with dew he comes to the
lawn and sends her his morning greetings, and I can
tell you that a forty-pound gobbler can let out a very
considerable amount of noise. He gets right under
my window and explodes into assorted sounds. Once
a minute, or oftener, he lets out a gobble, until I get
up and throw a shoe or a hairbrush at him. Then I
go back to bed and try to sleep until it is time to
get up. If there is any way of treating his vocal
cords so as to stop this morning charivari I wish
some scientist would write and tell me about it. And,
by the way, I can give him a little interesting in-
formation in return. After she was given her eggs
the turkey hen evidently became dissatisfied with her
nest and moved to a new location about four feet
away. In order to do this she had to move her

164

THE GOBBLER

eggs through the long grass, but she didn't leave

one behind. How did she manage it?
it * * * *

There is an interesting fact about turkeys that I
think I have referred to before, but as it has a polit-
ical application at the present time I am going to
refer to it again. When the wilderness was con-
quered by the pioneers the turkeys were the only im-
portant wild creatures that were conquered with it.
Apparently they believed in "peace at any price."
While the timid deer fled to more remote districts,
and the wolves "died in silence, biting hard," the
turkeys allowed themselves to be deported to the
farmyards, and proceeded to eat from the hands of
their conquerors. But their spineless policy did
them no good. Although they are fed and pam-
pered they have lost their wild freedom and every
year they are fattened for the tables of their mas-
ters. Those who believe in peace at any price would
do well to meditate on this. The peace that is won
at the price of submission is not worth having. Even
though we may hate war and regard it as a crim-
inal folly, the only way to end it and to secure a
peace worth while is to fight heroically to put an end
to war. Before dismissing this analogy it is worth

165

THE RED COW

noting that the turkeys are not the only wild crea-
tures that survived the conquest of the wilderness.
The vermin, the skunks, and weasels also survived,
but they are not respected. There is probably a
moral attached to this also, for those who will take
the trouble to study it out.

166

XLII.-His Troubles

LAST night when we were milking there was
a sudden racket on the roof of the cow-
stable that scared the cows so that they
stopped giving down. You would think
that a man with a wooden leg was having a fit on
the shingles right over our heads. The pounding,
flopping and scratching on the hollow roof made the
stable resound like the big drum in an Orange pa-
rade. I couldn't imagine what on earth was hap-
pening, but it only took a step to get out doors and
then the cause of the trouble was plain. The old
turkey gobbler had decided to roost on the ridge-
board of the stable and he was having the time of
his life getting up the roof. He was using his wings
and his tail to balance himself as he clawed for a
toe-hold, and he showed none of the stately grace-
fulness that marks his movements when he is strut-
ting around the barnyard and proclaiming his over-
lordship. When he reached the ridge and caught
his balance with a final flip-flap of his broad tail he

167

THE RED COW

stretched his neck and looked around to see if any
of the young gobblers were grinning at him. They
were already quietly at roost with the mother hen
at the far end of the roof, and the noisy approach
of their lord and king made them huddle together
in squeaking terror. Seeing that their attitude was
respectful he settled down on his wishbone for the
night. Being young and light they had flown grace-
fully to their chosen roost and doubtless could not
understand what was ailing him when he sprawled
around like that. I could sympathise with him bet-
ter than they could, for when a man gets heavy and
gets chalky deposits in his joints the climbing stunts
he did as a boy become impossible. Time was when
I could have walked up that roof as jauntily as if
I were on parade on an asphalt sidewalk, but I sus-
pect that if I tried it now I would make more noise
than the old gobbler.

168

XLIII. — His Desertion

YESTERDAY the old gobbler disappeared
on a war expedition and did not return
last night. This morning I must organ-
ise a rescue party and go after him. The
party will be organised not to rescue him, but to
rescue the neighbour on whom he has billeted him-
self. No one has any idea which direction he took,
so we may have quite a hunt. But I am not afraid
of losing him. An apoplectic gobbler of his size
is easy to identify. But the old pirate should be
at home, looking after his family, which is at pres-
ent breaking through the shell. Last season he was
a most devoted parent and looked after his family
with unflagging care. He took them to the woods
to get beechnuts and still kept one eye on the
granary door, so that they could be on hand when
the chickens were being fed. This year he will not
have so large a flock to look after, but that does not
excuse him for desertion and neglect. He must be
rounded up, brought home and reminded of his du-

169

THE RED COW

ties. Much of the time during the past month he
stood, in a very dignified manner, near the nest where
his mate has been brooding, so I am surprised that
he should have deserted just when his family is
breaking from the shell. But a thought strikes me.
Perhaps the old rounder is away celebrating.

170

XLIV.—His Belli

igerency

NOW that his mate is hopefully hatching on
a promising nestful of eggs, the old gob-
bler finds time hanging heavy on his hands
and by way of diversion is proceeding to
beat up all other gobblers in the neighbourhood.
Whenever he hears another gobbler, no matter how
faintly, he lets out a wrathful gobble and starts
across the fields to trample on his rival. Neighbours
have had to drive him home in order to save their
flocks, for he is in the heavyweight class, and no
ordinary country bird has any show with him. Of
course, when we found out what he was up to we
penned him in, but occasionally he makes his es-
cape, and it takes quick work to keep him from
crossing the fields and committing mayhem and tort
and doing grievous bodily harm to well-meaning gob-
blers that venture to gobble their opinions about
things. I wouldn't mind so much if he headed down
the road on one of his foraging expeditions, for there
is an ecru gobbler suffering from delusions of

171

THE RED COW

grandeur that I have a grudge against. One day
when I was driving to the village with the colt this
earth-coloured gobbler seemed to rise out of the road
in front of us, with a great spreading of tail, fluffing
of feathers and rubbing of wings. His appearance
was so startling that the colt shied, and in less than
five seconds we were all piled in the ditch. The colt
didn't get away and nothing was smashed, but things
were pretty lively while the disturbance lasted. If
I could only give our war-like bubbly jock the ad-
dress of that particular gobbler, and he would go
after him, I wouldn't mind his offensives.

172

XLV.—His Cares

THE big gobbler is a changed bird these
days. The cares of fatherhood are weigh-
ing heavily upon him. A few days ago
he came across a Plymouth Rock hen that
had hatched out a clutch of turkeys. Although
they are barely able to toddle around, the gobbler
recognised them at once as part of his family and
took up his duties as parent in a most commendable
manner. With a subdued and responsible air he fol-
lows the old hen and the little poults wherever they
go, stepping softly and refraining from noisy gob-
bling. But I am afraid he is not entirely satisfied
with the foster mother of his family. After the last
big thunderstorm he came up to the door where I
was sitting and was evidently very much put out
about something. He was wet to his last feather
and I have seldom known him to be in such a bad
humour. Possibly the old Plymouth Rock didn't act
as a turkey mother should during a thunderstorm.
Anyway, he seemed to hold me responsible for what-

173

THE RED COW

ever went wrong, for he stood out on the lawn and
swore at me for half an hour. When I began to
get tired of the rumpus and was reaching for a copy
of Hansard to throw at him Sheppy came around
the corner of the house. The bubblyjock discreetly
side-stepped behind the lilac bushes, for one thing
that Sheppy can't endure is a hen, turkey or other
fowl on the lawn. In spite of his complaints the
gobbler is still looking after his duties as a father.
A little while ago when the sun was hot I saw him
standing beside his flock tail down, head pulled in
like a turtle's and his wings spread out. He had
converted himself into a sort of feathered pergola,
under which his children might have taken shelter.
But they paid no attention to him. Under the busy
and clucking guidance of the old hen they were pur-
suing the elusive fly and other appetising insects.

174

XLVI. — His Prussimiism

I DON'T see how the children failed to name the
turkey gobbler. He is the most distinct char-
acter on the farm just now, but they have not
given him a name. Perhaps they felt that
they were not equal to the task. He is in a con-
stant state of belligerency. As he is a super-tur-
key, weighing at least forty pounds, he is able to
make quite a stir. Apparently he has laid to heart
Nietzsche's advice and proposes to "Live danger-
ously." His mildest moments are threatening, and
when he gobbles and rubs his wings on the ground
he is an embodied offensive. This morning he re-
newed a trick that was a favourite with him last
summer. At daybreak he began to air his gran-
deurs under my bedroom window and there was no
more sleeping from that time. But as it is neces-
sary to be up betimes in this spring weather I did
not object. But if he keeps it up in the summer,
when daybreak comes shortly after 3 o'clock, there
will be trouble.

175

DOGS

XLVII.—A Moral Tale

THE general slipperiness of things has been
a great boon to Sheppy. Although I have
seen him lose his footing several times, he
gets along much better than the cows or
the colts. As it is his daily chore to start the ani-
mals on their way to the Government drain to get
their drink, he is now able to satisfy some old
grudges. In ordinary' weather he has to be very
watchful for flying heels and prodding horns, but
just now the animals have to concentrate their minds
on keeping their feet under them, and are at a dis-
advantage when it comes to self-defence. Sheppy
is now able to slip in on them and nip their heels,
and they do not dare to take a chance on kicking
at him. They find it hard enough to navigate with
all four feet under them and their toe nails all in
use, and an attempt to balance on two feet, or even
three, would almost surely mean disaster. He was
having such a high old time that I was thinking of
scolding him away at watering time, but this morn-

179

THE RED COW

ing something happened that gave me an excellent
hint, and, besides, gives me a chance to moralise
wisely. A few minutes before the cattle were
turned out some one gave Sheppy a bone. It was
a nice fresh bone that offered much palatable gnaw-
ing, and he was taking no chances on losing it.
When he started to do his morning chore he carried
the bone in his mouth, and the result was that he
drove the animals without nipping them or making
them wiggle too wildly over the ice. Ah, my friends,
how often have I seen an ardent reformer, who was
in the habit of herding the unregenerate, abate his
passion for reform when he happened to get a nice
juicy bone in his mouth! Yea, I have even known
newspapers and political parties to be made much
more temperate in their expressions of opinion by
the timely contribution of a few bones. Here as-
suredly is a lesson for all of us.

180

XLVIII. — Sheppy's First Coon Hunt

LAST night Sheppy was initiated into the
mysteries of coon-hunting. The opinion has
prevailed in the neighbourhood for some
time past that coons are becoming plenti-
ful again. Their tracks have been seen along the
government drains and around watering ponds
where they probably went to hunt for frogs. More-
over, before the corn was cut ears were found partly
stripped and gnawed, and the work was pronounced
by experts who had been coon-hunters in the old
days as the work of coons. The matter was
brought to a head yesterday when I saw coon tracks
on the sideroad while driving home from the vil-
lage. It was unquestionable that there were coons
in the neighbourhood, and a coon hunt was quite in
order. Of course, we had no reason to believe that
Sheppy would prove to be a good coon-dog, but he
has a hasty way of dealing with woodchucks and
muskrats that he manages to catch at a distance
from their holes, and more than once he has tracked

181

THE RED COW

rabbits though he has never managed to catch one.
The only way to find out whether he had in him
the makings of a coon-dog would be to try him.
After discussing the matter with an eager boy it
was decided that we would sneak away from the
house after all the chores were done and give Sheppy
a tryout. We would have to sneak in order to keep
the younger children from begging to be taken
along. Having laid our plans we managed to sneak
away about half past eight, after giving a warning
whisper in the right quarter that we might be away
for a couple of hours. Sheppy seemed doubtful
about the wisdom of taking a night ramble, but after
some coaxing he decided to come along.

* * 5^ *

We took the dog to our own corn-field first and
were gratified to see how thoroughly he entered into
the game. It was a dim night with the moon almost
hidden by thin clouds, but there was enough light
for us to see Sheppy racing over the cornfield in the
most approved manner of the coon-dogs of a bygone
age. He crossed and recrossed it thoroughly with-
out finding even a mouse — if he had found one we
should have known for he is a gifted mouser and
often gets a mouse when crossing the pasture. When

182

SHEPPY'S FIRST COON HUNT

he had done the cornfield thoroughly we decided to
put him through the wood-lot, and after starting
him in with an encouraging "Hunt him up, sir," we
sat on the bars in the fence and waited. We had
not been waiting long before a sound of distress was
heard. A cat was meowing piteously along the path
over which we had just walked. There was no doubt
about it. "Lady Jane Grey" had noticed us start-
ing out and had decided to share in the fun. But
she was evidently in distress and the boy started
back to see what was the matter. He found her in
the branches of a shade-tree in which she had evi-
dently sought refuge from Sheppy, who would not
recognise her so far away from home at night.
After she had been rescued and "scatted" back to
the house we sat on the bars and waited patiently
for the dog. At last he returned to us panting as
if he had run for miles. There was no doubt about
it. He was working splendidly and would probably
need only a little training to make him a first rate
coon-dog. But he had not managed to locate any-
thing on the home farm so we decided to visit a
neighbour's corn-patch which backs against the larg-
est wood-lot in the neighbourhood. The Avood-lots
on four farms happen to be on four corners where

183

mjn»mvMandtiam

THE RED COW

the line fences cross, and the result is a wood-lot
about four times as large as can be found on or-
dinary farms. Besides there are still some big elms
left in this patch and if there would be coons any-
where it would be there. We started towards this
happy hunting ground with Sheppy in the lead. We
climbed over two wire fences in crossing the road
and the second one was too tight for Sheppy. He
could not get through so he ran along the road until
he came to a rail fence and then he travelled parallel
with us on the other side of another wire fence that
would not let him through. We were sorry for this
at first but afterwards we were glad. When we had
travelled about twenty rods through the field to-
wards the other wood-lot Sheppy suddenly began
to show signs of excitement. He began to run
round with his nose to the ground and was quite
evidently following a trail of some kind. Presently
he started away across the pasture field he was in
and was lost to sight. A moment later there were a
series of sharp snarling barks and the boy was filled
with sudden alarm. He remembered that there were
sheep in that field so I whistled for Sheppy. After
a bit we saw him coming — he is largely marked with
white — and his nose was to the ground. In fact he

184

SHEPPY'S FIRST COON HUNT

seemed to be fairly ploughing it through the long
grass. We debated for a moment whether he had
been molesting the sheep and then things began to
happen. The boy was nearer to the wire fence than
I was and Sheppy tried to get as close to him as
possible. Suddenly the boy yelled, "Wow! Whew!"
and began to act as if he had taken an emetic. I
had no time to solve the mystery before the wind
blew on me and I understood. Sheppy had not been
bothering the sheep. No indeed. Sheppy had been
having an argument with a skunk and there was
strong reason — very strong — to suppose that he got
the worst of it. It was then that we were glad that
there was a tight wire fence between us and Sheppy.
After faihng to get the sympathy he was looking for
he proceeded to wipe his nose on the grass. Then
he found a hole of water and wallowed in it. He
evidently felt a wild need of a bath. I don't think
I ever saw a dog so earnest about his toilet. When
he got out of the water hole he wiped himself dry
on the grass by lying on his side and pushing him-
self along with his feet. Then he rolled over and
wiped the other side. Still he was not satisfied. He
rubbed his nose with his paws for a while and then
plunged into the water hole again. And all the time

185

THE RED COW

we mingled wild laughter with words of mourning
and wondered what on earth we would do. At last
we decided that we might as well call off the hunt
as he couldn't trail an automobile, much less a coon,
after getting such a dose. So we started towards
the road with Sheppj^ still on the other side of the
fence. He kept abreast of us as we moved home-
ward,

"An amber scent of odorous perfume
His harbinger."

When we reached the road Sheppy came along like
a comet with a tail of odour streaming out behind
him. He seemed to be trying to run away from it,
but it was no use. If he could quote Milton he
would no doubt have said :

"Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell."

^ After noisily repulsing his attempts to nuzzle
against us for sympathy we sat on another set of
bars and moodily reviewed the situation. It was far
from probable that our home-coming would be the
signal for rejoicing. Sheppy is the family pet and
now his usefulness as a pet was seriously impaired.
While we were talking this over Sheppy came and
stood right under us. That ended the talk. We

186

SHEPPY'S FIRST COON HUNT

went away from there. Finally, after many hesita-
tions, we reached the house and through the kitchen
window looked at a scene of domestic peace. The
family was assembled around the table reading. The
temptation was too great for the boy. Sheppy was
standing at the door, and stepping forward the boy
opened it and quietly let him in. For a few sec-
onds there was no change in the peaceful scene. Then
arose a wild cry of dismay. The family bulged out
of the kitchen through both doors. It was a good
thing that there were two doors or someone might
have been trampled on. Every one wanted fresh air.
In fact I never knew fresh air to be so much in
favour as it was for a few minutes. Poor Sheppy
came out ae-ain to see what all the excitement was
about and seemed hurt that his best friends went
back on him so unanimously. When peace was re-
stored and the house aired, we were allowed to enter,
though insinuations were cast out that we smelled
about as bad as the dog. This was a libel, however.
This morning Sheppy found himself so unpopular
that he went out to the cornfield to catch mice when
the shocks were overturned for husking. When he
came home at noon he looked hurt and humiliated
and stood about a rod away from me and looked as

187

THE RED COW

if he thought I was to blame for all the trouble. I
am not sure but he was right. Anyway he and I
know that there is truth in the political maxim:
"When you fight with a skunk it doesn't matter
whether you win or lose; you are bound to stink
after it." We are hoping that it will wear off before
spring.

M<£*'

188

XLIX. — A Rabbit Chase

THIS morning after the chores were done I
decided that I should take a look at the
young orchard to see that mice and rabbits
were not damaging the little trees. The
sun was shining, and as most of the snow disap-
peared in the recent thaw it was the best day for a
ramble that we have had since winter began. And
I am glad that I went, for I not only enjoyed the
fresh air but had a few minutes of excitement that
started the blood coursing in my veins. Sheppy de-
cided that he would like a ramble too, and thereby
hangs a tale. While I was examining the trees he
made little excursions about the field nosing for
mice. While I was rejoicing that there were none
for him to find and because there were no rabbit
tracks I almost stepped on a little cotton-tail that
had a form in a bunch of wild grass that was shaded
by a big weed. The rabbit popped out, and at the
same instant I yelled, "Sic him!'* Sheppy was a few
rods away, but when he saw the game he let out

189

THE RED COW

one quick, yapping bark and gave chase. The rab-
bit had started towards a haystack at the other side
of the field, but when the dog took after him he
changed his mind and began to circle towards the
south. He looked like a streak of brown fur, and
about four rods behind him Sheppy looked like a
streak of black and white. Both stretched them-
selves out until their bellies seemed to touch the
ground, but my eye could not detect any change in
the distance between them. Neither seemed to gain
an inch. They kept it up for about thirty rods and
then Sheppy stumbled over a corn stubble and lost
a few feet. The race went on in absolute silence
until they reached the wire fence at the road. The
rabbit slipped through and Sheppy had to stop. He
ran around and barked with rage as his quarry
scooted up a neighbour's lane and disappeared among
some piles of rails. I then had time to examine
the cosy form where the rabbit had been resting.
After noting how nicely it was lined with grass I
ruthlessly kicked it to pieces, for rabbits are not to
be encouraged in a young orchard. I could not find
that he had done any damage, but I am not taking
any chances, and this afternoon I am going to take
the rifle and Sheppy and hunt through the orchard

190

A RABBIT CHASE

carefully. After the race was over Sheppy was so
much ashamed of his failure that he went back to
the house without coming near me. When I got
home he thrust his muzzle into my hand and wagged
his tail and tried to make me understand that rab-
bits are not in his line. A slow-footed woodchuck
suits him better. But I am going to train him to
chase rabbits, even if he cannot catch them, for if
he keeps them moving they may decide that they are
not popular here and move away to some one else's
orchard.

iln\i//,

191

JL. — Fights and Feuds

I DON'T know why it is, but every time there
is something interesting going on, like a
political meeting or a dog-fight, I am always
away from home or I have a previous engage-
ment of some kind. Here is Sheppy having a whole
series of fights to maintain the supremacy of the
farm, the freedom of the concession line, and his
place in the sun, and I haven't seen one of them.
According to the uncensored and detailed reports I
have received, the fights were well worth seeing, and
Sheppy acquitted himself in a creditable manner.
The trouble is all due to a couple of dogs belonging
to a gang of ditchers working in the neighbourhood.
These dogs — a big hound and a little terrier — have
done so much coon-hunting in their day that they
consider themselves at liberty to roam wherever they
please. Several times they insolently crossed our
fields and that is something that Sheppy will not
stand for. Any dog that ventures on this farm has
to put up a fight for the privilege. Up to date

192

FIGHTS AND FEUDS

Sheppy has defended his dominions successfully, but
in all previous battles he has had to deal with one
dog at a time. But it seems that the present in-
vaders have learned in many coon-fights that team
play is best and their tactics have been surprising
and somewhat discomfiting. Sheppy scorns to at-
tack the terrier, which wouldn't make a decent
mouthful for him, but when he grapples with the
liound the terrier catches him by a hind leg or by the
tail, and as I guess a little dog's bite hurts just as
much as a big one's, Sheppy can't give his undivided
attention to the hound. I am told that in the first
scrap he kept whirling around distributing his bites
impartially and managed to chase both the other
dogs off the farm, but in later attacks they worried
him some. When I came home he whimpered around
me and showed me his scratched nose and tried his
best to tell me about his troubles. He had done his
best to protect the farm during my absence at the
village, and it was quite evident from his manner
that he thought he deserved some praise and petting.
I sympathised with him entirely, but I half regret
that the ditchers have moved on with their dogs.
I shall not have a chance to see Sheppy in action
with two dogs. But I never have any luck.

193

THE RED COW

Sheppy has a standing feud with a neighbour's
dog that is amusing rather than bloodthirsty.
Though they have been barking at each other and
threatening each other with much bad language for
three or four years, I don't think they have come to
grips yet. Whenever either of them starts barking
at anything the other immediately flies into a rage
and begins to make disparaging remarks in a loud
tone of voice. Sometimes Sheppy goes half way
across the field towards his enemy, barking defiance,
but when his enemy finally gets mad and runs to-
wards him he rushes back to the house to safety.
In the same way the neighbour's dog sometimes comes
half-way across the field, making insulting remarks,
until Sheppy finally gets so mad that he starts after
him. The neighbour dog then makes a strategic re-
treat. I don't think I have ever seen them nearer
than ten rods to each other, and I don't think they
have ever had a fight, but they keep up their quarrel-
ling every day. I suspect that each has so impressed
the other with his prowess that if they ever met acci-
dentally they would both run for their lives. On
moonlight nights they keep up such a rumpus that
no one in the neighbourhood can get any sleep until
both are taken indoors and ordered to be quiet.

194

CATS

LI. — A Page of High History

THIS is the story of a "harmless, necessary
cat." I think I told you some time ago
that the children make it a practice to
name their cats after prominent person-
ages in history and public life. Lady Jane Grey is
a gentle, domesticated cat of many admirable quali-
ties and her name seems very appropriate. Her fur
is grey, her table manners perfect, and in disposi-
tion she is kind and affectionate. The other cats
have been named with equal judgment and discre-
tion, but I dare not mention their names for fear
that public men who have not been honoured
might feel jealous. I had become quite ac-
customed to the high sounding names of the
household pets, and had acquired the habit of in-
quiring every night at bedtime for the whereabouts
of certain distinguished persons. Often and often
when shutting up the house for the night I have
kicked out some of our most honoured names just
as ruthlessly as if I were an office-hungry Opposition

197

THE RED COW

returning to power. And now it is my privilege to
record a great event. New Year's Day there was
great news. The children learned with pride and
delight that their favourite cat had been honoured
with a title. Instantly there was wild excitement.
The distinguished cat was called by his familiar
name, and finally was found in a shed, where he was
trying to think up some scheme for commandeering
a quarter of beef that hung beyond his reach. He
was hurried into the house for the ceremony of
dubbing, and while the preparations were being
made he purred as contentedly as if he knew just
what was happening. I was really surprised to see
how well the children understood what to do. While
one held him in a respectful attitude in front of a
Morris chair another got the carving knife and
prepared to administer the accolade. There was
only a moment's pause while they asked me to indi-
cate the exact spot on his neck that should be
smitten by the ennobling sword. Then they com-
pleted the ceremony with

"a ribband to stick in his coat."

As cats are by nature the most aristocratic of
animals, this one took his new honours with the

198

A PAGE OF HIGH HISTORY

air of one who was used to them, though he caused
some criticism by switching his tail in an unknightly
fashion. Seated high on a sofa cushion, he purred
contentedly and received the homage of his loyal
retainers. He closed his eyes, bristled up his whis-
kers and smiled like a Cheshire cat. Even Sir Jingo
McBore could not have given him any pointers on
noble and knightly conduct. I am afraid that if
he receives much more homage of this kind he will
become too haughty to associate with the other cats
and will pose as "the cat that walks alone." Still
his nature may not be changed entirely by his new-
found honours. I noticed that once in a while he
would stretch out a paw in a sleepy way and spread
his claws as if he were dreaming of mice, for he
has been a famous mouser. I hate to think that he
may become a social butterfly on account of his
title, but a stanza from Calverly haunts my memory.
As nearly as I can remember it runs like this:

"In vain they set the cream jug out
And cull the choice sardine,
I fear he never more will be
The cat that he has been."

199

hll. — A Spring Orgy

YESTERDAY the children called me to see
an amusing exhibition that breathes the
spirit of spring. The house cat, fat and
lazy, had found a little patch of catnip
that had started showing signs of growtk. He was
biting at it as if he were going to eat grass like
an ox. After he managed to get some fragments
of leaves into his mouth and had swallowed them
he lay down and began to roll over. He kicked
his legs into the air, rolled around, wallowed and
otherwise acted foolishly. The catnip seemed to fill
him with a spring madness that induced all kinds
of foolish excesses. Finally he jumped into the air
with the playfulness of a kitten and rushed around
the corner of the house, switching his tail and acting
as if he had renewed his youth. By the way, I may
as well record an observation about this cat while
I am at it. He is inclined to be pampered in the
matter of food, for he is always around begging
when any one is eating, but in spite of this fact he

goo

A SPRING ORGY

is a famous mouser. Hardly a day passes that I
do not see him coming out of the orchard with a
mouse, and some days he gets two or three. I have
heard it said that only well-fed cats are good
mousers, and I think there may be something in it.
They go mousing just as a well-fed sportsman goes
hunting.

201

BIRDS

LIII. — A Disgusted Blackbird

I KNOW it was a low-down thing to do, but I
did it with the best of intentions — though I
am afraid the blackbirds will never under-
stand. They will probably think that after
the good work they did in eating white grubs, cut-
worms and other pests while I was preparing the
corn ground, I should have treated them differently.
But it was just because they did so much good
work that I treated them so badly. I was so grate-
ful to them that I did not want to treat them in
the usual way when the corn came up. In past years
it was the custom to loaf around with a double-
barrelled shot-gun about the time the corn was com-
ing through the ground, but this year the black-
birds were unusually plentiful, and as the season
was late they probably had many broods of young
to feed. Anyway they came to the corn field in
flocks and followed the plough, disc and harrow,
picking up every worm and bug that came in sight.
They demonstrated the fact that they are true

205

THE RED COW

friends of the farmer, even though they may have
faults. So when it came time to plant the corn
we gave the seed grain a good coating of tar, and
then rolled it in ashes to dry it. This used to be a
common practice many years ago, though I haven't
seen any one doing it of late years. It certainly
made the corn about as unappetising as anything
possibly could, so I was not surprised, when I went
to the corn field a few mornings after the planting,
to find a blackbird sitting on the fence, coughing
and spitting and using unparliamentary language.
But I will take part of that back. Some of the
language used by parliamentarians during the past
few months has been of a kind that makes me wonder
if any kind of language can possibly be unparlia-
mentary. But to get back to the blackbird. He
evidently thought I had played it low down on him
after the way he had helped me in the matter of
grubs, and I had no way of telling him that like a
lot of human beings who do disagreeable things to
one another I had done it "for his own good." A
little tar and ashes in his beak was a greater kind-
ness to him than a charge of bird shot.

* * * *

Now, I dare say there will be some scientific per-

206

A DISGUSTED BLACKBIRD

sons who will sniff superior and say that my re-
marks about the blackbird coughing, spitting and
cussing are only nonsensical romancing. That is
the trouble with scientists. They observe things
in nature in so matter-of-fact a way that they never
get at the real truth. Moreover, I have long been
convinced that only the obserA^ations we make about
ourselves are of any use in trying to get at the
feelings of others. For instance, I can remember
a time when I would loaf along and observe a man
digging in a ditch. Seeing him at so excellent and
necessary a task I would imagine that he was full
of fine ideas about the nobility of labour and the
great virtue of the work he was doing, and I might
even try to write a song of ditching to express what
he felt but was unable to voice. Lately I did some
ditching, and I know that my earlier observations
were all wrong. If a man came along wearing sum-
mer flannels and paused to observe me and tried
to understand my emotions and thoughts while doing
a very necessary piece of ditching, my thoughts
would have run somewhat as follows : "I wonder
what that pop-eyed rabbit means by standing there
gaping at me. I wonder if I couldn't accidentally
splash him with some of this mud." And all the

207

THE RED COW

time I was doing a noble piece of work and knew it,
but that was the way I felt about it. I am willing
to bet a cookie that when I was doing my observing
in comfort on the dry bank the thoughts of the
man sloshing around in the ditch were much like
those expressed above. And I am by no means in-
clined to confine this method of interpretation and
observation to human beings. My dealings with
birds and animals have convinced me that each of
them has as distinct a character and personality
as any human being. So when I try to imagine the
emotions of a blackbird that has sampled a grain
of tarred corn, that he has dug up with much labour,
I merely try to imagine what I would do and say
if some one whom I had helped with his work had
put coal tar in my salad. I am afraid that having
more capacity for spitting I would spit harder than
the blackbird, and having command of a larger
vocabulary I would use worse language and more of
it. Making my observations in this way I have no
compunctions about explaining the state of mind
of the blackbird as I did, and I defy any scientist
in the lot to prove that I am wrong. And the best
of it all is that the blackbirds soon got wise and
stopped trying to dig out my corn.

208

LIV.—A Visitor

YESTERDAY morning a distinguished visi-
tor spent a few minutes with me in the
sugar bush. To be exact, I was aware of
his presence for a few minutes. He may
have been with me for quite a while, though I didn't
notice him. When I got to the wood-lot I had only
one idea, and that was to save sap. It had been
running all night. Some buckets were overflowing
and others brimming dangerously, and I had to
hustle around with a pail before giving attention
to anything else. When I put a stop to the waste
I lit the fire under the pan and got the work of
boiling in properly started. Then I had leisure to
notice that the crows were making a racket. Glanc-
ing towards the centre of the disturbance, I was sur-
prised to see a huge bird sitting in the top of the
biggest maple, about fifteen rods from where I was
working. My first thought was that it was a great
horned owl, but it was altogether too large. Al-
though the crows were noisy they did not approach

209

THE RED COW

very near the object of their wrath, which seemed
royally unconscious of their clamour. I walked to-
wards the tree — the sole remnant of the original
forest, a huge maple that is over three feet in diam-
eter at the base, and which reaches fully thirty feet
above the second-growth trees by which it is sur-
rounded. When I was within about forty yards of
the tree my visitor stretched his neck and turned to
look at me. It was a magnificent bald eagle — the
first I had ever seen outside of a zoological garden.
I was near enough to catch the glint of his fierce eye.
He gave me "the once-over" with an expression of
haughty disdain, such as I have seen on the face of
a bank President who has been forced to look at
something that has spoiled his day. Then he turned
toward the rising sun, leaned forward as if making
obeisance, and launched himself into the morning
with a wide beat of wings. He paid no attention
to the pursuing crows. After a few powerful
strokes he swung up on a vast spiral and sailed away
to the east. Although he was so unsociable, I was
glad to have seen him, and I had a really exciting
story to tell the children when they got home from
school in the evening.

210

LV. — A Farewell

I FEEL safe in announcing that the great blue
heron that spent the summer spearing for
frogs and tonging for clams in the Govern-
ment drain has finally gone south. By this
time he is probably toning up his digestion on a
''^et of young alligators and electric eels while

"Hid from view
By the tall, liana'd, unsunned boughs
O'erbrooding the dark bayou."

For a time it looked as if he intended staying with
us all winter. The bird books say that the blue
herons leave for the south about the middle of Sep-
tember, and I was ready to bid him good-bye about
the time we were picking the apples, but he lingered
on through October. When November came and he
was still wading in the drain or flapping slowly
across the fields, with Sheppy trying frantically
to bite his trailing toes, I began to be afraid that
something ailed him. But he flew strong at all
times, and some other explanation must be found

211

THE RED COW

for his lingering in the lap of winter. And he lin-
gered in winter's lap all right. Every week in No-
vember he was seen quite as frequently as during the
summer. Even the first flurries of snow did not
drive him away. As the streams were still free from
ice he probably found no difficulty in getting his
living, and he put off the trip south as long as
he dared. The last time I saw him was on the 5th
of December, when he crossed over, flying high and
headed due south. Something about him, as they
say in novels, told me that this would be positively
his last appearance for the season. There was a
snowstorm in progress at the time, and it was freez-
ing. Canada was no place for a bird that, according
to the best scientific authorities, should have gone
south almost three months ago. He has not been
seen since that last flight, and as the streams are not
only frozen over but drifted full of snow, it is not
likely that we shall see him again. Sheppy now
has to take his exercise by chasing sparrows.

212

GENERAL

A BALLAD OF BUGS

My Dooley potatoes have bugs on their tops,

Hard ones and soft ones that eat day and night,
There is something the matter with all of my crops —

A bug or a worm or a pest or a blight.
My orchard of apples, in which I delight.

Is a codling moth heaven — my cherries have slugs —
O pity the farmer who works with his might —

Chanting a ballad whose burden is bugs.

The tomato worm crawls, the grasshopper hops.

The aphid sucks juice, the rose chafers bite.
The curculio stings till the little plum drops

And the damage they do on the farm is a fright.
In vain we seek help from the fellows who write

Of "Production and Thrift" — intellectual mugs —
The farmer must hustle and keep up the fight —

Chanting a ballad whose burden is bugs.

The bug on the farm with his appetite stops.

When his "tummy" is filled he is ready for flight.
But the Big Bugs who work in the law-making shops

Are grabbing for all that is lying in sight.
They have tariffs and tricks like good old "vested right"

And the voter they lead by his long hairy lugs.
They are the pests that I want to indict —

Chanting a ballad whose burden is bugs.

ENVOY.

Prince, our exploiters, with insolent spite.
Picture the farmers as mossbacks and thugs,

But you, if you knew them, would pity their plight.
Chanting a ballad whose burden is bugs.

LFI.—The WJiole Bunch

ALL the signs seem to be right for doing a
bulletin on the farm live stock. During
the past week three correspondents have
asked me about Sheppy and old Fence-
viewer, and last night at milking time the whole ag-
gregation forced themselves on my attention. It
happened this way : In the afternoon two little pigs
that are taking the rest cure and fattening for win-
ter pork, managed to break out of their pen in the
orchard and raid the shed where the chop feed and
skim-milk are kept. As no one had time to fix their
pen they were put in the cowstable for safe keeping.
That started the whole chain of circumstances.
When it came milking time we couldn't put in the
cows because of the pigs. We had to milk in the
field. While the milking was in progress the colts
came galloping up to nose around for salt and they
scared the cows. I started to throw clods and sticks
at the colts to drive them away, and that started
the turkey gobbler swearing at me. By the time I

215

THE RED COW

got the colts scattered and the cows gathered again
I found that a titled cat was helping himself from
the pail of milk that I had incautiously placed on
the ground. Just because there was a nail loose in
the pigpen I got in trouble with all the live stock.
Hence this article. I have a feeling that there is a
moral connected with that — ^let me see. Isn't there
an improving tale about the horseshoe nail that
was lost which caused the horseshoe to be lost, which
caused the horse to be lost, which caused the man to
be lost, etc.? Anyway, I didn't stop to puzzle out
the moral. I simply kicked the cat in the wishbone
and resumed the task of milking a fly-bitten cow
with an active tail. In the humour I was in she was
mighty lucky that I didn't kick her, too.

I don't like to accuse cows of being interested in
politics, but they are acting very much like it. For
the past week they have been doing a lot of bawling,
both by day and by night, and I can't for the life
of me make out what they are bawling about. That
sounds as if they were indulging in political discus-
sions, doesn't it.? Besides, one day last week Fence-
Aaewer II. bolted the convention. Word was brought
to the house that she was missing from the pasture

216

THE WHOLE BUNCH

field. As I was busy at something else I sent the
two littlest boys to hunt for her. Not being versed
in the guile of cows and being full of youthful pity
they went to the well in the woods to see, if by any
chance, she had fallen in. When I got through with
my chore I joined the hunt, but I didn't go to look
in the well. No, indeed. I headed straight for the
oat field. I didn't know how she could get in, but
as the oat field was the nearest point where she could
get into mischief I knew she would be there. And I
was not disappointed. As soon as I reached the field
I saw her horns and the red line of her back above
the waving heads. A hurried investigation showed
that she had entered by the Government drain. The
last time the drain had been flooded a lot of grass
got caught on the barbed wires that served as a
water fence, and not only covered the barbs, but
weighed down the wires so that she could step
through. Calling the boys to help me, we drove her
out and fixed the fence. Now, wouldn't you regard
the action of that cow as having a political colouring.''
She left the others to get into a place where the
pasture was better — a customary political move.
But I hope the cows do not become too political, for
I have noticed that political leaders are so confused

217

THE RED COW

that they no longer favour us with illuminating inter-
views, and I am afraid that if the cows get too much
mixed up they will not give down either.

*^ ^ -^ ^

*t* *r •I* •^

Of course, I may be wrong in accusing the turkey
gobbler of cursing, but I do not think so. No mat-
ter what language man uses, if he speaks as earn-
estly as that gobbler and in the same tone of voice,
it is perfectly safe for a policeman to run him in on
a charge of using "profane and abusive language,"
and the court interpreter will show that he was
right. Moreover, the gobbler has had family
troubles to try his temper this summer. Two flocks
of his children were raised by hens, and in spite of
his strutting and blandishments they refuse to have
anything to do with him. Instead they obey the
clucking of the mother hen, and "tweet" disdainfully
at their haughty sire. In addition, his lawful spouse
doesn't seem to care to have him around while she
is looking after her flock. She is apparently a
suff^ragette and quite competent to look after her
own affairs. Even when a thunderstorm comes up
the youngsters do not turn to the old man for pro-
tection. That led to a rather pathetic picture a
short time ago. A sudden storm roused the patern,aj

218

THE WHOLE BUNCH

Instinct in the old fellow. Taking his place near the
little flock he spread out his tail and ample wings
so that they touched the ground and offered an ex-
cellent shelter, but the ungrateful creatures refused
to notice him. No wonder his temper seems to have
gone bad. He is forced to flock by himself and the
lonely life leads him to brood on his wrongs. Since
the beginning of the hay harvest he has roosted on
the front ladder of the hayrack, and when either man
or beast has passed him he has gobbled viciously and
"cursed them by their gods." If there is any truth
in the old saying that curses, like chickens, come
home to roost, that turkey will have a terrible time
of it if the curses he has uttered this summer ever
decide to hold an old home week. Though he is a big
bird, only a small percentage of them will be able to
find a roosting place.

Even though Shepp}' did not figure in the rumpus
when I was chasing away the colts that scared the
cows and led to my kicking the titled cat, he was in
the offing, with his tongue hanging out. He had
done his work of bringing the cows to the pasture
gate, and was in a position to watch the disturbance
with the air of one who had done his work properly
and did not need to concern himself with vulgar

219

THE RED COW

rows. At the present time Sheppy lacks something
of his customary steam owing to a rather serious
blood-letting. One afternoon he came to the door
with blood dripping freely from the end of his tail.
I thought he would be competent to look after his
wounds, but I was mistaken. When next I looked at
him the blood was still flowing freely. On catching
him I found that he had somehow severed an artery
in his tail, and I had to improvise a tourniquet to
stop the flow. Everything was satisfactory until
next day, when the tight cord seemed to hurt him. He
worried it off with his teeth, and the blood started to
spurt again. After I had bound up his wound again
I started to investigate to find out how the accident
occurred. Happening to remember that the mowing
machine was standing in the barnyard, with the
mowing-bar in the air, I examined it. Between a
guard and a blade of the knife I found a bunch of
Sheppy's hair. Evidently when passing the mower
he had wagged an affable tail against the knife and it
had got caught. In getting away he almost clipped
a couple of inches off" the end of his tail. He hasn't
seemed so spunky since losing so much blood, but if
there is anything in ancient medical lore, he prob-
ably stands the heat better.

mo

LVII. — Human Nature in Dumb Creatures

IT is a mistake to suppose that any quality,
habit, trick, failing, weakness, virtue or other
characteristic is peculiar to mankind. The
dumb creatures about the place have every one
of them. If I were to watch them carefully I feel
sure that I could find instances of everything from
the Seven Deadly Sins to the Seven Cardinal Virtues,
and that without leaving the barnyard. It is all
very well for us to talk about getting rid of our
animal natures as if that would mark an upward
step in our development but what interests me is how
to rid the dumb creatures of what can only be de-
scribed as their human natures. It is always the
human things they do that arouse my wrath or make
me laugh. For instance, our old gobbler gives
every evening one of the most human exhibitions of
over-bearing meanness that I have ever witnessed. I
thought it was only society people, and a particularly
annoying brand of them at that, who had the habit
of waiting until other people were comfortably

221

THE RED COW

seated at a concert or theatre and then walking in,
disturbing every one and perhaps making quite a few
get up to make way for them as they progressed to-
wards their seats. I thought this trick was confined
to people who wished to show their importance, and
new clothes and didn't mind how much they bothered
other people. But since watching our gobbler going
to roost I have come to the conclusion that this kind
of conduct on the part of society people at public
entertainments is not due to vanity or a desire to
show off but to fundamental cussedness and a wicked
delight in causing as much discomfort as possible to

other people.

* * * *

The old gobbler has become expert at ascending
the roof of the stable and not only does the trick
with ease but puts frills on it. When roosting time
comes round each evening, the mother hen and her
flock of young gobblers and hens go to roost quietly
and circumspectl}^ like ordinary folks. The old gob-
bler, on the contrary, waits around and picks up
grains of oats about the stacks and hunts for crick-
ets and keeps up an air of being busy until it is al-
most dark and the rest of his tribe are settled for
the night— or think they are. When he finally makes

222

HUMAN NATURE IN DUMB CREATURES

up his mind that it is bedtime he stretches his neck
a few times, first in one direction and then in an-
other, and takes a look at the top of the stable with
one eye and then with the other and at last makes
a flying leap or a leaping fly that lands him on the
ridge-board. That would be all right if he were sat-
isfied after he got there, but he is not. He insists
on roosting on the extreme north end of the ridge-
board and he always flies up on the south end. There
is no reason why he should not fly up at the north
end but he never does it and I am inclined to think
from watching his actions that he flies up on the
south end on purpose. Anyway, as soon as he gets
up and gets his balance he starts to walk towards
the north along the ridge-board. As soon as he
comes to the first of his off'spring he gives a sharp
peck with his bill and the youngster gets up squeak-
ing and moves along ahead of him. Presently he has
them all huddled on the ridge-board along the north
end and the fun begins. The polite thing for him to
do would be to step down on the shingles and walk
around them, but does he do it.? I should say not.
He gives the nearest youngster a vicious peck that
makes him jump in the air and land sprawling a few
feet down on the shingles. In rapid succession he

223

THE RED COW

deals with the fourteen youngsters and their mother
in the same way and for a few minutes the roof is
covered with squeaking, sprawling, protesting tur-
keys. As he pecks them out of his way he walks
along the ridge-board to his chosen roosting place
and when he finally reaches it he stretches his neck
arrogantly while the others scramble back to the top
and settle down for the night. When they have
settled down the old bully settles down also with as
much dignity as a dowager who has disturbed a
whole seatful of music lovers at a concert or opera.
You needn't tell me that there isn't something human

about a gobbler that does such things as that.

* * * «

Then there is the little cow — the one whose praises
I have sung as the Kerry cow. You would think
to look at her that butter wouldn't melt in her
mouth. She looks like a pet and to a large extent
has been a pet. At first she wouldn't allow any one
but me to milk her and would bawl if I attended to
any of the other cows first. You never saw a more
demure, harmless and even helpless looking bit of
a thing in your life. Yet she is a base deceiver.
She needs more watching than any cow on the place.
Not only is she more prone to mischief than old

224i

HUMAN NATURE IN DUMB CREATURES

Fenceviewcr I., but she sneaks into it instead of doing
it boldly like that competent and fearless old pirate.
My pampered pet is an exasperating little sneak
that cannot be trusted for a minute. Not only will
she get through gates and doors whenever she gets
a chance but if she happens to get into the stable
when another cow is tied she will immediately start to
put a horn through her. When putting in the cattle
at night we have to be on the watch lest our demure
little cow should happen to get another in a corner
and start prodding her. And when you catch her
at her tricks she jumps to her own stall and looks so
meek that you can almost imagine she is saying
"I didn't do nuthin'." If that kind of conduct on
the part of a cow is not human I should like to

know what it is.

* * * *

Sheppy, being an intelligent dog, has a lot of
characteristics that we flatter ourselves by calling
human. For instance, he has an orderly way of
doing things that often attracts my admiration.
Now that he has settled down and outgrown the
freaks of puppyhood he acts as if he felt himself
one of the family, with quite a lot of responsibility
on his shoulders. Every morning when he is turned

225

THE RED COW

out he takes a trip around the farm, apparently to
see that everything is right. When the chores are
being attended to he is always on hand to help drive
the cows and after the calves have been fed he
doesn't have to be told to drive them away from the
fence and scatter them over the field. As soon as
the last of them has bunted over the pail from which
it has been fed he starts them on their way. All
day he is around to do his part in whatever is to be
done and when the driver is away he watches till she
is coming back and goes down the road to meet her.
Just how he knows when she is coming is something
of a mystery. Long before any one else can see her
behind the trees half a mile down the road, Sheppy
will trot off to meet her. And he never makes a mis-
take about it. When we see him starting for the cor-
ner we can be sure that the driver is coming. But
there is one bit of his daily routine that is something
of a mystery to me. I do not need him and I have
nothing for him to do when I go after the mail when
the postman has put it in the box, but every morn-
ing he is waiting for me and marches to the mail box
ahead of me. I cannot make out why he does it
unless he is hoping that some day he will get a
letter — a letter with a bone in it.

226

LVIII. — Early Observations

ON mornings when I happen to be wakeful
the observations I make are not always
through the tent flap. Many of them are
through the sides of the tent, and I hear
them instead of seeing them. As you might expect,
the first morning sound is the crowing of the
roosters, and let me tell you that it is no trifling
sound on the farm at present. Between thirty and
forty broilers are practising crowing and there seems
to be a very sharp rivalry among them. Some of
the older ones can crow almost as lustily as the
father of the flock, while a lot of young fellows can-
not manage anything better than a hasty mixture
of a squeak and a squawk. You know, of course,
that the scientists are unable to off'er any explanation
of the foolishness of roosters in crowing like this and
telling their enemies where they are. One morning
recently I was awakened by the crowing of the young
roosters about an hour before dawn. The racket
they were making recalled to my mind the fact that

227

THE RED COW

we were expecting visitors that day and that broilers
would be in order for dinner. I "obeyed that im-
pulse" at once, got up, lit the lantern, and started
on a raid. All I needed to do was to listen and locate
the lustiest crowers where they were roosting in the
apple trees. Then I went around and picked them
off the branches until I had half a dozen plump ones
stowed away in a coop. If they hadn't reminded me
of their existence by their fool crowing they might
still be alive and scratching gravel with both feet for
admiring young pullets.

When the first light of dawn appears the young
ducks begin to jabber, where they are spending the
night in a packing box under an apple tree. A few
minutes later I have a chance to make my first ob-
servations through the tent flap as they march loqua-
ciously past in single file. Now that the mornings
are getting cool, sometimes with a touch of hoar
frost, the crickets, beetles and other innumerable in-
sects are sluggish, and the ducks seem to know just
where to look for them in the long grass. That re-
minds me that the wise old fellows who made up
our proverbs were not always careful observers of
natural phenomena. We have been told that it is

228

EARLY OBSERVATIONS

the "early bird that catches the worm," but the ob-
serYations I have made lead me to believe that for
one worm that suffers for his folly in being out late
a thousand bugs and beetles are captured. The
proverb should read, "It is the early bird that
catches the bug," and different birds have different
ways of going about it. When a duck goes after a
bug he acts much like a ball player trying to steal a
base. He throws himself forward so suddenly that
he lands on his stomach, and at the same time shoots
out his neck full length. When I umpire such an
action through the tent flap it is very seldom that I
could announce the bug "safe." If ducks could only
be taught to play baseball they would beat Ty Cobb
at stealing bases. Shortly after the ducks the tur-
keys come marching past on their morning bug hunt.
Instead of moving in Indian file they walk abreast
in extended formation, and their method of taking
the unwary bug is entirely different from that of the
duck. When a turkey sees his prey he stops still,
sometimes with one foot in the air. Slowly and al-
most imperceptibly he moves his head towards the
luckless bug, and when his beak is within a couple
of inches of it he makes a quick grab that is invari-
ably fatal. In this connection I sometimes wonder

229

THE RED COW

if my attitude as a nature lover is entirely correct.
The bug probably enjoys life just as much as the
turkey, and I wonder if the bug should not have my
sympathy rather than the birds. But that is a deli-
cate point which I am willing to leave to professors
of ethics and other subtle reasoners.

Although the roosters are apparently the first of
the domestic fowls to waken in the morning, they are
usually the last to get up, or, to be more exact, to
get down. When they start to lead out their pullets
in the twilight I have a chance to see that at least
one maker of proverbs was a close observer of
nature. I have heard it said of ladies who walk with
a mincing gait that "she steps out like a hen before
day." As I observe the hens through the tent flap
I notice that their gait differs from the gait they use
later in the day. They pick up their feet carefully,
and hold them poised for a moment before putting
them down daintily, and they hold their heads up
in a way that looks very haughty. The philosopher
who originated that simile must have been an early
riser, or perhaps he also made his observations
through a tent flap, with the blankets tucked cosily
up to his chin. But some mornings I make observa-

230

EARLY OBSERVATIONS

tions through the tent flap that I cannot stay in bed
to meditate on. Through the tent flap I have an
excellent view of the haystacks and the stack of oat
sheaves. One morning when I opened a lazy eye in
the early dawn I was suddenly brought wide awake
and sitting up, as the Red Cow and her progeny were
among the stacks. The sleepy inhabitants of the
tent were immediately rousted out, and for the next
few minutes we took the Kneipp cure together while
sending Fenceviewer I. and her family back through
the gate she had managed to work open. On an-
other morning my first observation was of a team of
horses that had come in from the road and were try-
ing to founder themselves on our fodder. Luckily
Sheppy was loose and he attended to their case
without making it necessary for me to do anything
more than whistle for him and yell, "Sick 'era!"

231

LIX. — B antams

DURING the Christmas season a friend sent
the littlest boy a pair of bantams, and
there is now more spunk on the farm than
there has been since my boyhood days,
when I used to own a sassy little hen that bore the
Gaelic name of "Prabbach." I don't know exactly
what the name meant, but it seemed to fit her ex-
actly. These modern bantams appear to be of
aristocratic descent, with feathers down to their
toes, and the rooster has a haughty bearing that
makes me take liberties with "Will Waterproof's
Lyrical Monologue," in order to describe him
properly : —

"The Cock was of a prouder egg

Than modern poultry drop,
Stept forward on a firmer leg,

And crammed a plumper crop.
Upon an ampler dunghill trod,

Crowed lustier late and early.
Sipped wine from silver, praising God,

And raked in golden barley."

232

BANTAMS

The little bantam can crow quicker, oftener and
with more ginger than any other rooster on the
place. He has so much steam that I imagine he must
have the spirit of a full-sized Brahma or Cochin
compressed into the size of a pigeon. He is so
cocky that his very appearance seems a challenge.
The first time he stepped out into the barnyard the
turkey gobbler challenged him to mortal combat and
unlimbered for action without waiting for his chal-
lenge to be accepted. But, try as he would, the
gobbler could not land on the brisk bantam. The
little fellow sidestepped every swipe that was made
at him, and went on picking up grain as if it were
only a fly that was bothering him. And when he
scratches in the straw for grain he does it with a
vim that seems to say to all the world, "When I
scratch gravel mind your eye." But if I could
speak hen language I would feel it my duty to warn
him about his little mate. She looks so demure that
I suspect her of being a flirt.

233

JLX. — A Little Tragedy

OF ALL the youngsters in the barnyard the
chickens are the most attractive. They
are fluffy little balls of down of most en-
gaging appearance, and I don't blame
Beatrice very much because she shows a longing to
eat them. She is allowed out for a run with "her
nine farrow" every day, and she has to be watched
carefully to keep her away from the chicken coops.
Yesterday she went over beside the road to pasture,
and the boy who was watching her thought she was
safe, but as soon as he took his eye off her, she made
off to a neighbour's barnyard, attacked a chicken
coop and got a couple of chickens. I haven't faced
the music about that yet, but Beatrice will get me
into trouble unless we hurry and make a proper pig
run, where she and her greedy little wretches can get
around without getting into trouble. The little pigs
are now beginning to eat out of the trough with
their mother, and sometimes she chases them off with
a howl of rage that hasn't a trace of maternal ten-

834.

A LITTLE TRAGEDY

derness in it. In a few weeks she will rob her own
children of their feed unless she is restrained, for
"pigs is certainly pigs." As soon as her flock is
weaned she will be an outcast with none so poor to
do her reverence. No one will have any compunc-
tions about putting her in a pen and fattening her
for bacon. But as long as swill and chop-feed are
plentiful she will not mind the lack of affection. She
will grunt contentedly when she is full and complain
bitterly when she is hungry, and she won't care a
hoot whether she is loved or not.

235

LXI. — A Scientific Query

CAN any one tell me why it is that hens al-
ways sing when fed on corn on the cob. We
had been feeding them oats, bran, and oc-
casionally wheat, and they took to it in a
matter-of-fact way, but when a few cobs of corn
were thrown out to them they pecked at it and sang
as if their hearts were overflowing with joy. Since
noticing this peculiarity I have watched them at
every feeding, and it is only the corn that arouses
them to music. I also had a chance to make a fur-
ther observation on the ducks. One of them got a
small ear in its bill and started away on a swift
waddle with the rest of the flock trailing behind.
Instead of trying to find a quiet corner where it
could enjoy its meal it made straight for the mud-
puddle and dropped the ear in the center of it. The
corn immediately sank out of sight and the whole
flock of ducks crowded around to get at it. Judg-
ing from the noise they made they must have been
enjoying themselves hugely, and I am led to do a

236

A SCIENTIFIC QUERY

little speculating of a scientific character. We are
told that hens should be fed in straw or chaff so that
they will get plenty of exercise with their meals. I
wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea to feed the
ducks in a convenient mud-puddle so that they can
develop themselves properly. I await an authori-
tative verdict from some one who knows.

237

LXII.—A Pmiltry Note

WHEN the chickens that were rounded up
from the apple trees last week had
ser\^ed the necessary time in confine-
ment to make them get accustomed to
their new roosts they were turned loose, and there
was more excitement. A young cockerel thought he
would celebrate the occasion by crowing, but imme-
diately seven young gobblers started for him on the
jump. Every time he would start to crow the gob-
blers would rush in on him, and the last I saw of him
he was going over the fence into the pasture field
with the gobblers after him, but he looked as if he
were going to crow even if he died for it. By the
way, I have lost the address of the man with whom
I swapped gobblers last fall, but if this should meet
his eye I wish to tell him that the "Bubbly jock" he
sent has developed into a noble bird. Nothing of
his size in the turkey line has ever been seen on the
farm, and as he is always first in whenever the
chickens or ducks are being fed he is in prime con-

238

A POULTRY NOTE

dition. Some day when I feel equal to the task I
shall try to catch him and weigh him, but I have
considerable respect for the wings of a turkey-gob-
bler ever since one managed to give me a sideswipe
across the bridge of the nose some years ago. He
not only knocked off a bias patch of skin, but gave
me a couple of black eyes that kept me at home for
a week. As the present lord of the barnyard is such
a husky specimen I am not anxious to take any
chances.

y^r^-

239

LXIII. — Spring and the Livestock

THE winter certainly appears to be over, and
neither man nor beast is sorry. We have
all been penned in altogether too long,
and it feels good to be out in the open
again. I notice that it affects the farm creatures in
different ways. The cattle seemed unusually lazy,
and during the heat of the day most of them lay
down where they could let the sunshine soak into
their skins. The colts started on a wild scamper
around the fields and threw up mud in a way that
made it necessary to close them up in the barnyard
again, as they were cutting up the pasture. As
they abused their freedom they had to be deprived
of it. The sheep took things quietly, as might be
expected, and I noticed that after a little run fat
little Mary Belle stood panting with her mouth open.
She and Clarissa and Strafe made a start at playing
king of the castle on an ant-hill, but their mothers
kept so close to them that they spoiled the fun.
Beatrice seemed to like the heat about as well as any-

240

SPRING AND THE LIVESTOCK

thing on the farm. She picked out a snug spot on
the south side of what is left of the straw stack, and
grunted pleasantly, while the sunshine tickled her
fat sides. During the cold weather she made fre-
quent investigating trips around the farm, but the
heat seems to make her lazy. The most belligerent
creature on the place is the turkey cock. He struts
and gobbles and makes thunder with his wings in a
most awesome way. Those who do the chores have
suggested that if he continues to be so threatening
we shall have to put a ring in his nose and lead him
around on a chain. He is certainly a noble bird.

241

LXIV.— First Snow

THE snow was a surprise to all the young-
sters of the barnyard. There had been
flurries earlier in the season, but nothing
to compare with the depth that now covers
everything. When the colt was turned out he left
the stable door at a run. His hoofs threw up a
cloud of snow that frightened him, and he ran
through the gate to the pasture field. The more he
ran the more snow he threw up and the more scared
he got. He galloped around the field until he was
winded or decided that there was nothing to be
frightened about. Then he obeyed an old instinct,
pawed away a little patch of snow and began to eat
the frozen grass. It was his first experience of
snow, but he knew what to do in case he should be
obliged to live on the pasture it covered. The colt
was not the only youngster to have a first experi-
ence of snow on that morning. A flock of young
pullets that have been accustomed to ranging freely
over the farm were completely flabbergasted by the

242

FIRST SNOW

situation. They huddled at the door of the hen-
house, and whenever they tried to travel they did it
a-wing. As they were not used to this method of
locomotion they misjudged distances and fell pro-
testini^ into the snow, where they stayed for a while
before trying to walk. The young ducks that sleep
under the granary did not venture on the snow until
Sheppy routed them out on one of his investigating
excursions. Even though nature has provided them
with snowshoes in their web feet they preferred to
try their wings, but they are so fat and heavy that
their ^ying was a flat failure. They quacked across
the barnyard with heads up and wings beating
wildly, but their cute little tails and flat feet were
still in the snow. The young turkeys also took to
flying, and though they were more expert than any
of the others the result was the same. They landed
in snowdrifts and looked unhappy. One young gob-
bler landed on top of a haystack, where he stood up
to his wishbone in the snow, waiting for a thaw to
come and rescue him. I left him until the chores
were done and then rescued him by pelting him with
snowballs. Of course, this trouble about the snow
lasted for only a day or so. Ducks, hens and tur-
keys now get around much as usual.

LXV.—A "Shift" of Snow

LAST night we had a "skift" of snow, and it
was interesting to notice the effect on the
summer-born creatures of the farm. A
plump young kitten that had not seen the
pesky stuff before came to meet me from the stable,
jumping like a rabbit. At the end of every jump
she would stop and say "Muhr-reowr !" in tones that
seemed several times too large for her body. When
I reached her she stood lifting one foot after another
and shaking off the clinging flakes, only to get a
fresh supply every time she put a foot down. Of
course it was mean to roll her over in the snow, but
I have no doubt it gave her an appetite for break-
fast and could be defended on the best hygienic
grounds. About the first thing I noticed about the
snow was that my new winter boots do not promise
much comfort, for as the snow melted on them my
toes got so cold that I had to step cautiously for
fear they would snap off like icicles. The young
turkeys were complaining noisily from the apple

244

A "SKIFT" OF SNOW

tree where they roost at night, but evidently think-
ing that my appearance at the barn meant the near
approach of feeding time, they started to fly the full
distance. They seemed to realise that the white
stuff on the ground meant cold toes for them, but
they didn't improve matters much by flying. They
landed on top of the hay stacks where the snow
seemed to lie the deepest, and on top of the granary,
where they clawed around on the shppery surface
and mussed themselves up generally. A chilly tur-
key is just about as unattractive looking a bird as
any one would wish to see. They fluff'ed up their
feathers so as to get a layer of entangled air around
their bodies, hunched up their shoulders and pulled
in their necks. Really they looked more like tur-
key buzzards than like Christmas dinners, but a
month of high living on corn meal and shorts will
doubtless make them fit for the market.

The colt had an especially good reason to be
grouchy about the sudden change in the weather, for
he had been out in it all night, and the soft snow
had frozen into lumps on his back. He was so bad
tempered about it that he even let his heels fly at his
mother when she came near him, and the way he lay

245

THE RED COW

back his ears at the approach of the yearling
showed that he was willing to fight him at a moment's
notice. The yearling, however, seemed to know what
to do in such a case. When the sun began to rise
he started to gallop around the field snorting and
kicking at imaginary enemies. As I watched his ex-
hibitions of speed I couldn't help wondering if he
could be made to show any of it under a harness.
His mother is a sedate dowager who often shows
plenty of speed when I go to catch her in the pasture
field, but in the harness nothing short of a black
snake whip can get her off the "cord-wood trot."
The colt was watching the yearling's antics, and at
last he couldn't help joining the fun. With tail in
the air he started after his big brother, and they
galloped all over the pasture, kicking at one another
and snorting. When they tired of their play they
were comfortably warm, and went to the bank of the
Government drain, where there was long grass that
was free from snow, and proceeded to have break-
fast. After this the colt will probably know that
when the ground is white the finest thing in the world
to make him feel comfortable will be a good, brisk
run.

246

LXVI. — A Spring Shower

A FEW days ago we had an ideal shower,
warm, still and occasionally shot with
sunshine. The necessity of doing the
chores drove me out of it and I was glad.
Putting on an old overcoat that did not owe me
any money, and an old felt hat, long innocent of
the block — it showed a quarter pitch from the peak
to the brim — I slopped around for a happy half
hour. But, though I was happy, the ducks were
happier. They were not only in their element, but
they were enjoying a banquet. The frost had come
out of the ground and the angle-worms had come
to the surface. I don't think the ducks missed one
of them — all of which made me try to remember
whether Darwin in his study of earthworms noted
their economic value as poultry food. The hens
are every bit as fond of them as the ducks, but
they are not so fond of the rain. But there are
other things that like to feel the warm, splashy
drops. I had to turn out the cows for a drink, and

24T

THE RED COW

the day seemed to suit them exactly. While old
Fenceviewer I. was waiting to have her stall cleaned
and her bed made up she humped her back against
the shower and chewed her cud, and if she could
have had a couple of hands stuck into pockets she
would have made a perfect picture of contentment.
And all the while I could hear the birds twittering
and calling in the rain, and making different music
from the kind we hear while the sun is shining. I
was really sorry when the work was done and I had
to clean my boots and put off my wet things and
listen to a lecture on the chances I had taken of
catching cold.

248

LXVII. — Doing Chores

DOING chores is a routine job, and even the
animals seem to be getting it down to a
system. When I go out to feed the cattle
in the morning Sheppy meets me at the
door and insists on having a play, which consists
mostly of jumping up against me as if he were a
wolf trying to catch me by the throat and drag me
down. My part of the game is to catch him off
his guard when his feet are off the ground and give
him a push that bowls him down. After he has
had a few tumbles he is satisfied, and begins running
around in wide circles. When I get near the stable
the kitten that the children have named after an
eminent statesman gets on the path in front of me,
purring and rolling on his back so that I can tickle
him with the toe of my boot. As soon as I begin
to open the stable door the driver whinnies "Good-
morning," and a moment later the Jimmie-cow

bawls complainingly, and says in part : "Why

are 3'ou so late coming out to feed us this morning?

249

THE RED COW

Get a wiggle on you with those cornstalks !" Of
course, it is all very foolish, but when one is at-
tending to the wants of a lot of animals he gets
about as well acquainted with them as he does with
people, and, as I have remarked before, they all
have very human attributes. Human nature can be
studied in farm animals just as easily as in city
crowds — and you do not have to be so extravagant
with your expense account.

250

LXFIII.— Fishing

WHAT would spring be to a small boy
without fishing? At the present writ-
ing fishing is at high tide, though we
are still living on the same old fare.
Although fish-lines and hooks have been bought, fish-
ing-poles trimmed to shape with the butcher-knife
and loads of bait dug, I have yet to see an actual
fish. I cannot deny that years ago I used to get
plump chub in the Government drain, and one year
some carp weighing five pounds and over came up
with the spring flood, but it is long since I have
seen anything bigger than a minnow. Still, the
littlest boys know that there were fish in the drain
once, so why not now? There is a spot about half
a mile away where willows were allowed to grow on
the bank and the spring floods scooped out holes
in which driftwood accumulated. In these mysteri-
ous depths fish are supposed to hide, and a baited
hook will be stripped of its bait in a few minutes.
There is no lack of nibbles that appear to give the

251

THE RED COW

old-time thrill, but it is no use explaining that min-
nows less than two inches long, that are too small
to be hooked, are the fish most active in this kind
of work. I know that they are just as likely to
catch a finnan haddie or dried codfish or canned
salmon as a fish of any size, but I wouldn't dampen
their ardour for anything. As a matter of fact, I
am inclined to approve of their enthusiasm, for I
find that the chores go through with a rush since
the fishing began. All I need to do is to let them
wring a reluctant promise from me that if they
hurry through with the chores they can go fishing.
After offering enough opposition to make the favour
seem great I give a grudging consent and the chores
go through with a rush. And at bed-time (new
time) a couple of wet and muddy boys come home,
very tired and very hungry. Though they bring
no fish they have had such monstrous bites that they
are sure there are big fish there, only they are too
cute to swallow the baited hooks. Some day they
are going to catch a whale, and then they will show
me. What would youth be without its faith in the
possibilities of fishing and such things ?

Right here an interruption has occurred. I might
have known when I was writing that first paragraph

252

FISHING

in such a superior way that something would hap-
pen, but the truth must be told even though wisdom
be confounded. A few minutes ago a boy bulged
through the kitchen door waving a string of fish
and registering triumph. He found the right fishing-
hole at last and caught eight, and one big one — Oh,
a beauty — got away. I hadn't a word to say. I
examined them and was forced to admit that he had
eight as fine chub as I had ever seen taken in this
district. The longest measured seven and a half
inches and the shortest six inches. Fishing is now
on a firm basis and the food outlook has greatly
improved. There is a fish banquet being arranged,
and the titled cat was so excited at the prospect of
getting eight heads to chew at that he had to be
put out. But though my predictions have all gone
wrong and the faith of the boys has been justified, I
am not without compensations. The chores will
now be done with more steam than ever and the
fishing season may last all summer. If they can
only catch a few now and then to keep up their
interest, they will not need to be driven to any kind
of work. The promise of permission to go fishing
as soon as a job is done will be enough to get them
to do their best. I hate driving them and it will be

253

THE RED COW

a real pleasure to have their minds so set on fishing
that they will do their work eagerly so as to win
their freedom. I hope the fish supply lasts right
through the corn-hoeing season. By the way, I
am not sure but it would be a good plan to have
the drain stocked with fish so that there would be a
sure supply every spring. I must think about it.

254.

LXIX. — A Lionesome Squirrel

ONE wet morning recently I happened to be
passing through the wood-lot, when I heard
the squawking of a black squirrel. I re-
joiced to think that perhaps the squirrels
were coming back, but investigation revealed only one
lone specimen, and, judging by its size and actions,
it had wandered far from its mother. It was crying
from pure lonesomeness, and it didn't care who heard
it. At the best the cry of a black squirrel is about
the saddest thing in nature, but to hear it when the
trees are dripping and the woods gloomy it is the
last note of sorrow and pessimism. I have never
seen an attempt to render this sound in letters, but
what of that? We shall try it now. As nearly as
I can arrive at it, the sound should be represented
somewhat as follows :

"ku-ku-kwanh-h-h!"

The last syllable is long drawn out in a most deso-
lating manner. Come to look at it, this attempt to

255

THE RED COW

render the cry of the black squirrel has a sort of
pluperfect look, and I have no doubt that a skilled
philologist could trace it back to an Aryan root —
but I digress. Anyway, my squirrel was squawking
and bawling in the universal language of childhood.
In the words of the poet, he had "no language but
a cry." After spying him I began to edge closer
to observe his actions. He frisked about as I ap-
proached, and whenever I stood still he began to
cry again. When crying he always clung to the
tree, with his head downwards, and with every syl-
lable he gave his tail a little jerk. I might say that
he was scolding at me, if it were not for the plain-
tiveness of the noise he was making. Every few
minutes I took a few steps nearer, until at last I
was within twenty feet of the half-dead maple from
which he was pouring his woe. Although I was
quite evidently "viewed with alarm" in the most ap-
proved editorial manner, he shifted his feet a little
from time to time and kept up his wailing. Finally
I sat down under the shelter of a tree trunk and
continued to watch him. He scolded and squawked
and then began to come down the tree, inch by inch,
precariously moving headforemost. I kept perfectly
still for some minutes — keeping a position of abso-

256

A LONESOME SQUIRREL

lute rest is about the easiest thing I do — and inch
by inch he slipped down the tree until he was so
close that I could see his beady black eyes and see
half way down his throat when he opened his mouth
to squawk. At last he got as far down as he cared
to come, and continued to tell me about his troubles.
I was sorry that I couldn't think of anything to say
or do that would assuage his lonesomeness and grief,
but when I heard the call for dinner at the house,
and knew that I should be stirring, I flung a little
parody at him:

"Is it weakness of intellect, Blackie?" I cried,
"Or a rather tough nut in your little inside?"
With a shake of his poor little head he replied,
"Ku-ku-kwanh ! Ku-ku-kwanh !"

When I rose to my feet he rushed headlong into
a nearby hole. But let no one imagine that my time
was wasted while sitting watching that squirrel. Al-
though he was unable to say anything of importance
to me, and I was unable to say anything of im-
portance to him, you may note that the interview
was good for one extra long paragraph. I could
have gone out and interviewed some eminent human
without getting any more copy than I did from my
lonesome little black squirrel.

257

LXX.—Fall Poultrij Troubles

WHY is it that hens always want to roost
over the cows and horses in the winter
time? Perhaps they want company in
the long, lonesome nights, but prob-
ably it is because the cattle generate a certain
amount of warmth that makes the beams above them
pleasanter roosting places than the hen-house. Any-
way there is always a week or two at the beginning
of each winter when a bunch of ambitious hens must
be trained to roost in their own quarters instead
of in the stable. Every night at milking time I
shoo them out until they finally get it into their
heads they are not wanted. But they are almost
as hard to convince as the New England farmer who
went to a dance to which he had not been invited.
He overlooked the lack of invitation, and was even
willing to overlook the fact that he was told that
he was not wanted, but when he was finally thrown
outdoors and kicked through the front gate, "He
took the hint and went away." After being thrown

^58

FALL POULTRY TROUBLES

out of the stalls about a dozen times the hens finally
took the hint, and they now stay in their own quar-
ters. But just as I got rid of the hens the guinea
fowl decided that the weather was getting altogether
too severe for outdoor life. All summer and fall
they have been living in the fields, and any one who
happened to see them reported the fact much as if
they had seen a flock of quail. They really seem
more like wild than domesticated fowl, and if they
live entirely on insects and weed seeds they must
have a distinct value in keeping pests of various
kinds in check. But when the cold weather came
on they began attending the chicken feedings, not
only at home but at neighbouring farms. They seem
to have good ears as well as wonderful appetites,
for whenever they hear other fowls squabbling over
their feed they take to their wings and never touch
the earth until they light right in the middle of the
banquet. And they never miss a feeding time at
home either. They should be fat enough for the
table before long.

* * * *

But what I started to tell about is the persistence
the guinea fowl show in adopting the stable as a
home. On the first cold night I found the whole

259

THE RED COW

twenty of them ranged decoratively on the partitions
between the stalls. I couldn't shoo them away like
the hens. I had to touch each one, and as I touched
it it gave a shrill squeak and flew blindly until it
brought up against the wall at the far end of the
stable. Usually they fell to the floor, but sometimes
they would beat their wings and work their feet and
apparently walk up the wall like flies until the roof
checked them, and then they would sink to the floor
with a final discouraged squeak. Once I caught one
of them to see how heavy it was, and it squealed like
a rat. I dropped it instinctively, for I felt that
anything that could squeal like that would be likely
to bite. And they can bite — or at least use their
bills. I have noticed that at feeding time they can
whip even the rooster away from the choicest bits,
and I am told that when there were young chickens
about, the old pair of guinea fowl thought nothing
of grabbing them in their beaks and shaking them
as a terrier shakes a rat. Sometimes, if they were
not interrupted in committing these atrocities they
even killed the chickens. I do not think the nature
and habits of guinea fowl have been studied by the
experts, and some time when the rush is over I may
prepare a bulletin on the subject. At present, how-

260

FALL POULTRY TROUBLES

ever, I am chiefly interested in making them under-
stand that they are not wanted in the stable at
night. But is seems hard to convince them. Every
night I find them in exactly the same position as on
the first night, and every evening I startle twenty
squeaks out of the flock before I get them to move

elsewhere. It is getting to be a regular chore.

* * * *

But it is as fabricators of new and fiendish noises
that the guinea fowl are in a class by themselves.
They are at it all the time. The mildest noise they
make reminds you of the filing of a saw with a
bungling mechanic dragging the file on the back
stroke. The noises they make when they set to work
to show what they can do are beyond description. I
have heard noises something like them in sawmills
when the circular saw happened to strike a sliver.
And they are ready to give an impromptu serenade
at any time. I used to think that the ducks were
the noisiest thing about the barn-yard, but they only
squawk when I am trying to talk. The guinea fowl
keep at it when I am trying to think so that I
cannot bear the thoughts that are trying to whisper
their way into my brain. They rasp out wild noises
when they are eating and when they are fasting,

261

THE RED COW

when they are walking and when they are flying;
and their idea of a nice, quiet time seems to be to
lie down in some spot where they are sheltered from
the wind by a clump of weeds or something of the
sort, and try to outdo each other in the range and
volume of their cries. When we start eating these
guinea fowl I am going to dissect one to find out
what its vocal cords are made of. I don't think they
could possibly make such noises without metal con-
trivances of some kind that can be rasped together
and banged and thumped on. Perhaps I'll discover
a new metal that would be valuable in making phono-
graphs, and be able to organise a company to mine
it out of the guinea fowl. Then I'll sell stock to
the farmers. Judging by their noises there are great
and unknown possibilities in these creatures. And
yet I have heard people say they rather liked hav-
ing them around because they keep up such a con-
stant clatter that they keep one from getting lone-
some. It strikes me that the person who would not
rather be alone than have a flock of guinea fowl
for company must have a bad conscience.

262

LiXXl. — Thanksgiving Day

HERE is Thanksgiving Day right on top of
us, and I am all in a fluster. I am not
sure that I am going to be thankful about
anything. Isn't that dreadful.^ But the
truth is that in my usual improvident fashion I
forgot all about it. While other people were care-
fully saving up their thankful feelings for the official
day, Oct. 20th, I just went along carelessly pouring
out my thankfulness whenever it welled up within
me. But that is not the way well-conducted people
do. They are as methodical about their thanks as
the woman in the story was about baths. When she
had a stationary tub put in the house she exclaimed
to an admiring friend, "It looks so nice I can hardly
wait till Saturday night." As nearly as I can judge
the world is full of just such careful people, and
thej'^ never let a speck of thankfulness escape them
until the right day comes around. They keep it in
through all the long dreary year, and, then on the
20th of October, they will go about expressing it

263

THE RED COW

in a careful and business-like way. Since we have a

Thanksgiving day that is naturally the day to be

thankful on. People who look at things in that way

simplify matters for the Recording Angel. They

turn over their thanks in one neat bunch, and the

matter is over with for another year. But much

as I may admire people who are able to restrain

themselves in this way I have no hope of attaining

their perfection. Having formed the habit of living

each day as I come to it, I may run the whole gamut

of moods from boiled down pessimism to overflowing

thankfulness between sunup and sundown. And yet

• — and yet — this way has its compensations. I am

not sure that I would change if I could.

* * * *

I was reminded of the fact that Thanksgiving Day
is at hand by seeing some ducks being fed up for
the occasion, and by being asked whether the celery
wiU be fit to use on the 20th. As the indications
are that both these excellent comestibles will be in
prime condition by that time, I find myself bubbling
over with thankfulness almost two weeks before the
specified time. But I know that is all wrong, and
I have set to work to figure out just how to be
thankful like other people. To do this I am forced

264

i

THANKSGIVING DAY

to review the happenings of the year, my hopes,
ambitions and enterprises. While at this task I
was struck by the thought that if we had a Grumble-
giving Day as well as a Thanksgiving Day, it would
be much more carefully celebrated. The first thing
I thought of was the bugs, blights, pests, weeds and
such things that I have been fighting with all sum-
mer. As I thought of them Thanksgiving Day
seemed very far away. But that mood did not last
long. After all they did not injure anything which
I was over-poweringly interested in. Life itself is
what I am chiefly interested in, and, while we have
food, clothing and shelter, it is as good one day as
another. I can be just as much alive mentally,
physically, spiritually on one day as another. A
rainy day is just as good as a sunny day if we
manage to get in tune with it. And having got a
fairly good hold of the truth that yesterday is dead
and to-morrow unborn, I find that I really can not
go away from the present day and the present
moment to seek the sources of thankfulness. It will
be the same on the 20th of October. I must find
in it all that I shall be thankful for. I do not think

I shall be disappointed.

* * * *

265

THE RED COW

In order to celebrate Thanksgiving Day in the
popular fashion, one would need to keep books and
strike a balance of good and evil. Let me try this
plan. First, there is the orchard. The frost killed
most of the blossoms ; there was a plague of green
aphids in the spring; over half of the apples we
have are scabby and deformed. Wow ! If I were
depending on that orchard for my happiness Thanks-
giving Day would be a day of gloom. But let us
look at the other side of the ledger. We have sold
our apples for a topnotch price; we are getting
more for our thirds than people used to get for their
firsts; we even have a chance to sell our culls at a
good price to a vinegar factory ; the indications are
that after all the orchard will yield a larger cash
return than in any year of its existence, except last
year, when we had a bumper crop of clean fruit
and got top prices. Looking at things in that way
I guess I can squeeze out a little thankfulness for
the 20th after all. Then there is the young orchard.
First let me grumble. The young trees came late
in the spring; they were all dried out, and wise
people said they would not grow; I was so late
getting them planted and getting the ground thor-
oughly cultivated, that I did not get the corn planted

^66

THANKSGIVING DAY

between the rows until the middle of June. Now
let us look at the other side. Over ninety per cent
of the trees grew and put out a strong growth. The
nurserymen did not ask to be paid except for those
that grew. The corn escaped the frost and ripened
splendidly. It is now being husked, and is proving
to be the best crop of com that has been on the farm
in years. Tut, Tut ! It looks as if I would eat
those ducks in a cheerful spirit after all.

♦ ^ ^ '^

There are times when I think that a spirit of
thankfulness is born in one rather than cultivated.
When looking at things in this way I find it profit-
able to study tlie animals on the place. Somehow
they seem to be very human in their emotions.

Their feelings are not complicated by efforts at
reasoning, and in their every day conduct they re-
veal their true spirits most amazingly. Take the
Red Cow for instance. Nothing seems to discourage
her. She is too full of ambition to grumble about
anything. If she doesn't manage to steal a march on
me to-day she is quite sure that she will be able to
do it to-morrow, and that keeps her in a constantly
cheerful frame of mind. This year she had set her
heart on getting into the corn field which was just

267

THE RED COW

across the fence from the pasture, but never once
did she find an open gate or a break in the fence.
She saw it grow from the first green sprouts to
matured corn and never got a bite. It is now in
the shock and being husked, but she still stretches
her neck over the fence in the same hopeful way.
She is going to get a feed out of that field before
the year is out or know the reason why. Even if
she doesn't manage it before the stalks are hauled
in she'll find a gate open before the snow falls, and
dig up the roots that were left by the hoe before
she will give up her purpose. A cow like that is
really an inspiration on the farm.

She was born that way and life always looks bright
to her, because she always has something to hope
for. Now, with the new cow, the one I bought, the
case is entirely different. She must have come into
the world feeling discouraged. She has faith in
nothing, hopes for nothing, and is always in a
mournful frame of mind. Though she gets all the
pumpkins she can eat and a good bunch of com
stalks every night, she simply can't cheer up. When
we open the pasture gate the Red Cow makes a rush
for the stable and gets into the wrong stall and
eats all she can of some other cow's feed before

268

THANKSGIVING DAY

she is driven to her place. But the new cow stands
mournfully in the pasture. It is quite true that there
were pumpkins last night and the night before and
many nights before that, but she knows there will be
none to-night and she bawls dismally at the thought.
Finally some one has to go out into the field and
drive her in, and when she gets to her stall she no
sooner starts to eat than she looks over at what
the other cows are having, and as well as she can
with her mouth full, bawls complainingly that she
didn't get as much as the rest, or that her pumpkins
are not as yellow as the others. There is no satis-
fying her because she was born that way. It'll be
the same on the 20th of October as on all other
days. I wonder how many people in the country
will be like her.? As for me, I think I'll put a
pumpkin just beyond the red cow's reach and culti-
vate a cheerful spirit while watching the hopeful
way she will go after it.

269

LiXXlI. — September Notes

DID you ever stop (slap!) to consider the
the mosquito? Did it ever occur to you
that if a boy had an appetite in propor-
tion to his size like that of a mosquito
(slap!) he would eat a whole ox at a meal? Perhaps
you think a mosquito too small a thing to occupy
your thoughts. If so (slap!) you have another
guess coming. Until science made a few epoch-
making discoveries the mosquito prevented some of
the mightiest works. Because it carries the germs
of yellow fever it delayed the building of the Panama
canal for years and increased the cost of all kinds
of public works. By carrying the germs of malaria
and giving people the ague it made the clearing
of many parts of Canada doubly hard. ( Slap !
slap!) And this year it is a temper-rousing, sleep-
destroying pest. With every cow-track full of water
it has breeding places everywhere and you can hear
its hum wherever you go. (Slap! Missed again!)
Even though we have screens on the windows and

270

SEPTEMBER NOTES

doors we cannot keep them out of the house because
they come in riding on people's backs while waiting
for a chance to bite. And did you ever consider
how naturally mean the mosquito is? Not content
with driving its beak into a fellow it injects a poison
and possibly some disease germs. Of all created
things the mosquito is about the most useless and
irritating. Its snarling hum — (Slap! Whoop! Got
him that time and now I can talk about something
else.)

V ''f' vP-' •P'

About the first sign of fall is to have the cattle
get into new fields. During the earlier months they
are confined to the pasture but as the crops are
taken off they are allowed a wider range. As soon
as they find a new field open to them they rush into
it as eagerly as if they were getting into mischief
and do not rest until they have wandered to every
corner. Even though the new field may offer them
many bits of good pasture they do not stop to
eat them but go around the fences and poke their
heads through wires to get what they can from the
adjoining field. The pasture they have never seems
to satisfy them. It is the pasture in the other field
that interests them. In this they are very human.

271

THE RED COW

But giving them a wider range makes the chore
of bringing them home at milking time more im-
portant and this summer I undertook to train Sheppy
to the work with a rather peculiar result. As he
is a pure-bred sheep dog he always goes to the
farthest off in the bunch as soon as he is sent after
them. This is usually enough to start the herd
towards the bam and as soon as he has started them
I call him off so that he walks quietly behind them.
When the cattle became used to being brought home
by Sheppy they apparently learned something. The
dog is usually wandering away somewhere with the
children and when I need him I have to whistle for
him. During the past couple of weeks as soon as
I began to whistle for Sheppy the cows started for
the barn. Now I can get them home whether the
dog is around or not simply by whistling. AH of
which goes to show that old Fenceviewer I. and her
progeny are not like other cows.

272

I

LXXIII.— 'The Demon RahUr

I AM almost convinced that there is, or was,
a demon rabbit in this neighbourhood. You
all know the stories that come from far coun-
tries about ghostly tigers and phantom lions
that seem to bear charmed lives, and to be invulner-
able to the bullets of the most skilled marksman.
According to the talented liars who tell the stories
they are the actual bodies of dead and gone lions
and tigers that "revisit the ghmpses of the moon"
to torment hunters. The rabbit I have been having
experiences with seems to be of this kind. He ap-
pears in the open with insulting indifference, and
so far we have no evidence that he has been seriously
injured by our attempts to get him. But before
proceeding with my story perhaps I had better say
a few words to put myself on the right side of the
law. I have a hazy recollection that the game laws
protect rabbits, but I make my appeal to an older
code which asserts that "self-protection is the first
law of Nature." I do not mean this in the sense

273

THE RED COW

in which it was used by the sheep thief, who, when
caught red-handed, protested indignantly, "I'll kill
every doggoned sheep that tries to bite me." I
am not afraid that the rabbits will bite me, but,
besides the young orchard, between two and three
thousand seedling forest trees have been planted in
the wood-lot and I do not want to have them all
girdled. Game laws or no game laws, we have been
obliged to begin a war of extermination against the
rabbits on the place. Perhaps that is why we are
being tormented by this unshootable rabbit.

•t* 'I* V ^

For some weeks past a particularly large rabbit
has been reported almost every day as crossing the
road into the hedge and heading towards the orchard.
At different times when I was driving to the post-
oflSce he squatted by the fence and stared at me. He
seemed so tame that I thought we would have no
trouble with him until the boys had missed him a
few times. Then I took the rifle and went after him
myself. Of course I do not claim to be an unerring
marksman, but still my record for picking off such
small game as English sparrows is fairly good and
in trying for rabbits during the fall I did not make
many misses and I never had such a chance as I

274

"THE DEMON RABBIT"

have had at the demon. The first morning I went
after him I spied him sitting up on his hind legs
at the corner of a stack. It was as pretty a shot
as a pot hunter could ask for, and as we were
treating rabbits as vermin rather than as game, I
felt no scruples about the lack of sportsmanship
in shooting at him when standing still. As a matter
of fact I am not sure but it is entirely sportsmanlike
to shoot at a standing rabbit with the rifle. I never
managed to stop but one with a bullet when it was
on the run and the attempts I have made since have
convinced me that that shot was an accident. Any-
way, Mr. Rabbit was sitting up offering a provokingly
good target when I drew a bead on him and fired. Zip !
He whirled and disappeared around the stack in two
jumps. As I approached the place where he had been
standing I saw something floating in the air and
grabbed it. It proved to be a bunch of rabbit fur and
on the ground where he had been there was a lot
more. Next day I found him squatted beside the
trunk of an apple tree, took deliberate aim and
fired. Just one jump and a little white tail flirted
saucily under a rail fence and disappeared. On the
ground where he had been standing I found enough
rabbit fur to stuffs a pin-cushion, evidently I had

275

THE RED COW

made another of those near-hits. Next day we were
driving past the place where I had shot at him and
one of the boys was carrying the rifle. Suddenly, I
spied Mr. Rabbit among some tall grass under the
roadside fence. Grabbing the gun I took careful
aim and fired once more. He seemed to be badly
frightened, but that was all, and this time there
was enough fur where he had been sitting to stuff
two pin-cushions. I couldn't have been more than
a rod from him this time and it hardly seems possible
that if he were a normal rabbit that I shouldn't have
hit him fair and square. However, he hasn't been
seen since and it is just possible that he decided
that things were getting a little too hot for him. If
he appears again I think I shall have to try him
with a silver bullet for that is said to be the only
thing that will kill a demon of this kind. But per-
haps, instead of using the silver to shoot with I
should offer a quarter to a boy who is a better shot
than I am to get him for me. Anyway, I have no
need to fear the game wardens about this rabbit for
I did no more to him than the Western desperado
did to the Tenderfoot. I just shot him through the
tliin places around the edges. And yet — and yet —
it is just possible that it was not my bullets that

276

'THE DEMON RABBIT"

knocked out the fur after all. This may be the
season of the year when rabbits are chan^ng their
hair and he might have been merely attending to
his toilet when I disturbed him by shooting at him.
But demon or no demon, we must get him before he
gets the little trees.

277

LXXIV.—The Fate of ''The Demon Bahhit"

THE demon rabbit is no more, and the man-
ner of his passing is as mysterious as any-
thing else in his enchanted life. As nearly
I can determine he died of heart disease
or from rupturing an artery through sudden fright.
This is how it happened. A couple of days after
my last futile shot at him I was driving to the
village. After turning out of the lane I came to
the spot haunted by the rabbit, and there he was
"as big as life and twice as natural.'* He was sitting
under a branch that had been blown from an apple
tree about a rod from the road. The three yoiinger
children were with me, and as soon as they saw him
they began to yell, but he never wiggled an ear.
Pulling up the horse I looked at him carefully, and
seeing that he showed no signs of moving I yeUed
at the top of my voice for a boy to come with the
rifle. Still the rabbit did not stir. I had to yell
four or five times before the boy heard me, and
though I made a noise that roused the echoes over

278

THE FATE OF "THE DEMON RABBIT"

half the township the rabbit sat where he was. It
took the boy fully five minutes to come with the
rifle, and in the meantime the children and I were
all talking at once while the demon sat and Hstened.
Only when the boy was within a few rods of the
buggy did he show any signs of nervousness. He
slapped his hind feet on the snow a couple of times
and I thought he was going to run, but he quieted
down again. Then I drove on, for the horse is
inclined to be gun-shy, and the boy dropped on one
knee in the most approved Theodore Roosevelt
fashion and took aim. When he fired the rabbit
gave a jump that sent the snow flying and loped
away across the orchard. The boy complained bit-
terly because I had not held the horse and allowed
him to take a rest on the hind wheel of the buggy,
and, while I watched the rabbit disappearing, I made
a few restrained remarks appropriate to the oc-
casion. But just as he was passing out of sight
he suddenly jumped into the air, fell to the ground,
kicked wildly and then lay still. I sent the boy
running to where he was, and he picked up Mr.
Rabbit stone dead. Then we proceeded to examine
him. The first thing we noticed was a round bullet
hole through his right ear that was partly healedL

^79

THE RED COW

Across his back there was a furrow through his
fur, and a long scab where a bullet had raked him.
Under his chin there was a similar furrow and scab.
Beyond a doubt he was the rabbit from which I had
been knocking the fur. But what mystified us com-
pletely was the fact that we could not find a mark
to show where the last bullet had hit him. Not a
sign of blood or a wound could we find. After I
got back from the village I held a post mortem on
that rabbit, and though he was full of blood, having
bled internally, the closest examination could not
discover a trace of a wound. He must have ruptured
a blood-vessel in his wild jumping. In no other way
can I account for his sudden taking off. Of course
the boy was anxious to prove that he had hit the
rabbit, but he was unable to find a bullet mark
any more than I was. And now there is something
else to prove that he was not an ordinary rabbit.
When I passed his haunts yesterday I saw two more
rabbits. Isn't that the popular belief a^K)ut evil
things.'' If you kill one two more will come to
take his place. Now I am going after the two new
rabbits to see if four will come to take their place.
I tried the rifle on some English sparrows at the
granary and find that my shooting eye is just as

280

THE FATE OF "THE DEMON RABBIT"

good as ever. Surely if I can hit such little targets
as sparrows I should not miss rabbits if they are
of mortal breed. Altogether it is a great mystery,
and, in a more superstitious age, the incident would
have given rise to a myth, but in this sceptical age
I suppose most people will explain the matter by
insinuating that we are a family of poor shots. Yet
the boy and I can both pick off sparrows just as
easy as easy.

281

LXXV.—My Friends, the Trees

NEAR the house there Is a sturdy oak tree
that I always think of as one of the

oldest of my friends. I grew up with it.

Of course, that is not exactly true, for
I stopped growing many years ago while it kept
on growing, and it may keep on growing for cen-
turies to come. But when I was a growing boy
it was just the right kind of a tree for me to chum
with. It was not too big to climb, and yet it was
big enough to take me on its back and carry me into
all the dreamlands of childhood. Among its whis-
pering branches I found lands as wonderful as Jack
climbed to on his beanstalk. And it had a stout
right arm that was strong enough to hold up a swing
on which I swung and dreamed for more hours than
the teachers of to-day would consider right. When
it whispered to me I whispered to it, and told it more
secrets than I have ever told any one in the world.
It became a part of my life, and no matter how far I
wandered in later years my thoughts would always

28g

MY FRIENDS, THE TREES

return to the tree in times of sickness and trouble.
I always felt that I would be well and happy again
if I could only get back to the tree and throw myself
at full length on the grass that it shaded and listen
to its never-ending gossip with the breezes that are
forever visiting it. At last I came back from the
outer world and made my home beside the tree.
During my absence it had pushed up higher and had
spread its branches wider, but it was still the same
companionable tree. The grass still made a carpet
over its roots, inviting me to sprawl at full length
and renew our voiceless communion. While I was
away I may have learned some things, but the tree
had been in harmony with the universe from the
moment it began to emerge from the acorn, and

knew all that I so sorely needed to learn.

* * * *

Although the oak is my particular friend among
the trees on the farm, there are others with which
I can claim at least an acquaintanceship. There is a
maple at the edge of the wood-lot that always makes
me feel uncomfortable, because I have a feeling that
it has a joke on me. It stands on what would be
called rising ground — which means an elevation that
does not deserve to be called a hill — and while lying

283

THE RED COW

on the grass in its shade I can see over several
farms to the south and east. It used to be a favourite
of my boyhood, and once I composed a poem while
lying in its shade. If you bear in mind the fact
that I was seventeen years of age at the time you
will understand why the tree has a joke on me. Here
is the only stanza I can remember of the little poem
I composed to express the "unmannerly sadness" of
youth.

It long has been my cherished hope

Upon my dying day
To He down on some sunny slope

And dream my life away.

At that age I could not have cherished the hope
so very long, and the old tree must have chuckled
to its last twig at my absurdity. Anyway, I never
see the tree without recalling that wretched stanza,
and I immediately hurry away to some other part

of the woods.

* * * *

But there is one tree on the place with which I
can never establish a feeling of intimacy. It is the
one remaining specimen of the original forest — a
giant maple over three feet in diameter, whose spread-

284

MY FRIENDS, THE TREES

ing top rises far above the other trees in the wood-
lot. Even though it stands beside the public road,
it seems to retain some touch of the shyness of the
wilderness, and does not invite the fellowship of man.
Its first branches are so high in the air that it
has never been profaned by the most venturesome
climbers, and its great roots start out from the
trunk in a way that seems to thrust back all attempts
at familiarity. The second growth maples by which
it is surrounded appear to be domesticated by com-
parison with this wildling, and when they are tapped
at sugar-making time they yield sap as lavishly as
a dair}^ cow gives milk. But the giant gives grudg-
ingly, as if it resented the wound it had received. Its
companionship seems to be with the wildest winds and
storms, that alone have the power to rouse its huge

branches to motion.

* * * *

I sometimes wonder that I should be fond of trees,
for when I was a boy trees were regarded almost as
enemies. The land had to be cleared of them before
crops could be sown, and they multiplied the labour
of the pioneers. I learned to swing an axe by cutting
down saplings, and ran "amuck" among them just
as my elders did among the larger trees. In those

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far days trees were things to be destroyed, and no
one thought of sparing them. But when I came back
to the farm and found that the noble forest had
dwindled to a small wood-lot that had no young
trees in it — because the cattle had nibbled down all
seedlings for many years — I was seized by a rage
for planting. Finding that the government was
willing to supply seedlings to any one who would
plant them out, I immediately began the work of
reforestration and planted thousands so that when
the present trees mature and are cut out there will
be others to take their place. These little trees are
now thriving lustily, but they seem to regard me
with an air of aloofness, and I feel when among
them as if they were looking at me furtively and
trying to decide whether I am to be trusted. Per-
haps there is still a tradition in the wood-lot of the
havoc I wrought in my youth with just such tender

saplings as these.

* * * *

Yesterday while I was sitting at some distance
from the home oak, admiring the curved spread of
Its branches, a bare-foot boy came out of the house.
Without seeing me he walked straight to the tree
ancl then looked up at its inviting branches. After

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MY FRIENDS, THE TREES

a while he got a piece of a rail and placed it against
the trunk. Then with clutching fingers and spread-
ing toes he worked his way up to the lowest branch.
Through the higher branches he clambered as if
going up a ladder, and finally when he found one to
his liking he bestrode it, with his back to the trunk,
and looked away to the south. For a long time,
with childish gravity, he gave himself up to the
"long, long thoughts" of a boy. At last his eyes
began to rove around and presently they rested on
me, where I was watching him. He laughed in a
shame-faced way as if he had been surprised in doing
something that he would have kept secret, but I
laughed back joyously and we understood. I am
glad that there is another of my name who will love
the old oak and the other trees and to whom they
will perhaps give their friendship even more fully
than they have given it to me.

287

^■^

PS

McArthur, Peter

The red cow and her friends

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