Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1945-03-02
CHAPTER vi

The ordinary way to feed a calf,
when it is being weaned and made
to drink out of a bucket, is to put
the bucket on the ground and push
the calls head in and try to hold it
there till he has to gasp for breath;
in doing this, he is supposed to get
the taste of milk and finally learn
to drink out of bucket. 1t works
after a fashion, but I shudder to
think of the Sunday suits that have
been sprayed with milk, for calf
has no good opinion of having its
nose held under the milk, so raises
his head and blows the milk like
paint sprayer. Sometimes I was in
a hurry and thought the calf would
not do that tonight; so I would not
change my clothes, when I got back
from town, and would 60 to him
with the bucket of milk. The eye
sight of calves is that of eagles and
the moment I would get inside the
calf lot, he would come flying at
me, having some fool notion that I
was his mother. The moment had
arrived. would seize his empty
head and shove it to the bottom of
the bucket and hold it there, hop
ing to God everything would be all
right. It never was. He would lift
milk and lope to the other end of
the lot and bawl for his mother
who was going crazy on the other
side of the fence. I would follow
with the bucket and hold it out
temptingly; but he knew there was
nothing in it but disappointment and
would have nothing to do with it. I
would try again; he then would get
the smell of the milk and would be-
gin to butt and plunge harder than
ever.
The accepted way was for me to
get the Calls head in the bucket,
then hold up my finger and let him
think I was his mother; his tongue
would wrap around my finger and
his sides would go in and out and
his tail would give little tremors.
At last, trickle of milk would get
into his mouth and l would stand
beside him till he had his meal.
The next morning, or the next eve
ming, it would be the same thing
over; then bit by bit would slip
my thumb up my finger and shorten
my grip until at last he got only a
button; then came the day when he
would discover he didn't have to
have my finger in. the bucket and
could do the job alone. That was a
big day; the calf was weaned
7
hose off the steam-cooker and cut
it into about five-inch length and
nailed one end of this to the wooden
bottom of the bucket. There was a
hole through it, of course, so that
milk would travel up to it. When
feeding time came and the calf made
a flying tackle at me, I showed my
hand into the milk and when he
tried to find my finger, I slipped the
tube into his mouth. 1t was breath
less, exciting moment.
A satisfied glaze came INTO his
eyes; the brush on his tail Tapped
back and forth, his gullet went up
and down, his sides went in and
out.
l called Pa and showed it to him
and he said it was the first time he
had ever heard of this being done.
If it was anything about farming,
Pa would know. That night he told
Ma about it, but not in a way to
60 to my head because he didn't
believe in boys getting too much
praise. My mother thought it was
wonderful.
Day after day it worked No
spraying. No calves bawling up and
down the fence. No cows going
crazy.
was what the people in my Sec
ton called ''book boy" The print
ed word fascinated me, as machin-
cry fascinated some boys. And ideas
fascinated me. Sometimes it seemed
to me an idea well expressed was
one of the most lovely things in the
world. Things that I liked in our
farm papers, would read over and
over. I would ask what the words
meant: sometimes Pa and Ma knew
and sometimes they didn't, but that
was all right. would wait patiently
until I saw that word again and
maybe this time could make sense
out of it. We had no dictionary,
but, like everybody else, we had a
good householder book.
At night, before would blink off
to sleep in my chair, would read
and reread Wallaces' Farmer. We
also took the county weekly and
that I would read, too, but it wasn't
the world of enchantment that
Wallaces' Farmer was. One section
was devoted to new methods and dis
'coveries; then and there an idea
was born.
l set to work on it, without a
word to my father or mother. At
last it was lying on the kitchen ia
BILE, my words. my thoughts, my
ideal Never before had I expert