The Waterbury Democrat., 1943-08-31
WALTER WINCHELL resumes
 his column tomorrow.

COiiIAiCAicAb NWAliCiA 10 ~ OEcdIy dI. fair, during which she's left sev. erely alone by her friends, none of whom stick around to tell her what an infinitely worse time Mrs. AL falfa had), trying to think up some way to get at her calf. As the cali is penned up in a barn, or turned out in an enclosed corral, behind stout wire fence, she is unsuccess- ful. They never get together, never at all until weeks later, by which tune both have forgotten what all the fuss was about.
 After a suitable interval, the COW is lugged off to be bred to whatever mate her owner selects as suitable. It's all rather like the prearranged marriages of royalty-wiith an eye to the future heir to carry on the blood and name.
 Horses have amazed me in vari- ous ways. For one thing, found out that stallions are not always the promiscuous, any-port-in-a- storm fellers of song and story. | Last Summer, visiting mare at Our ranch made such poor im- precision on our stallion that he would not WOO her at any price. The poor old gal, wallflower from the word go, mooned about in Smitten sort of way and was almost kicked to pieces by our handsome but disdainful Walooks.
 After he'd let her have it with both hoofs, with no punches pulled, he took off at dead run with that wistful female in pursuit. I tried to dope out some way to talk Walooks into the idea that Min wasn't really half oGd when you got to know her, but it was no use Eventually we gave up, putting him in 9 separate pasture. Next day we were mortified to find that Min, throwing pride to the winds, had galumphed after him, tearing through a three strand wire fence and cutting her chest wide open. She had to be doctored for a long period which I can't remember that Walooks ever so much as called 70 see how she was.
 Another mare, gray Indian ca yuse named Mousie, got over ex- cellently with the public, being sold soon after we brought her from the reservation. But to the animal world she was the gal whose best friends won't tell her. Three stall lions turned her down without add ing Cant We Be Friends?" and her title around the barn was Nothing for the Boys.
 My own racehorse mare, Miss Cop, would, I thought. present me with superb thoroughbred colt. So I introduced her hopefully to couple of lads whose blood was quite as blue as her own, and then sat back rubbing my hands at the prospect of the magnificent offspring that would eventually burn up the race tracks to bring in any amount Of bacon.
 Miss Cop, however, had other ideas. After accepting the flowers, candy and playful attentions of the gilt-edged pair, one after the other, she whisked off and eloped with a heavily built equine nobody, pro- ducing a stud colt in due course that was the splitting image of Pop. After that I decided that as a schatzchen for cavallos I was a washout. Nowadays I leave the young people to their own devices.
 Skipping over dogs and cats, botk of which have been pretty well cov- cred elsewhere, I want to add just one more word about geese. Geese, it turns out. are the worlds snobs.
 Last year we added to our flock of pure white geese four handsome gray ones of a slightly different breed The newcomers were all enthusiasm, running briskly up to greet the well-established whites who, however, wanted no part of them.
 It was an irritating sight, for sev- eral weeks, to see the white clan which were known as Emdens, wad- dlings ahead, their silly necks stretched up as far as they would