Beech Tree News Network

“Pa! Bonnie’s sick!” I said, noticing something was wrong with the milk Bonnie the Brown Swiss was producing.
“Looks great to me,” Pa replied after examining Bonnie and her milk.
“Bonnie’s milk is white,” I said. “Bonnie is a Brown Swiss. Her milk should be chocolate!”
Everyone, including Bunny the cat, giggled.
 Then I asked, “Who milks the bull?” because I hoped it wasn’t going to be Chloe or me.
No sooner had Granny and Pa stopped laughing from the “chocolate milk” comment than they were in a full-blown giggle again.
“You don’t milk bulls, son,” Pa said.
“Why is he here then?” Chloe asked, confused like I was.
 “Well,” Pa said as if he were searching for the right words, “a bull is a male cow who is a daddy. Male cows don’t produce milk; it comes only from female cows who have had calves. So, except for Daddy Bull, we don’t need bulls or steers, which are male cows who aren’t dads. If a mama cow gives birth to a boy, once it’s old enough, we sell it to a cattle farm. The cattle farmer uses it for beef, and we make a little money. It’s a win-win situation.”
As Pa stood up, he said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to count sheep.”
“I’ll help,” I replied, grabbing my jacket. Granny giggled. “That’s an expression meaning Pa’s going to bed,” she said, stopping me before I went outside to help Pa take inventory of the sheep. “And I suspect two little doggies are ready to count sheep too!”
If the milk was the best thing I had ever tasted, the featherbed was the best thing I’d ever slept on. Granny lifted Chloe and me onto the gigantic bed. As soon as she covered us with the colorful handmade patchwork quilt, we were snoozing – maybe even snoring. It had been a very enjoyable – and long – day, filled with lots of hard work, good food and many laughs. Chloe and I slept through the night. We never moved until we heard a rooster crow and smelled the most delicious bacon and pancakes. Using a step stool to crawl out of bed, we saw a note from Granny. “Good morning, doggies. Here are some things you’ll need today.” There were two long-sleeve plaid shirts, two pairs of bib overalls, two large straw hats, two red bandannas and a bottle of sunscreen.
Dressed, ready and doused in sun protection, we walked downstairs where Granny and Pa were waiting for us to eat breakfast.
We sat down, removed our hats and bowed our heads as Pa gave thanks for the food. Then Granny passed the delicious breakfast foods. “After the morning milking, feeding and chores, we’ll visit a neighboring farm,” Pa said.
“TerRUFFic!” we exclaimed. Granny had talked to our mom that morning while we were sleeping. She persuaded our parents to let us stay for a few days. We missed our family terribly but knew we would see them soon. Visiting another farm would be fun – and would help pass the time.
“Will we be milking cows here too?” I asked as we pulled into the driveway of Missus Farms later that morning.
“This is a beef cattle farm, son,” Pa explained. “No milking going on here. Just like dairy farms, a beef cattle farm is another type of livestock farm. Livestock farmers raise cows, goats, sheep, pigs and other animals to eat or sell for others to eat. Kentucky is the largest cattle-producing state east of the Mississippi River. There are about 38,000 cattle farmers and more than two million cattle and calves here in our state. In fact, livestock and livestock products account for about half of Kentucky’s farm income.”
I was listening to Pa talk about cattle when I smelled the worst smell ever, like dead fish, rotten eggs, filthy socks and soured milk had been mixed together and left in the sun for three weeks. “P.U.! What is that smell?” I asked, covering my nose with one paw. Suddenly I realized the source of the putrid odor.  Surely it wasn’t what I thought it was!