Part 1

THE RED COW AND HER FRIENDS

BY PETER McARTHUR

AUTHOR OF "IN PASTURES GREEN," "THE PRODIGAL AND OTHER POEMS," "TO BE TAKEN WITH SALT," ETC.

TORONTO: J. M. DENT & SONS, LTD. NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXIX

COPYRIGHT, 1919,

By JOHN LANE COMPANY

Press of J. J. Little & Ives Company New York, U. S. A.

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO ALL CITY MEN WHO FEEL SURE THAT THEY COULD FARM AT A PROFIT. IF EACH ONE BUYS A COPY I CAN AFFORD TO KEEP ON FARMING

_PREFACE_

It is always a pleasure to avoid responsibility and it gives me a feeling of relief to be able to announce that I am not wholly responsible for this collection of sketches. When it was suggested that I should put together the articles dealing with the Red Cow, and the other farm animals, I felt reluctant to trouble the public with a somewhat frivolous book at the present time. It seemed as if Fate were with me for when it was decided to go on with the book it was found that my file of clippings had been lost. But the matter was still urged and, remembering that at different times readers had written to me saying that they were in the habit of clipping the articles for future reference, I published a paragraph telling of my predicament. The result was that I received clippings from all parts of Canada and some were even sent from neighbouring States.

Through the kindness of my unknown friends I am able to offer a book which they have really edited. Some of the sketches used would have been rejected had I relied on my own judgment, but finding that they had pleased some readers I decided that they might please others. Having the chance to shift the responsibility for the book from my own shoulders, I accepted it joyously. The unknown friends who did me the honour of preserving these articles as they appeared are the real editors.

I can further plead in extenuation that the clippings I have used were all sent to me by people who are familiar with the domestic animals and their habits. This should protect me from any charge of farm-faking.

Ekfrid, Ontario, January, 1919.

CONTENTS

COWS PAGE

I. A SICK COW 15

II. COW TROUBLES 22

III. FLY TIME 26

IV. THE RED COW'S CALVES 29

V. INSURGENT COWS 31

VI. COW TROUBLES 36

VII. THE BRAN HABIT 42

VIII. THE FARROW COW AND OTHERS 43

IX. COW ENJOYMENT 50

X. COW KAISERISM 52

XI. A NIGHT SESSION 55

XII. A CALF PUZZLE 58

XIII. COW CHARACTER 61

XIV. CALF FEEDING 63

XV. A COW TRICK 66

XVI. COW CUSSEDNESS 72

XVII. TEACHING A CALF 75

XVIII. CALF EXUBERANCE 77

SHEEP

XIX. OUR FIRST SHEEP 83

XX. THE FIRST LAMB 90

XXI. SHEEP SURGERY 93

XXII. THE PATIENT 98

XXIII. SHEARING 100

XXIV. VAIN REGRETS 104

XXV. SHEEP SCULPTURE 106

XXVI. OUR LAWN MOWER 113

PIGS

XXVII. CLEMENTINE 117

XXVIII. FEEDING PIGS 121

XXIX. BEATRICE 124

XXX. PIG FRIGHTFULNESS 128

XXXI. A PIG BATH 130

XXXII. IN EXTENUATION 132

XXXIII. BEATRICE ANNOUNCES 134

XXXIV. RECEIVING 137

XXXV. FEEDING TIME 140

XXXVI. BEATRICE BELLIGERENT 144

HORSES

XXXVII. DOLLY'S DAY OFF 147

XXXVIII. THE COLT 154

XXXIX. HORSE CONTRARINESS 156

XL. A GREAT SCHEME 158

TURKEYS

XLI. THE GOBBLER 163

XLII. HIS TROUBLES 167

XLIII. HIS DESERTION 169

XLIV. HIS BELLIGERENCY 171

XLV. HIS CARES 173

XLVI. HIS PRUSSIANISM 175

DOGS

XLVII. A MORAL TALE 179

XLVIII. SHEPPY'S FIRST COON HUNT 181

XLIX. A RABBIT CHASE 189

L. FIGHTS AND FEUDS 192

CATS

LI. A PAGE OF HIGH HISTORY 197

LII. A SPRING ORGY 200

BIRDS

LIII. A DISGUSTED BLACKBIRD 205

LIV. A VISITOR 209

LV. A FAREWELL 211

GENERAL

LVI. THE WHOLE BUNCH 215

LVII. HUMAN NATURE IN DUMB CREATURES 221

LVIII. EARLY OBSERVATIONS 227

LIX. BANTAMS 232

LX. A LITTLE TRAGEDY 234

LXI. A SCIENTIFIC QUERY 236

LXII. A POULTRY NOTE 238

LXIII. SPRING AND THE LIVESTOCK 240

LXIV. FIRST SNOW 242

LXV. A "SKIFT" OF SNOW 244

LXVI. A SPRING SHOWER 247

LXVII. DOING CHORES 249

LXVIII. FISHING 251

LXIX. A LONESOME SQUIRREL 255

LXX. FALL POULTRY TROUBLES 258

LXXI. THANKSGIVING DAY 263

LXXII. SEPTEMBER NOTES 270

LXXIII. "THE DEMON RABBIT" 273

LXXIV. THE FATE OF "THE DEMON RABBIT" 278

LXXV. MY FRIENDS, THE TREES 282

COWS

A BALLADE OF COWS

Fenceviewer I. a cow of parts, Aggressive, competent and bold, At every milking gives twelve quarts And doesn't give a--hoot!--(don't scold!) My Kerry cow, as good as gold; Fenceviewer II.--(boss, they say) La Veau, turned three; Beans, two-year-old-- These are the cows I milk each day!

When Phœbus shoots his morning darts, Or wet or dry, or hot or cold, One to the dewy pasture starts With clanging pails and pants up-rolled. Again when evening doth enfold The earth and sky in twilight grey, Him at that chore you may behold-- These are the cows I milk each day!

Although unskilled in dairy arts I've soaked some lore by experts doled, With gentle words that win their hearts My cows from kicking I've cajoled; And of all cattle, horned or polled, Pure-bred or grade, own them who may, Mine suit me best. They'll not be sold-- These are the cows I milk each day!

ENVOY

Prince, if you ever in the wold At milking time should chance to stray, I'll let you drink all you can hold-- These are the cows I milk each day!

_I.--A Sick Cow_

This week the monotony of the winter has been broken. I have been sitting up with a sick cow. Fenceviewer I. has suffered the first check in her career of rapacity, voracity and capacity. A couple of days ago it was noticed that she was off her feed--that she only nibbled at the blue grass when it was put in her manger. Knowing that in her normal condition she is an incarnate appetite--"A belly that walks on four legs"--I knew that something was the matter. I could not imagine her refusing to eat until Death had "clawed her in his clutch," so I took the matter seriously from the beginning. I also noticed that she did not take kindly to water, but stood over it and shivered. There was no doubt about it. She was a sick cow. After a hasty consultation it was decided to give her a dose of salts, and I commandeered all that we had in the house--almost a pound. After it had been dissolved in about a quart of warm water I took some further advice and added to it, for her stomach's sake, a couple of tablespoonfuls of a sovereign liniment and embrocation, good for man and beast, and paramount for poultry, a remedy for all ills that any kind of flesh is heir to, may be used internally or externally at any time of the day or night without regard to the phases of the moon or the signs in the almanac. All I know about this remedy is that it is a red fluid made of red pepper, red whiskey and all the other red-hot things in the Pharmacopœia. It is the stuff that was once given to an ailing coloured woman, and when she was offered a second dose she declared with vigour, "No thankee! Ah've done made up ma mind never again to take nuttin' that wattah won't squench." Having added this mixture to the salts I put it in a quart bottle, called for help, and proceeded to put the red dose into the red cow.

* * * * *

We did the trick in the most approved fashion. I caught her by one horn, slipped my thumb and finger into her nose, and elevated her head so that the other man could pour the mixture down her throat. After the last drop had gurgled down I turned her loose and stepped back to watch results. She shook her head, rattled her chain, lashed her tail, wriggled her backbone, coughed and sneezed and showed other unmistakable signs of wrath and discomfort. She did not seem to appreciate our efforts in her behalf, and after I had thought it over for a minute I realised what she was objecting to. I put myself in her place. What would I want to do if any one had forced a dose like that down my throat? I would want to spit, of course. That was what was the matter with old Fenceviewer. She wanted to spit, but the limitations of a cow are such that she couldn't do it. If she were only able to do it she would spit like a cat. I felt truly sorry for her, but as I had done everything for the best I didn't do any worrying. While watching her I noticed that she grunted faintly every time she breathed, so I decided that we needed some expert advice and called in a neighbour who has had much experience with cows. After he had pressed his ear to her side for a while he diagnosed her case as pleuro-pneumonia. It had never occurred to me before that dumb animals could have diseases with Latin names and that probably needed high-priced treatment. He advised calling in the farrier at once, and I dispatched a boy to the nearest telephone to do this, and we went to the house to await his arrival. The boy reported that the farrier was out, but that he would come as soon as he could. While waiting we talked about all the sick cows we had ever known, and as most of them had died I found the conversation somewhat depressing. I can honestly say of Fenceviewer I., "With all thy faults I love thee still." She is the progenitor of the whole flock, and her strain is the kind I need. She can rustle for herself except when she is chained up, and if she had to do it she could get through the winter by licking the moss off the trees. She is no stall-fed exotic, but a hardy annual who in spite of her good breeding has a touch of the qualities that made the pioneer cows endure hardships and give rich milk. I could ill afford to lose her from either a financial or scientific point of view. We whiled away several hours with gloomy forebodings, occasionally taking the lantern to go to the stable and look her over. But there was nothing we could do for her, and she grunted rhythmically every time she breathed, sometimes standing up and sometimes lying down. About twelve o'clock we decided that the farrier was not coming, and the neighbour went home and I went to bed. Just as I got sound asleep the household was aroused by shrill whistling, and I got up to find that the farrier had come. Getting into my clothes as quickly as possible I took the lantern and hurried to the stable. The farrier examined her, confirmed my neighbour's diagnosis and added that the attack was complicated by a serious case of "impaction of the rumen." I was glad that he didn't say that she had appendicitis or adenoids, for I had made up my mind that I was neither going to pay for a costly operation nor to send her south for her health.

* * * * *

While the farrier was mixing another dose--he had approved of the one I had given--I enquired cautiously about her ailment. When the big words had been simplified for me I found that what she was suffering from chiefly was indigestion and pains in her tripe. This gave me much relief, for I felt that if there ever was a cow that deserved to have indigestion it was old Fenceviewer. Some of you may remember that a couple of years ago she gave me a scare by eating a bushel or so of corn. But she got away with that without any bad results, so I was puzzled as to what she could have eaten that had disagreed with her. I knew that she had not had too much of anything, for she is kept tied up most of the time. Then I remembered that when feeding the bottom of the stack of cornstalks I had noticed that the butts of some of the sheaves were mouldy. As the tops of them were fresh and good I had fed them, thinking that the brutes would know enough not to eat the parts that were damaged, but it doesn't do to bank on the intelligence of even the brightest cows. The farrier agreed that that had probably started the trouble, and I felt somewhat disgusted with myself. When I didn't know enough not to feed such stuff I need not expect the cows to know enough not to eat it. It was a wonder that more of them were not ailing.

After the farrier had filled the quart bottle with a mixture that smelled suspiciously like doses I have had to take myself when my stomach has been out of order, we went through the exercise of holding up her head and pouring it down her throat. This time she tried so hard to spit that she almost did it and I wished that she had been able, for I know what nux vomica and such stuff tastes like. The farrier then mixed a bunch of powders to be given her in a bran mash, every night and morning, and judging from the way she goes at the bran she has forgiven him everything. I may say, by the way, that the bran is now about the most expensive part of the dose, and if prices keep on as they are going we will soon have to get our bran for sick cows at the drug store instead of at the flour and feed emporiums. I am glad to be able to report that at the present writing Fenceviewer I. is taking her feed standing up, and chewing her cud between times, so I guess she is going to pull through all right.

_II.--Cow Troubles_

I know I should have a silo for the cornstalks or at least a cutting box, but I haven't either, and the result is that I have trouble. How to get ten-foot stalks into a four-foot manger is a problem that I have to wrestle with every day and I am no nearer the solution than I was at the beginning of the winter. I have to stand them on end in front of the cows and as the soft ears were all left on the stalks, the cattle go at them wildly and toss them all over the place in their hurry to get the ears. The result is that every few days I have to clean out the rejected stalks from the mangers and the front of the stalls and that makes more trouble. I wish some one would tell me why it is that the tines of a fork will slip through cornstalks so easily and are so hard to pull out. I do not find very much trouble in getting a good forkful of the stalks but when I carry them out to the hole in the barnyard where I am piling them in the hope that they will rot some time I have a wrestle with them that starts me quoting poetry:

"On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly placed his heel; And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel."

When I have thrown down my load I find that every tine has three or four stalks on it so that it looks like Neptune's trident entangled with seaweeds. But though it is a nuisance clearing out the stalks in this way I have a vivid recollection of trying to pitch manure that had cornstalks mixed with it and I have made up my mind that that will never happen again. I try to keep them out of the manure as far as possible, even though I may be robbing the "stercoraceous heap" of some of its most valuable fertilising constituents.

* * * * *

The more I work among cows and study their ways the more puzzling they become to me. Sometimes when I am feeling a bit conceited I think I understand them pretty well and then something happens that puts me entirely out of countenance. One warm day last week, when I had let them out to water, I thought I would let them stand out and sun themselves for a while before driving them back to their stalls. I half remembered that the gate to the young orchard had been opened when the snow was deep and left opened, but I did not give it a thought. The government drain had been flooded and was covered with slippery ice that I was sure they could not cross, and I felt that everything was serene for a pleasant sunbath for the cows. Half an hour later I took a look to see where they were and every last one of them was in the young orchard picking at some long grass that had been brought into sight by the thaw. There was no waiting about starting to get them out, for you know the way cows have of rubbing their necks against young trees and breaking off limbs. Luckily they had not started rubbing and had done no damage, but I had to do some rushing around before I finally got them out of the orchard. But when I got them back to the icy government drain there was all kinds of trouble. You never saw such a timid bunch of cows in your life. It was absurd to think that they could walk on ice like that and what was more they wouldn't do it. But I knew that they couldn't fly and that they had crossed that ice on the way to the orchard and I was just as stubborn as they were. Gritting my teeth with determination I went at those cows and in a few minutes each one of them had been personally conducted across the ice by an earnest man who was earnestly twisting her tail. I then made the discovery that twisting a cow's tail puts a lot of ginger in her for when the last one was across they began to romp around the field. I saw that I would have trouble getting them into the stable and went to the house to get some one to help. I don't think I was in the house five minutes, but when I went out again with reinforcements, those wretched cows were on the other side of the government drain again and headed towards the orchard gate. Apparently it was no trouble at all for them to cross ice when on the way to mischief. I may say that on the return trip they did not wait for much tail twisting. Possibly the second twist hurts more than the first. Anyway they hustled back and didn't stop to argue with me.

_III.--Fly Time_

As a rule old Fenceviewer hasn't much faith in me. Of course, this is entirely due to her independent and predatory nature. She is accustomed to rustling for herself and apparently does not feel the need of cultivating a thankful spirit for anything I do for her. I even suspect that she would renig at milking time if it were not more comfortable to play the game and give down. Up to the present we have continued to live on the same farm without serious disagreement, and yet without any bond of affection being established. She goes her way as far as the fences will allow, and I go my way. But there are signs of a change. During the past week her actions have indicated that she thinks I may be of some use after all. This is because the flies are unusually bad this year. The cattle have been simply covered with them. When we took them into the stable at milking time they were in such misery and so restless that it was almost impossible to milk them. They were all the time lashing their tails, swinging around their heads and trying to paw up hooffuls of dust and dirt against their sides. Though we have ingenious little contraptions for holding their tails it seemed positively cruel to use them when they were being pestered and bitten, so, after due consideration, we bought a spray pump and a gallon of some coal tar by-product that smelled like a political investigation. After milking we proceeded to spray the cows thoroughly with the vile smelling stuff, and if they had not been thoroughly chained the trick could not have been managed. But though the operation seemed unpleasant to every one concerned it was most unpleasant of all for the flies. Hundreds of them fell to the ground stupefied, and those that kept on the wing kept at a distance from the cattle. After the cattle had been sprayed a few times they objected less and less, and old Fenceviewer seemed to get it through her head that the spraying was being done for her comfort. Although some of the younger cattle still struggle she lowers her head and wiggles her ears and stands perfectly still. Apparently she understands that the spraying rids her of the flies, and the look in her eye when I come along with the spray pump is positively friendly. In fact, she doesn't seem happy till she gets it and I suspect that if I missed it any morning she would bawl for it. But all nonsense aside, spraying the cattle to keep off the flies strikes me as being not only a humane but a profitable thing to do. They cannot be expected to do business as usual in the way of giving milk when they are tormented by hordes of flies. We are also spraying the calves at feeding time and they seem much more comfortable.

_IV.--The Red Cow's Calves_

Talk about excitement! When I came home from the excitements of the city to enjoy the quiet life on the farm I ran into more excitement than I had met with on my travels. Although it was after dark when I got home nothing would do but I should go out to the stable to see the new calf. Although I wanted to have my supper first I was over-ruled and I followed the lantern, with the whole family at my side. I might have suspected that there was something unusual about Fenceviewer's new calf, but I put down the enthusiasm of the children to the fact that it was a brand new calf. The little comedy was properly staged. I was not allowed to see anything until I had reached the calf pen. The lantern was then swung in front and every one yelled at once. I got the situation at a glance, and I guess I yelled too. The red cow had given birth to twins! There they were, as nice a pair of red calves as any one would wish to see. I couldn't blame the little folks for being excited. According to those who know, this is the first pair of twin calves that ever was born on the farm. But what interests me is this further development of the red cow strain. You may remember that when summing up their good qualities I recorded the fact that Fenceviewer and her progeny give me aid in farm work by testing the fences every spring so that I put them in good shape for the summer. Moreover, they almost invariably bear heifer calves, so that the flock increases rapidly. To these excellent qualities is now added the unexpected pair of twins. The strain is developing steadily, and some day Fenceviewer and her descendants will force the authorities to give them a corner in the herd book.

_V.--Insurgent Cows_