Kerry cow. You would think to look at her that butter wouldn't melt in
her mouth. She looks like a pet and to a large extent has been a pet. At
first she wouldn't allow any one but me to milk her and would bawl if I
attended to any of the other cows first. You never saw a more demure,
harmless and even helpless looking bit of a thing in your life. Yet she
is a base deceiver. She needs more watching than any cow on the place.
Not only is she more prone to mischief than old Fenceviewer I., but she
sneaks into it instead of doing it boldly like that competent and
fearless old pirate. My pampered pet is an exasperating little sneak
that cannot be trusted for a minute. Not only will she get through gates
and doors whenever she gets a chance but if she happens to get into the
stable when another cow is tied she will immediately start to put a horn
through her. When putting in the cattle at night we have to be on the
watch lest our demure little cow should happen to get another in a
corner and start prodding her. And when you catch her at her tricks she
jumps to her own stall and looks so meek that you can almost imagine she
is saying "I didn't do nuthin'." If that kind of conduct on the part of
a cow is not human I should like to know what it is.
* * * * *
Sheppy, being an intelligent dog, has a lot of characteristics that we
flatter ourselves by calling human. For instance, he has an orderly way
of doing things that often attracts my admiration. Now that he has
settled down and outgrown the freaks of puppyhood he acts as if he felt
himself one of the family, with quite a lot of responsibility on his
shoulders. Every morning when he is turned out he takes a trip around
the farm, apparently to see that everything is right. When the chores
are being attended to he is always on hand to help drive the cows and
after the calves have been fed he doesn't have to be told to drive them
away from the fence and scatter them over the field. As soon as the last
of them has bunted over the pail from which it has been fed he starts
them on their way. All day he is around to do his part in whatever is to
be done and when the driver is away he watches till she is coming back
and goes down the road to meet her. Just how he knows when she is coming
is something of a mystery. Long before any one else can see her behind
the trees half a mile down the road, Sheppy will trot off to meet her.
And he never makes a mistake about it. When we see him starting for the
corner we can be sure that the driver is coming. But there is one bit of
his daily routine that is something of a mystery to me. I do not need
him and I have nothing for him to do when I go after the mail when the
postman has put it in the box, but every morning he is waiting for me
and marches to the mail box ahead of me. I cannot make out why he does
it unless he is hoping that some day he will get a letter--a letter with
a bone in it.
_LVIII.--Early Observations_
On mornings when I happen to be wakeful the observations I make are not
always through the tent flap. Many of them are through the sides of the
tent, and I hear them instead of seeing them. As you might expect, the
first morning sound is the crowing of the roosters, and let me tell you
that it is no trifling sound on the farm at present. Between thirty and
forty broilers are practising crowing and there seems to be a very sharp
rivalry among them. Some of the older ones can crow almost as lustily as
the father of the flock, while a lot of young fellows cannot manage
anything better than a hasty mixture of a squeak and a squawk. You know,
of course, that the scientists are unable to offer any explanation of
the foolishness of roosters in crowing like this and telling their
enemies where they are. One morning recently I was awakened by the
crowing of the young roosters about an hour before dawn. The racket they
were making recalled to my mind the fact that we were expecting
visitors that day and that broilers would be in order for dinner. I
"obeyed that impulse" at once, got up, lit the lantern, and started on a
raid. All I needed to do was to listen and locate the lustiest crowers
where they were roosting in the apple trees. Then I went around and
picked them off the branches until I had half a dozen plump ones stowed
away in a coop. If they hadn't reminded me of their existence by their
fool crowing they might still be alive and scratching gravel with both
feet for admiring young pullets.
* * * * *
When the first light of dawn appears the young ducks begin to jabber,
where they are spending the night in a packing box under an apple tree.
A few minutes later I have a chance to make my first observations
through the tent flap as they march loquaciously past in single file.
Now that the mornings are getting cool, sometimes with a touch of hoar
frost, the crickets, beetles and other innumerable insects are sluggish,
and the ducks seem to know just where to look for them in the long
grass. That reminds me that the wise old fellows who made up our
proverbs were not always careful observers of natural phenomena. We have
been told that it is the "early bird that catches the worm," but the
observations I have made lead me to believe that for one worm that
suffers for his folly in being out late a thousand bugs and beetles are
captured. The proverb should read, "It is the early bird that catches
the bug," and different birds have different ways of going about it.
When a duck goes after a bug he acts much like a ball player trying to
steal a base. He throws himself forward so suddenly that he lands on his
stomach, and at the same time shoots out his neck full length. When I
umpire such an action through the tent flap it is very seldom that I
could announce the bug "safe." If ducks could only be taught to play
baseball they would beat Ty Cobb at stealing bases. Shortly after the
ducks the turkeys come marching past on their morning bug hunt. Instead
of moving in Indian file they walk abreast in extended formation, and
their method of taking the unwary bug is entirely different from that of
the duck. When a turkey sees his prey he stops still, sometimes with one
foot in the air. Slowly and almost imperceptibly he moves his head
towards the luckless bug, and when his beak is within a couple of inches
of it he makes a quick grab that is invariably fatal. In this connection
I sometimes wonder if my attitude as a nature lover is entirely
correct. The bug probably enjoys life just as much as the turkey, and I
wonder if the bug should not have my sympathy rather than the birds. But
that is a delicate point which I am willing to leave to professors of
ethics and other subtle reasoners.
* * * * *
Although the roosters are apparently the first of the domestic fowls to
waken in the morning, they are usually the last to get up, or, to be
more exact, to get down. When they start to lead out their pullets in
the twilight I have a chance to see that at least one maker of proverbs
was a close observer of nature. I have heard it said of ladies who walk
with a mincing gait that "she steps out like a hen before day." As I
observe the hens through the tent flap I notice that their gait differs
from the gait they use later in the day. They pick up their feet
carefully, and hold them poised for a moment before putting them down
daintily, and they hold their heads up in a way that looks very haughty.
The philosopher who originated that simile must have been an early
riser, or perhaps he also made his observations through a tent flap,
with the blankets tucked cosily up to his chin. But some mornings I make
observations through the tent flap that I cannot stay in bed to
meditate on. Through the tent flap I have an excellent view of the
haystacks and the stack of oat sheaves. One morning when I opened a lazy
eye in the early dawn I was suddenly brought wide awake and sitting up,
as the Red Cow and her progeny were among the stacks. The sleepy
inhabitants of the tent were immediately rousted out, and for the next
few minutes we took the Kneipp cure together while sending Fenceviewer
I. and her family back through the gate she had managed to work open. On
another morning my first observation was of a team of horses that had
come in from the road and were trying to founder themselves on our
fodder. Luckily Sheppy was loose and he attended to their case without
making it necessary for me to do anything more than whistle for him and
yell, "Sic 'em!"
[Illustration]
_LIX.--Bantams_
During the Christmas season a friend sent the littlest boy a pair of
bantams, and there is now more spunk on the farm than there has been
since my boyhood days, when I used to own a sassy little hen that bore
the Gaelic name of "Prabbach." I don't know exactly what the name meant,
but it seemed to fit her exactly. These modern bantams appear to be of
aristocratic descent, with feathers down to their toes, and the rooster
has a haughty bearing that makes me take liberties with "Will
Waterproof's Lyrical Monologue," in order to describe him properly:--
"The Cock was of a prouder egg
Than modern poultry drop,
Stept forward on a firmer leg,
And crammed a plumper crop.
Upon an ampler dunghill trod,
Crowed lustier late and early,
Sipped wine from silver, praising God,
And raked in golden barley."
The little bantam can crow quicker, oftener and with more ginger than
any other rooster on the place. He has so much steam that I imagine he
must have the spirit of a full-sized Brahma or Cochin compressed into
the size of a pigeon. He is so cocky that his very appearance seems a
challenge. The first time he stepped out into the barnyard the turkey
gobbler challenged him to mortal combat and unlimbered for action
without waiting for his challenge to be accepted. But, try as he would,
the gobbler could not land on the brisk bantam. The little fellow
sidestepped every swipe that was made at him, and went on picking up
grain as if it were only a fly that was bothering him. And when he
scratches in the straw for grain he does it with a vim that seems to say
to all the world, "When I scratch gravel mind your eye." But if I could
speak hen language I would feel it my duty to warn him about his little
mate. She looks so demure that I suspect her of being a flirt.
[Illustration]
_LX.--A Little Tragedy_
Of all the youngsters in the barnyard the chickens are the most
attractive. They are fluffy little balls of down of most engaging
appearance, and I don't blame Beatrice very much because she shows a
longing to eat them. She is allowed out for a run with "her nine farrow"
every day, and she has to be watched carefully to keep her away from the
chicken coops. Yesterday she went over beside the road to pasture, and
the boy who was watching her thought she was safe, but as soon as he
took his eye off her, she made off to a neighbour's barnyard, attacked a
chicken coop and got a couple of chickens. I haven't faced the music
about that yet, but Beatrice will get me into trouble unless we hurry
and make a proper pig run, where she and her greedy little wretches can
get around without getting into trouble. The little pigs are now
beginning to eat out of the trough with their mother, and sometimes she
chases them off with a howl of rage that hasn't a trace of maternal
tenderness in it. In a few weeks she will rob her own children of their
feed unless she is restrained, for "pigs is certainly pigs." As soon as
her flock is weaned she will be an outcast with none so poor to do her
reverence. No one will have any compunctions about putting her in a pen
and fattening her for bacon. But as long as swill and chop-feed are
plentiful she will not mind the lack of affection. She will grunt
contentedly when she is full and complain bitterly when she is hungry,
and she won't care a hoot whether she is loved or not.
[Illustration]
_LXI.--A Scientific Query_
Can any one tell me why it is that hens always sing when fed on corn on
the cob. We had been feeding them oats, bran, and occasionally wheat,
and they took to it in a matter-of-fact way, but when a few cobs of corn
were thrown out to them they pecked at it and sang as if their hearts
were overflowing with joy. Since noticing this peculiarity I have
watched them at every feeding, and it is only the corn that arouses them
to music. I also had a chance to make a further observation on the
ducks. One of them got a small ear in its bill and started away on a
swift waddle with the rest of the flock trailing behind. Instead of
trying to find a quiet corner where it could enjoy its meal it made
straight for the mud-puddle and dropped the ear in the center of it. The
corn immediately sank out of sight and the whole flock of ducks crowded
around to get at it. Judging from the noise they made they must have
been enjoying themselves hugely, and I am led to do a little
speculating of a scientific character. We are told that hens should be
fed in straw or chaff so that they will get plenty of exercise with
their meals. I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea to feed the ducks in
a convenient mud-puddle so that they can develop themselves properly. I
await an authoritative verdict from some one who knows.
[Illustration]
_LXII.--A Poultry Note_
When the chickens that were rounded up from the apple trees last week
had served the necessary time in confinement to make them get accustomed
to their new roosts they were turned loose, and there was more
excitement. A young cockerel thought he would celebrate the occasion by
crowing, but immediately seven young gobblers started for him on the
jump. Every time he would start to crow the gobblers would rush in on
him, and the last I saw of him he was going over the fence into the
pasture field with the gobblers after him, but he looked as if he were
going to crow even if he died for it. By the way, I have lost the
address of the man with whom I swapped gobblers last fall, but if this
should meet his eye I wish to tell him that the "Bubblyjock" he sent has
developed into a noble bird. Nothing of his size in the turkey line has
ever been seen on the farm, and as he is always first in whenever the
chickens or ducks are being fed he is in prime condition. Some day when
I feel equal to the task I shall try to catch him and weigh him, but I
have considerable respect for the wings of a turkey-gobbler ever since
one managed to give me a sideswipe across the bridge of the nose some
years ago. He not only knocked off a bias patch of skin, but gave me a
couple of black eyes that kept me at home for a week. As the present
lord of the barnyard is such a husky specimen I am not anxious to take
any chances.
[Illustration]
_LXIII.--Spring and the Livestock_
The winter certainly appears to be over, and neither man nor beast is
sorry. We have all been penned in altogether too long, and it feels good
to be out in the open again. I notice that it affects the farm creatures
in different ways. The cattle seemed unusually lazy, and during the heat
of the day most of them lay down where they could let the sunshine soak
into their skins. The colts started on a wild scamper around the fields
and threw up mud in a way that made it necessary to close them up in the
barnyard again, as they were cutting up the pasture. As they abused
their freedom they had to be deprived of it. The sheep took things
quietly, as might be expected, and I noticed that after a little run fat
little Mary Belle stood panting with her mouth open. She and Clarissa
and Strafe made a start at playing king of the castle on an ant-hill,
but their mothers kept so close to them that they spoiled the fun.
Beatrice seemed to like the heat about as well as anything on the farm.
She picked out a snug spot on the south side of what is left of the
straw stack, and grunted pleasantly, while the sunshine tickled her fat
sides. During the cold weather she made frequent investigating trips
around the farm, but the heat seems to make her lazy. The most
belligerent creature on the place is the turkey cock. He struts and
gobbles and makes thunder with his wings in a most awesome way. Those
who do the chores have suggested that if he continues to be so
threatening we shall have to put a ring in his nose and lead him around
on a chain. He is certainly a noble bird.
_LXIV.--First Snow_
The snow was a surprise to all the youngsters of the barnyard. There had
been flurries earlier in the season, but nothing to compare with the
depth that now covers everything. When the colt was turned out he left
the stable door at a run. His hoofs threw up a cloud of snow that
frightened him, and he ran through the gate to the pasture field. The
more he ran the more snow he threw up and the more scared he got. He
galloped around the field until he was winded or decided that there was
nothing to be frightened about. Then he obeyed an old instinct, pawed
away a little patch of snow and began to eat the frozen grass. It was
his first experience of snow, but he knew what to do in case he should
be obliged to live on the pasture it covered. The colt was not the only
youngster to have a first experience of snow on that morning. A flock of
young pullets that have been accustomed to ranging freely over the farm
were completely flabbergasted by the situation. They huddled at the
door of the hen-house, and whenever they tried to travel they did it
a-wing. As they were not used to this method of locomotion they
misjudged distances and fell protesting into the snow, where they stayed
for a while before trying to walk. The young ducks that sleep under the
granary did not venture on the snow until Sheppy routed them out on one
of his investigating excursions. Even though nature has provided them
with snowshoes in their web feet they preferred to try their wings, but
they are so fat and heavy that their flying was a flat failure. They
quacked across the barnyard with heads up and wings beating wildly, but
their cute little tails and flat feet were still in the snow. The young
turkeys also took to flying, and though they were more expert than any
of the others the result was the same. They landed in snowdrifts and
looked unhappy. One young gobbler landed on top of a haystack, where he
stood up to his wishbone in the snow, waiting for a thaw to come and
rescue him. I left him until the chores were done and then rescued him
by pelting him with snowballs. Of course, this trouble about the snow
lasted for only a day or so. Ducks, hens and turkeys now get around much
as usual.
_LXV.--A "Skift" of Snow_
Last night we had a "skift" of snow, and it was interesting to notice
the effect on the summer-born creatures of the farm. A plump young
kitten that had not seen the pesky stuff before came to meet me from the
stable, jumping like a rabbit. At the end of every jump she would stop
and say "Muhr-reowr!" in tones that seemed several times too large for
her body. When I reached her she stood lifting one foot after another
and shaking off the clinging flakes, only to get a fresh supply every
time she put a foot down. Of course it was mean to roll her over in the
snow, but I have no doubt it gave her an appetite for breakfast and
could be defended on the best hygienic grounds. About the first thing I
noticed about the snow was that my new winter boots do not promise much
comfort, for as the snow melted on them my toes got so cold that I had
to step cautiously for fear they would snap off like icicles. The young
turkeys were complaining noisily from the apple tree where they roost
at night, but evidently thinking that my appearance at the barn meant
the near approach of feeding time, they started to fly the full
distance. They seemed to realise that the white stuff on the ground
meant cold toes for them, but they didn't improve matters much by
flying. They landed on top of the hay stacks where the snow seemed to
lie the deepest, and on top of the granary, where they clawed around on
the slippery surface and mussed themselves up generally. A chilly turkey
is just about as unattractive looking a bird as any one would wish to
see. They fluffed up their feathers so as to get a layer of entangled
air around their bodies, hunched up their shoulders and pulled in their
necks. Really they looked more like turkey buzzards than like Christmas
dinners, but a month of high living on corn meal and shorts will
doubtless make them fit for the market.
* * * * *
The colt had an especially good reason to be grouchy about the sudden
change in the weather, for he had been out in it all night, and the soft
snow had frozen into lumps on his back. He was so bad tempered about it
that he even let his heels fly at his mother when she came near him, and
the way he lay back his ears at the approach of the yearling showed
that he was willing to fight him at a moment's notice. The yearling,
however, seemed to know what to do in such a case. When the sun began to
rise he started to gallop around the field snorting and kicking at
imaginary enemies. As I watched his exhibitions of speed I couldn't help
wondering if he could be made to show any of it under a harness. His
mother is a sedate dowager who often shows plenty of speed when I go to
catch her in the pasture field, but in the harness nothing short of a
black snake whip can get her off the "cord-wood trot." The colt was
watching the yearling's antics, and at last he couldn't help joining the
fun. With tail in the air he started after his big brother, and they
galloped all over the pasture, kicking at one another and snorting. When
they tired of their play they were comfortably warm, and went to the
bank of the Government drain, where there was long grass that was free
from snow, and proceeded to have breakfast. After this the colt will
probably know that when the ground is white the finest thing in the
world to make him feel comfortable will be a good, brisk run.
_LXVI.--A Spring Shower_
A few days ago we had an ideal shower, warm, still and occasionally shot
with sunshine. The necessity of doing the chores drove me out of it and
I was glad. Putting on an old overcoat that did not owe me any money,
and an old felt hat, long innocent of the block--it showed a quarter
pitch from the peak to the brim--I slopped around for a happy half hour.
But, though I was happy, the ducks were happier. They were not only in
their element, but they were enjoying a banquet. The frost had come out
of the ground and the angle-worms had come to the surface. I don't think
the ducks missed one of them--all of which made me try to remember
whether Darwin in his study of earthworms noted their economic value as
poultry food. The hens are every bit as fond of them as the ducks, but
they are not so fond of the rain. But there are other things that like
to feel the warm, splashy drops. I had to turn out the cows for a drink,
and the day seemed to suit them exactly. While old Fenceviewer I. was
waiting to have her stall cleaned and her bed made up she humped her
back against the shower and chewed her cud, and if she could have had a
couple of hands stuck into pockets she would have made a perfect picture
of contentment. And all the while I could hear the birds twittering and
calling in the rain, and making different music from the kind we hear
while the sun is shining. I was really sorry when the work was done and
I had to clean my boots and put off my wet things and listen to a
lecture on the chances I had taken of catching cold.
[Illustration]
_LXVII.--Doing Chores_
Doing chores is a routine job, and even the animals seem to be getting
it down to a system. When I go out to feed the cattle in the morning
Sheppy meets me at the door and insists on having a play, which consists
mostly of jumping up against me as if he were a wolf trying to catch me
by the throat and drag me down. My part of the game is to catch him off
his guard when his feet are off the ground and give him a push that
bowls him down. After he has had a few tumbles he is satisfied, and
begins running around in wide circles. When I get near the stable the
kitten that the children have named after an eminent statesman gets on
the path in front of me, purring and rolling on his back so that I can
tickle him with the toe of my boot. As soon as I begin to open the
stable door the driver whinnies "Good-morning," and a moment later the
Jimmie-cow bawls complainingly, and says in part: "Why------are you so
late coming out to feed us this morning? Get a wiggle on you with those
cornstalks!" Of course, it is all very foolish, but when one is
attending to the wants of a lot of animals he gets about as well
acquainted with them as he does with people, and, as I have remarked
before, they all have very human attributes. Human nature can be studied
in farm animals just as easily as in city crowds--and you do not have to
be so extravagant with your expense account.
_LXVIII.--Fishing_