The Cow-Pie Chronicles

by James L. Butler

  “Yuck! I need to wash my hands!” both boys said at the same time. Dana and Tim stood motionless, staring as the boys quickly ran to the house.

  “What’s wrong?” Dana asked her brother.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they got a juicy one,” Tim said.

  Tim and Dana headed in the direction of the house and when they turned the corner, they saw their company leaving, driving down the driveway. Their three cousins were in the back seat and they didn’t even wave good-bye.

  Tim and Dana’s parents were waiting for them when they came through the back door.

  “What did you do to them this time?” Mom asked.

  “Nothing,” Tim said.

  “They said you made them play with cow poop.”

  “We had a cow-chip-tossing contest and I was winning,” Dana said. Dad burst out laughing.

  “What’s wrong?” Tim asked.

  Mom shook her head then sighed. “Look, I know you were playing, but when your cousins come for a visit, you have to remember some kids don’t fit in with the ‘cow-pie society.’ ”

  Dana gave her mother a blank stare.

  “What’s the ‘cow-pie society’?” Tim asked.

  “The only society where tossing dried cow poop is considered good, clean fun,” Mom said.

  Tim frowned as he tried to figure out what she meant, and then asked, “What do you call our cousins’ society?”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’ll find out soon enough,” Mom said.

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  Chapter 3

  After their cousins left, Tim was back to shoveling cow poop, cleaning cow stalls and doing whatever Dad told him to do.

  One Saturday morning. Dad went into the kitchen where Mom was standing at the sink, cleaning fresh vegetables from the garden.

  “Where’s Tim?” Dad asked.

  “Watching TV.”

  His dad walked into the living room and stood quietly, watching both of his children lying on the floor in front of the TV. They were caught up in an exciting Western saloon brawl.

  “What’re you watching?” Dad asked.

  “Roy Rogers and Dale Evans,” Tim said, without turning around.

  “If you’re going to watch Westerns all morning, why don’t you watch a real one?”

  Dana stared at the TV, daydreaming of being saved by the show’s handsome hero. “This is a real one!” she said.

  Dad sat down and together the three of them watched Roy Rogers knock down the last mean cowboy in the saloon. Then the famous TV cowboy raced out of the saloon to where the horses were waiting. With one mighty leap, he landed perfectly in the saddle of his faithful horse, Trigger.

  “Go get the sheriff! I’m going to cut the rustlers off at the pass,” Roy shouted to his female partner, Dale Evans, who was standing near the horses. Nodding, Dale climbed onto her plain brown horse and galloped down the dusty street to the sheriff’s office.

  “Real cowboys don’t wear fancy sequined shirts and white cowboy hats with no dirt on them,” Dad said, referring to the spotless outfits the two TV stars were wearing. “And they don’t ride fancy golden palomino show horses when chasing bad guys.”

  “Dale Evans is a real cowgirl!” Dana said, refusing to let her dad ruin her fantasy.

  “A real cowgirl doesn’t wear a neatly pressed skirt or a cotton blouse without food stains on it, and her hair doesn’t stay in perfect shape when she’s riding a horse 20 miles an hour on a dusty road,” Dad said. “Now Annie Oakley was a real cowgirl. You need to learn more about her. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “But Dad, Dale has to dress nice so Roy will notice her,” Dana said.

  The show ended as Dale Evans rode away to get the sheriff. The TV announcer said, “Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion of the Red River Gang Raid.”

  “You want to see a real cowboy, watch a John Wayne movie,” Dad said, heading out the door.

  Tim made a sour face, like he had bitten into a wormy apple. “His movies are boring. They spend too much time talking and kissing girls.”

  Dana jumped up off the floor. “Come on, let’s go play cowboys! I’ll get my new gun.”

  Tim thought his sister seemed way too eager to play cowboys. Her definition of shooting bad guys was much different from his—she shot him, and he wasn’t the bad guy! But Dana was his only option for playing “cowboys” instead of playing “cowboy.” It was no fun playing cowboy by yourself.

  Dad returned and caught Tim in the hallway. He said, “Don’t forget to take care of Patsy this afternoon.”

  “I won’t,” Tim replied.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Tim and Dana met outside the back door, ready to play. They both took off running as Tim yelled, “Rustlers are trying to steal our cattle! To the barnyard!”

  They headed for the barnyard on a dead run, not stopping until they reached the gate holding the cattle inside a fenced area. The cows stood peacefully munching while waiting to enter the milking parlor. They did not appear worried about the cattle rustlers.

  This frustrated Tim. He was thinking about ways to stir up the cows and get them excited when Dana tapped him on his back with her gun.

  “Who are you going to be?” she asked.

  “I’m Roy Rogers and you’re Dale Evans, like always.”

  “No, I don’t wanna be Dale Evans this time.”

  “Dale Evans is the only girl cowboy,” Tim said, a little mad that Dana was trying to change their normal roles.

  “But she never shoots anybody.”

  “Sure she does. They just don’t let them show it on TV.”

  Dana thought about it for a moment. “Wait, now that I think about it, she doesn’t even have a gun!”

  Tim figured those cattle rustlers would have enough time to drive the whole herd to Chicago, butcher them and sit down to a nice steak dinner by the time he got this all straightened out with Dana.

  “Well, you be Gene Autry then,” Tim said.

  “Who’s he?”

  “The singing cowboy. You know—in the movies.”

  Dana considered the offer, wondering if her brother was trying to trick her. “Why does he sing?”

  Tim grew more frustrated by the second. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s lonely.”

  Dana thought about it again, convinced something was not right about Tim’s suggestion. “Well, I’m not lonely. So you be Gene Autry, and I’ll be Roy Rogers.”

  “What? I’m always Roy Rogers!”

  “Then you be Dale Evans.”

  “Me? No way! I’m not pretending to be no girl!”

  “Then I’m not playing.”

  “Okay, I’ll be Gene Autry this one time,” Tim finally said, not wanting the entire day to be lost. They both agreed and resumed their make-believe cowboy game.

  “They’re heading for the pass! We can ambush them from the hayloft,” Dana said. She ran into the barn, with Tim chasing after her. There they spent the rest of the afternoon, running from hiding place to hiding place, chasing after the pretend rustlers until they were so tired that they collapsed in the soft straw in the loft. Both Tim and Dana were sweaty and had scratches on their arms and legs from the hay bales. They were also covered with dirt, dust and hay chaff.

  “You ever wonder what it would be like to live in town?” Dana asked.

  The question was so out of the blue that it surprised Tim. “No,” he said. Living in town was the last thing Tim wanted to talk about—with Dana or anyone else.

  “What would we do there?” Dana asked.

  “Probably be bored to death.”

  “Mom said I’d be able to play with girls my own age.”

  Tim took off his cowboy hat and stared at Dana. “Why are you talking to Mom about living in town?”

  “She asked me how I would feel about it if we moved.”

  Tim sat quietly, trying to figure out what was going on with Dana and Mom. “Roy Rogers wouldn’t want to live in a town,” he finally said.<
br />
  “What about Gene Autry?” Dana asked.

  “No cowboy wants to live in town. They just go there to drink and gamble.”

  Dana nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. When does Gene Autry sing?”

  “Usually at the end of the movie, to some girl. Why?”

  Dana gave Tim a curious look, sensing he was getting annoyed with all of her questions. “Is this the end of the movie?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So sing a song.”

  Tim was stunned that his sister, of all people, would suggest such a thing. “There’s no girl!”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “You’re Roy Rogers, remember. Gene Autry never sings to boys.”

  “I’ll be Dale Evans now.”

  “You’re Dee-Dee!”

  “You’re a Poop Slinger!”

  Tim stuck his gun in his holster, put his hat back on, got up from where he sat and started climbing down from the loft. There was no way he was going to fulfill Devil Dana’s stupid request.

  “Where are you going?” Dana asked.

  “Time to feed Patsy.”

  Worried her brother wouldn’t want to play cowboys ever again with her, Dana decided she had better be nice to him. “I’ll help,” Dana said.

  They walked through the milking parlor, which now was full of cows munching on grain. Mr. Slinger tended to the milking. He would corral several cows into the sliding metal bar holders, hook each one up to a milking machine then turn the machines on. The machine would extract the milk from the cows, and then the milk would travel to a holding tank. Once all the cows in that group were done, Mr. Slinger would then let them loose and bring in another group to milk. It was a hard job and had to be done two times a day. There were never any days off or milking sessions skipped—if this happened, the cows would be too full and get upset. Over time, they would stop producing milk altogether.

  Tim grabbed an empty two-gallon bucket sitting next to a wall. Sticking out of one side of the bucket was the soft plastic part of a baby bottle.

  Tim carried the bucket to his dad, who was watching one of the milking machines gently pull milk from a cow.

  “Patsy’s feeding time,” he said.

  Dad pulled the milking machine from the cow’s udder and filled the bucket with warm milk. Tim carried it through the milking parlor to the calf pen on the other side. Dana tagged along.

  When they reached the pen, a cute month-old black-and-white Holstein calf bounced over to the two of them. Tim lifted the bucket over the fence and hung it on a peg attached to a post. Patsy latched onto the baby bottle part and started sucking milk from the bucket.

  Tim entered the pen. “Get me the brush,” he said to Dana. She went to a wooden shelf, picked up a large, stiff brush and passed it to Tim. Gripping the brush firmly, he stroked Patsy’s back with it.

  “Why do you brush her so much?” Dana asked.

  “If I take really good care of Patsy, Dad says I can take her to the county fair with the 4-H Club next summer.” Entering a farm animal in the fair’s 4-H contest was a huge deal for a farm kid.

  “What if we’re not here next summer?” Dana asked.

  “Of course we’ll be here. Where else would we go?”

  “To town,” Dana said.

  “Don’t be stupid, Dee-Dee.”

  “Poop Slinger!” Dana said, leaving Tim to finish taking care of Patsy on his own.

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  Chapter 4

  Dana talked about moving into town all week. Since he hadn’t heard his parents talking about it, Tim figured she was doing it to irritate him. Tim thought about asking his mom to tell Dana to stop, but was afraid to bring up the subject of moving to town—he didn’t want his mom to think he was interested in living anyplace but their farm. So he kept quiet and did his best to ignore his sister.

  One morning while watching TV, Tim was fascinated as one of his cowboy heroes escaped from some bad guys by tossing a rope over a tree then lowering himself into a ravine. That gave him a great idea. Tim had a rope, he had an empty loft and he had a tag-a-long little sister he wanted to get away from.

  Tim soon found himself standing in the feed loft and looking out the door at the dusty barnyard more than 10 feet below. Just like the TV hero, he tied the rope around his waist, tossed it over a rafter and pulled it tight. Then, on accident, one of his feet slipped past the edge of the door! He froze. That’s when he realized it was a very long way down! Maybe I’m not the hero type after all, he thought.

  While Tim was having second thoughts about trying the rope trick, Dana came into the barn. She walked across the creaky wooden floor and looked up at him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  What could Tim say? “I’m chickening out,” certainly wouldn’t do. Then he had an idea.

  “Playing the elevator game,” Tim said. He pulled down on the rope until the end tied around his waist was tight. “The way you play is that you step out, lower yourself to the ground and then pull yourself back up using this here rope,” he explained. He didn’t tell her he hadn’t tried it yet.

  “Sounds like fun! I wanna try!” Dana said, running upstairs to the loft.

  “Well, I don’t know. Mom might get mad. Remember when we went swimming in the water trough and you told her about it?” Tim asked.

  Standing next to Tim, Dana stared at him. “I won’t tell, I promise!” she said.

  Tim decided to use her begging as an opportunity to take care of one more problem. “And if I let you try this, you promise to quit talking about moving to town?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  “Fine,” Dana said.

  “Okay. I’m getting tired of pulling myself up and down anyway,” Tim said, fibbing.

  Tim loosened the rope from around his waist and slipped it off. He then tied it tightly around Dana’s waist. He couldn’t have his little sister slipping out halfway down—that would cancel any “don’t-tell” promise for sure!

  Tugging on the rope one more time to make sure everything was working, and grabbing tight to his end, he asked Dana, “Are you ready?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, now step off slowly,” Tim instructed, “and then you want to . . . N-o-o-o!”

  To Tim’s complete surprise, Dana jumped out the loft door! Her sudden weight on the rope caused it to rip through Tim’s hands, badly burning his palms. He instantly let go, clenching his hands to stop the pain. Then he heard a loud thud in the barnyard below the open door. His heart stopped. Oh, crud!

  Tim looked out the door, and then down. There was Dana, flat on her back. A billowing cloud of dust surrounded her as she lay motionless. A moment later, she came to life and shot up to her feet, screaming, “I can’t breathe! You killed me! You killed me!” She raced to the house with the rope trailing behind her. “Mom! Mom! He killed me! Mom!”

  Tim was scared. His dad had swatted him hard on his butt for kicking Skipper. If he got in that much trouble for kicking the dog, he could only imagine what punishment he’d receive for killing his sister! Not wanting to find out, Tim decided to hide from his parents and Dana in his secret fort in the hayloft.

  For hours, Tim sat inside that hot, dark little room built of fresh-cut bales of hay. When his growling stomach told him supper was fast approaching, he began to think about the elevator game differently. He reasoned that Dad was upset about him kicking the dog because the dog could hunt. But in this case, Dana couldn’t hunt. In fact, Tim couldn’t think of one useful thing she did on the farm. Maybe Dad won’t be too upset...

  Tim wasn’t about to die of hunger worrying about a punishment. He climbed down from the hayloft and left the barn. Just then, Dad drove up on the tractor and spotted his son walking toward the house.

  “Where’ve you been? Supper’s waiting,” Dad said, with a smile on his face. He didn’t seem upset at all.

  Wow. He must really love that dog! Ti
m thought.

  Tim ran to the house, opened the door, stepped into the kitchen and froze in his tracks. There sat Dana at the kitchen table, stuffing her mouth with food. She looked up at Tim and flashed him a devilish smile. Tim knew instantly that in order to keep his little sister quiet, he was doomed to grant her every wish for a month—at least!

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  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Tim decided it was best to avoid any outdoor activity with Dana for a while. After accidently dropping her out of the loft the day before, he figured her promise to stop talking about living in town was history. Because he didn’t want to hear about moving at all, that was even more of a reason to play by himself once his morning chores were done.

  The problem was that besides his sister, Tim didn’t have many choices for playmates. He decided his best shot for any entertainment was to pay a visit to the neighbor’s bull.

  A bull, which is a male cow, is one animal in farm life rarely associated with fun. Bulls tended to have well-earned reputations for being violent. Nevertheless, without getting trampled, gored or chased, Tim knew how to have fun with the neighbor’s beast.

  The first rule in Tim’s game was to keep the farm’s high-powered electric fence between himself and the beast at all times. The electrical part of the fence consisted of two skinny, bare wires hanging loosely from white insulators attached to little metal poles. The lower wire was two feet above the ground and the second wire, two feet higher. While both wires looked harmless and the electricity running through them wasn’t strong enough to kill a human or large animal, the fence packed enough of a wallop to back off a snorting 1,000-pound bull stalking a rival bull on the other side.

  Tim hated electric fences. But what he hated the most was when Dad told him to open one of the gates. The gate latches consisted of a sliding wooden handle over a spring—to open it, Tim had to push the spring until the wire was loose enough to unhook one end. And he had to remember to never touch the electric wire—ever. But poor Tim never got the hang of opening the gate and always got zapped. When this happened, Tim would drop the handle and run away. His dad either laughed or yelled at him as he climbed off the tractor to open the gate himself.