Right out the back door and across the drive was a low shed. The roof was rotten so nothing was kept in there. Well the old cow made that her home. She was pregnant and due at anytime when we moved in. Seemed like we had not been there very long when she went into labor. Things were not going well at all and the neighbor came to help. Now, I swear this part is true. It was decided she had "milk fever" and something had to be done. Since there was no vet around for miles and had thier been one we would not have been able to afford him, another neighbor was brought in to advise. His professional opinion, and he had one since he had already lost a cow to this, was that her tail must be cut open lengthwise and black pepper sprinkled in there and then taped back up. Of course we were not allowed to watch such a gruesome sight, and I for one was very glad of that! They decided as long as they were working on that end anyway, they might as well reach up in there and turn the calf because surely it was stuck. I do not know to whom that task fell and I was once more glad that we were not allowed in the yard.
The calf finally made it out and was placed in the granary since it was a very sturdy place and the calf would stay dry. Of course the cow died. Do not ask if we butchered it and ate it, because I have no recollection of that, but I am sure if we had that much meat I would have remembered that. I am sure she went to the glue factory.
I loved that little calf and named him Dennis. Dennis was black as coal and had the biggest brown eyes. I spent all my time with him trying to get him to eat so he would grow big. Of course in a perfect world, that would have happened and he would have made us lots of money and been my friend forever, but we are in my world now. Dennis lived three days and it broke my heart when I came home from school and found his lifeless body. All these years later I still remember him.
Near the granary was the chicken pen. I recall laying on my stomach and watching a chicken lay an egg. Ever see that? Fascinating! The chickens were penned at night, but allowed to run free during the day. They laid all thier eggs in the hen house so that was good.
My father also had horses. They were work horses and he was one of the last farmers to give up the horses as work animals. I remember the last "matched pair" he ever bought. They were "Strawberry Roans" as I recall and I am sure that was thier color and not the breed. They were big and a pinkish blonde color. I remember dad braiding thier blonde tails and pulling them up into a "bob."
As time passed the horses got older and died. Star, the shetland pony, was the first to go. Dead horse always was an exciting time at our house. The "dead animal wagon" was called and would come by hopefully before the horse began to "bloat". The truck would back up close to the fence and the man would pull out the winch which was wrapped around the hapless animals neck. Then he would start the winch and the animal was drug across whatever field it was in and winched up into the back of the truck. Last time I saw old Star three of his feet were poking up over the side.
Now I know you are thinking how gruesome I am, but you must realize that back at that point in my life, it was reality. Cold and stark reality, and there was no sugar coating any of it. Death came to what ever and whomever and we lived with it. We learned early on how to kill a rabbit or chicken and dress it out for dinner. We also learned not to make pets out of our food. That just made it harder to swallow around that lump in our throat.
Jake's jobs were to chop wood and pump the horse tank full of water. I think us little girl's job was to stay out of trouble. There was a family at the end of street that watched the two little girls, Mary and Dorothy. Donna sometimes went there because her and Mary were really tight. Some times I liked to go there and play in thier dirt. They had a son and daughter still at home. The daughter was a year older then me, but I always thought her strange. She collected comic books and baseball cards. the son was Jake's age. He delivered the newpaper which came out once a week. The Nickerson Argosy, as I recall. His name was Ralph, but we called him Hibbly. Do not ask me why because I have no idea. I do not think we called anyone by thier real name back then.
So the scene is fairly well set for my growing up years. Today I am in the present and we have a yard sale at the church so I better get to it!
The calf finally made it out and was placed in the granary since it was a very sturdy place and the calf would stay dry. Of course the cow died. Do not ask if we butchered it and ate it, because I have no recollection of that, but I am sure if we had that much meat I would have remembered that. I am sure she went to the glue factory.
I loved that little calf and named him Dennis. Dennis was black as coal and had the biggest brown eyes. I spent all my time with him trying to get him to eat so he would grow big. Of course in a perfect world, that would have happened and he would have made us lots of money and been my friend forever, but we are in my world now. Dennis lived three days and it broke my heart when I came home from school and found his lifeless body. All these years later I still remember him.
Near the granary was the chicken pen. I recall laying on my stomach and watching a chicken lay an egg. Ever see that? Fascinating! The chickens were penned at night, but allowed to run free during the day. They laid all thier eggs in the hen house so that was good.
My father also had horses. They were work horses and he was one of the last farmers to give up the horses as work animals. I remember the last "matched pair" he ever bought. They were "Strawberry Roans" as I recall and I am sure that was thier color and not the breed. They were big and a pinkish blonde color. I remember dad braiding thier blonde tails and pulling them up into a "bob."
As time passed the horses got older and died. Star, the shetland pony, was the first to go. Dead horse always was an exciting time at our house. The "dead animal wagon" was called and would come by hopefully before the horse began to "bloat". The truck would back up close to the fence and the man would pull out the winch which was wrapped around the hapless animals neck. Then he would start the winch and the animal was drug across whatever field it was in and winched up into the back of the truck. Last time I saw old Star three of his feet were poking up over the side.
Now I know you are thinking how gruesome I am, but you must realize that back at that point in my life, it was reality. Cold and stark reality, and there was no sugar coating any of it. Death came to what ever and whomever and we lived with it. We learned early on how to kill a rabbit or chicken and dress it out for dinner. We also learned not to make pets out of our food. That just made it harder to swallow around that lump in our throat.
Jake's jobs were to chop wood and pump the horse tank full of water. I think us little girl's job was to stay out of trouble. There was a family at the end of street that watched the two little girls, Mary and Dorothy. Donna sometimes went there because her and Mary were really tight. Some times I liked to go there and play in thier dirt. They had a son and daughter still at home. The daughter was a year older then me, but I always thought her strange. She collected comic books and baseball cards. the son was Jake's age. He delivered the newpaper which came out once a week. The Nickerson Argosy, as I recall. His name was Ralph, but we called him Hibbly. Do not ask me why because I have no idea. I do not think we called anyone by thier real name back then.
So the scene is fairly well set for my growing up years. Today I am in the present and we have a yard sale at the church so I better get to it!
