The Cow-Pie Chronicles

by James L. Butler

  THE COW-PIE CHRONICLES

  by

  James L. Butler

  Illustrated by

  Lonnie Millsap

  Copyright 2013 by Publishing Syndicate LLC

  Copyeditor: Dahlynn McKowen

  Proofreader: Pat Nelson

  Published by

  Publishing Syndicate

  PO Box 607

  Orangevale California 95662

  http://www.PublishingSyndicate.com

  http://www.Facebook.com/PublishingSyndicate

  Twitter: @PublishingSynd

  Print Edition ISBN: 978-1-938778-32-2

  EPUB Digital Edition ISBN: 978-1-938778-33-9

  Library of Congress Control Number 2013945068

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations used for reviews.

  To my mother

  who gave her best to her children

  no matter how hard life was.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Glossary

  About the Author

  NOTE: click on BOLD words

  for direct link to the glossary

  Chapter 1

  “Tim, get in here! I’m not going to tell you again.”

  “It ends in five minutes, Mom. Please?” Tim Slinger said.

  “Come right now! You can watch cartoons anytime!”

  Tim walked slowly over to the television and turned it off. As he did, he looked down at the newspaper, which was spread out on the living room coffee table. The headline read: “Kennedy’s Mission to the Moon.” Tim thought the president’s announcement of sending a man to the moon was exciting. It was 1961, things in the world were changing so fast, and to Tim, anything was possible, even for him—a 10-year-old boy growing up on his family’s Indiana farm.

  Mrs. Slinger’s voice now came booming from the kitchen. “If you expect to have a birthday of your own later this year, you better get in here—now!”

  “Okay, okay,” Tim said. He drug his feet as he headed into his family’s small kitchen, with its simple wood and metal furniture, unpainted cabinets and a stove under one window. On the kitchen table were two brightly wrapped presents and a cake covered in white frosting. And on top of the cake were nine burning birthday candles.

  “Sit down and wish your sister ‘happy birthday,’ ” Mom said.

  Tim had a smirkon his face when he sat down across from his sister, Dana Slinger. “Happy birthday, Dee-Dee,” he said in a mean, brotherly tone.

  “Poop Slinger!” Dana said back. She then grabbed a fork to stab her brother, but Mom snatched it from her.

  “Stop it!” she said.

  Dana crossed her arms in disgust. “He started it.”

  “Calm down. It’s just a nickname. It’s your initials for ‘Dana Darlene.’ ”

  “No, you’re wrong,” Dana said. She pointed angrily at her brother. “He told me it means ‘Devil Dana.’ ”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mom said. She then turned her attention to Tim. “You don’t think your sister is a devil, do you, Tim?”

  “Dana Darlene,” Tim said, choosing to go with the safest answer for now. He had called his sister “Devil Dana” before, but didn’t want to get in trouble and get a whooping. The two of them teased and picked on one another whenever they had a chance. Man, I’d love to send her to the moon, Tim thought to himself.

  Dana glared at Tim and he stuck his tongue out at Devil Dana the second Mom turned away.

  Deciding to ignore her brother—which she knew would make him even angrier—Dana asked her mom, “Where’s Dad?”

  “Finishing the milking,” Mom replied. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Tim studied the melting wax dripping down the sides of the birthday candles. “The candles won’t last that long.”

  “You’re probably right. Okay, go ahead and make a wish, Dana.”

  Dana glanced at her mom then pointed at her older brother. “He has to sing to me first.”

  Tim crossed his arms and glared at Dana. “I’m not singing by myself.”

  “Everybody will sing ‘happy birthday’ to you at your party Saturday at Grandma’s house,” Mom said.

  Dana scowled at Tim then took a deep breath and blew out all the candles.

  “Do you want to eat cake or open your presents first?” Mom asked.

  “Presents!” Dana said. She quickly reached for the closest one.

  “That one is from Tim. The other one is from Dad and me.”

  Dana dropped Tim’s present and picked up the one from her parents. She pulled the wrapping paper off, opened the large box and gently took out a very pretty red-and-white checkered dress with a white shawl. “It’s beautiful!”

  “I thought you would like something new to wear Saturday,” Mom said.

  Tim pushed his present toward his sister. “Open mine now or I’m taking it back.”

  “Probably something stupid,” Dana said. She removed the wrapping paper and slowly opened the box just enough to peek inside.

  “Wow!” was Dana’s reaction when she realized what was in the box. She quickly tore the box open and pulled out a shiny toy six-shooter in a holster. “It’s a real cowgirl gun! I can’t believe it!”

  “Tim picked it out himself. Now you don’t have to use a stick when you play cowboys together,” Mom said.

  “Mine’s still more real,” Tim bragged.

  Dana pulled the six-shooter from its holster and pointed it at Tim. “I dare you to say that again.”

  Wanting to stop a make-believe shootout in the kitchen, Mom quickly asked, “Who wants cake?” Both kids instantly raised their hands, forgetting the words just exchanged between them. Getting sweets like cake and ice cream—which were their favorites—was a rare treat.

  Mom cut pieces from the cake, slid them onto small plates and served her children. Tim and Dana ignored each other and dug into their cake, eating huge forkfuls. Curious as to all the excitement in the kitchen, the family’s black Cocker Spaniel—Skipper—trotted in.

  “Want some cake, Skipper?” Dana asked.

  Mom had other ideas. “Get out of here, Skipper,” Mom said, swatting at him. “We don’t feed cake to the dog, Dana!”

  “But it’s my cake and my birthday,” Dana said.

  Suddenly, everyone looked up as the back door slammed shut and Mr. Slinger walked in.

  “I guess I’m just in time for the good part,” he said, realizing things were beginning to get a bit heated in the already very warm kitchen.

  “Good. You can referee for a while,” Mom said. She quickly wiped her hands with a dishcloth and left the arguing in the kitchen to her husband.

  “Happy birthday, darling,” Dad said, patting Dana on top of her head.

  “Thanks, Dad. I love my new dress.” Dad smiled, happy that his daughter was happy.

  Feeling a little bit jealous, Tim said, “What’s the big deal about turning nine? I’m going to be 11 in December and Dad’s going to teach me how to drive the tractor in the f
ields.”

  Dad’s smile disappeared when Tim mentioned the fields. He turned his head to stare out the kitchen window. To Tim, his dad looked lost. “If we still have a tractor by then,” Dad said.

  “Why wouldn’t we have a tractor?” Tim asked, confused.

  “Never mind,” Dad said, turning back to his children.

  “But you promised!” Tim said.

  “Just finish your cake and get to the barn, understand?” Dad said. He helped himself to a piece of cake and wandered into the next room to talk with his wife.

  “Yes, sir,” Tim said. After cleaning the last of the cake crumbs from his plate, Tim went to the back door, put on his rubber boots and headed for the barn.

  It was a short walk along a dirt path to the huge wooden building. A barn was the center of life on every family dairy farm in the country in the 1960s, and this was true for Tim and his family.

  The Slinger’s barn was as tall as a three-story house, as long as a football field and divided into three main sections. The center section was open clear to the roof and had huge sliding doors so tractors and other farm vehicles could bring in feed, bedding and supplies for the cattle. The upper levels of the two end sections of the barn were lofts—one loft was used to store bales of green hay to feed the cattle, and the other loft was used to store yellow straw for the cattle to sleep on during the winter. The lower section of the barn was the home to the milking parlor and pens for newborns calves. And outside the barn was a tall, round concrete structure called a silo. It was filled with chopped corn stalks used to feed the cattle during the summer months.

  Tim entered the barn through the open middle section and walked down four stone steps into the milking parlor. Sliding metal bars kept the cows in place when they were milked by automatic milking machines, and behind the metal bars were gutters. Those gutters, which held piles of manureleft behind by the parlor’s twice-a-day bovineguests, had to be cleaned twice a day by Tim.

  Tim grabbed a large shovel leaning against the wall and proceeded to push the stinky manure out of the barn and into a big pile in the barnyard. He then scraped the milking parlor’s floor and hosed it down until it was clean and ready for the next round of milking.

  Once the milking parlor’s floor was clean, Tim went to the barnyard and scooped the pile of cow poop into the farm’s manure spreader. The manure spreader was a large machine with three rows of spinning metal spikes, blades and fork-like tines. The manure spreader chopped up the cow poop and spread it in the field as it was being pulled by the tractor.

  The manure spreader was the one piece of equipment that Tim hated more than any other on the farm. It was partly because he had to fill it up every day, but mostly because of the job it did. The manure was fertilizer and when spread across a field, the poop helped grow tall, lush and green crops. But poop—especially cow poop—is very stinky. The horrible odor from the poop would stink up an entire field for a week. And anyone who came into contact with the manure—like Tim, who scooped it in the morning and evening—would smell like poop, too. But Tim was used to it, so it didn’t bother him too much.

  Tim lifted the last scoop of smelly goop into the spreader then leaned on the handle of the shovel. He sighed. “Dee-Dee’s right. I really am a Poop Slinger.”

  Back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 2

  A few days later, two of Dana and Tim’s aunts, along with three of their cousins, walked into the farmhouse. No one in the Slinger family knew they were going to have company.

  Having company was fun for both Dana and Tim. Besides giving the two of them a short break from doing chores, it also gave them a break from playing with each other.

  But entertaining non-farm kids—like their cousins, who all lived in the city—often had consequences for the Slinger children. Whatever game or adventure Dana and Tim came up with to amuse the city kids many times turned out to be unpleasant or simply beyond the understanding of their guests.

  “Go outside and play,” Mom said. She wanted to visit with her sisters in peace and quiet.

  “Play what?” Tim asked.

  “Whatever you want. Just go.”

  Dana and Tim looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and walked outside with their cousins—one girl, Roxie, and two boys, Harry and Tommy.

  Whenever Tim and Dana went to visit their city cousins, there were always lots of toys to play with or wading pools to swim in or squirt guns to shoot. There was even a candy store to visit. But on the farm, Tim and Dana had only enough toys for the two of them to play with and that was it. Period. So they had to be inventive when it came to entertaining company.

  Tim led the small group into the yard to a cherry tree. He then stopped and turned to face them. A thought crossed his mind. “Why did everybody come on the same day? You usually come by yourselves,” he said.

  “Mom said we might not be able to come here anymore, so we all drove out together, in one car,” Tommy answered.

  “Why won’t you be able to visit us anymore?” Dana asked.

  Roxy glanced nervously at Tim before answering Dana’s question. “She said something about being too busy in school and stuff like that.”

  “And they’re probably afraid we’ll get hurt again,” Harry said. City kids weren’t used to playing on a farm, so accidents happened a lot. “So, what are we going to do?” he asked.

  “We could go play in the hay fort,” Tim suggested.

  Harry held up his right arm, which was covered with fading red lines. “I got all scratched up the last time we did that.”

  “How about we pick some pears?” Roxy asked.

  Tim shook his head “Nope. They’re not ready yet.”

  Frustrated, Tommy threw his hands up in the air. “Well, what do you guys do when we’re not here?”

  “Play cowboys,” Dana said.

  “Great! Let’s play cowboys,” both boy cousins said.

  Dana reached down to pick up a small broken branch from the cherry tree. “You’ll have to use sticks. We only have two guns.”

  “I hate cowboys,” Roxy said. “Can’t we throw a ball around?”

  Tim worried that if he didn’t come up with a fun activity fast, his cousins would never come to visit again. Then an idea hit him. “Hey, we can have a tossing contest!”

  “Me first!” Dana said, knowing exactly what her brother had in mind. She took off around the barn and ran to the closest pasture. They all followed her.

  Dana climbed over the fence and headed for a section of the pasture where the cows had been grazing a few days earlier. It had been blazing hot all week, without a drop of rain, so Dana knew there would be a big supply of cow chips there.

  Tim stopped the group at the edge of the pasture. “Wait here while we pick up enough for our cow-chip-tossing contest.”

  Tommy watched as his two farm cousins searched in the grass for something. “What’s a cow chip?” he asked.

  Tim picked up a round, brownish cardboard-like object and handed it to him. “This.”

  Tommy took it from Tim, not sure what it was or where it came from.

  Dana grabbed the cow chip from Tommy. “You fling it like a Frisbee,” she said.

  “I don’t get it,” Tommy said.

  “Like this,” Dana said. She then flung the cow chip across the pasture.

  “Wow, look how far it went! Hand me one. I wanna try,” Tommy said.

  Dana and Tim ran around the pasture collecting perfectly formed cow chips and brought them back to their cousins. They found so many that they ended up with a large pile of cow chips for their contest. That’s when Tim announced the rules.

  “Okay, the person who can throw the most cow chips all the way over the fence wins,” he said. Tim then tossed one that cleared the fence by a good three feet.

  The kids spent the next hour flinging cow chips, trying to win the contest. Some chips made it over the fence and some crashed into the fence. All the kids were having fun, and Dana was in the lead.


  All of a sudden, one of Harry’s cow chips broke apart in mid-flight.

  “They’re not very strong,” Harry said. “What’re they made of? Dried mud and hay or something?”

  Dana and Tim looked at each other then smiled.

  “Something like that. Come on, I’ll show you,” Tim said. He led them to the section of pasture where the cows were grazing, telling his cousins to line up along the fence and watch the herd munch on an afternoon snack.

  Roxy stared impatiently at one of the cows that was calmly chewing its food. “What are we doing here?”

  “Just wait a minute. I’ll tell you when to look,” Tim said.

  Roxy gazed across the pasture, which was full of black-and-white Holstein dairy cows. “Look for what?”

  Tim pointed at a member of the herd standing closest to them. “There! See that cow raising her tail?” Everyone watched as the cow raised her tail and pooped out a stream of brown goop that piled up on the ground in the perfect shape of a steaming hot cow chip.

  Roxy’s eyes became as big as the cow chips. “You made me throw cow poop all day! Mom!” She ran around the barn and to the house as fast as she could.

  Tommy laughed so hard he fell to his knees. “That was great!”

  Harry was laughing hard, too, and had to grab a fence post to hold himself up. When he caught his breath, he asked his farm cousins, “Okay, now tell us how you really make them.”

  “Well, the pile of poop sits in the sun a few days until it dries out. As long as nothing steps in it or Dad doesn’t run over it with the tractor, it turns into a cow chip,” Tim said.

  The two boys stopped laughing, looked at each other then glared at Tim. “You mean we really were throwing cow poop?”

  “Well, duh,” Dana said.