Back in Pensultucky, our neighbors included Mr. Miller.  Sometimes,
Farmer Miller.  Mr. Miller's farm was tucked down in the little valley
between the ridge my house was built on and the next.  Mr. Miller's
farm was the farmstead remnent of what had been a reasonably sized
farm.  Mr. Miller kept a bull and a cow, some chickens, dogs, cats,
turkeys and Peacocks.  The barn was in sorry shape as was most of the
property.  In fact, Mr. Miller himself was in pretty bad shape, having
had several heart attacks.  (We'll talk about his kids and the several
times his house burned down in a later story when I don't have to
address the cow issue).

Anyway, the cow and the bull got out and when a wandering...as I
suppose bovines tend to do.  They wandered over to our lower yard...the
one facing the road...where I was trying to create an orchard between
the sand mound and the syphon tank...another story...very sad
one...about how important it is to check that the arlarm on your syphon
tank is not only installed, but actually plugged into the electrical
supply.

Patrick...this has been a few years.  He wasn't a big strapping 16year
old then, but a bouncing red haired 6 or seven year old...still, you
could tell he had promise even then...how many kids get the bus driver
to threaten to throw them off the buss on the first day of first
grade?!  (Its his mothers influence...me being the quiet type.)

So Patrick gets off the bus.  For some reason he is alone.  (Where was
his sister anyway?)  Sparky, our pure-bred Pensyltuckie Mudhound...the
one who adopted us...another story, runs down to meet him at the bus
stop as usual.  (Trust me, the Lassie impersonation extends no further
than this.)  But she stops short and starts barking at Patrick.  Then
the neighbor lady comes out on her front yard and starts waving and
screaming at Patrick to run to her.  He's busily minding the thoughts
in his head and ignoring all of the commotion.

Then he turns.  The bull and the cow are following him up the hill.  So
he screams.  The dog runs around barking and baying.  The neighborlady
comes running forward.  The bull panics and starts chasing Patrick.
Patrick runs by the neigbor, who trips or somehow falls, the bull goes
by her and damn near follows Patrick into her house.  He stopped on the
front porch.  Turned around and went back to the cow.  Remember the
cow?  She really didn't have much of a part in all this...unless the
bull was trying to protect her...could be.

Later that day Mr. Miller and I herd these two beasts back to his
property.  Damn he was direct with that bull...cussing it, kicking it,
promising to make hamburger of him.  I can't blame him...the bull gave
me a little of his attention...lowered his head and made eye
contact...I had my hand on his forehead, but that sure as hell wasn't
going to stop him...that's when Mr. Miller kicked him in the head.
Wish I had a 2x4

Cows are kinda passive.  I suppose they live longer that way.

-jc


On Monday, January 13, 2003, at 02:27  PM, Ken Follett wrote:

> It was in this context that I recieved the cow info.
>
> I suppose you never know when a cow will come up in conversation. I
> advise all younger BP members to take note and study up. I request all
> older BP members to tell us their most infamous cow trivia as an histo
> presto educational excercise. You never know, the expatriate movement
> (perfectly good stonemasons moving from NYC to Switzerland) may be
> caused by an uncomfortable lack of cow conversations in urban
> environments.
>
> ][<en
>