I started out as a tag-along, following my Dad around. At first, I was mainly hoping he'd have to go to the elevator, where I might get a pop or a jawbreaker out of the machines in the office. Family lore has it that I was always asking questions. Dad always had an answer. There aren't any boy heifers.
Heifers are girls.
He finally decided that the best way to keep me out of trouble was to put me to work, so when I was about nine I started putting the milking machines together for twenty-five cents a week. After school I'd eat my Hostess cupcake and then head out to the milk house. The cows were outside that time of day, and the barn was eerily quiet.