Kree8ive's Stories

Kree8ive's
Stories

Some Folks Aren't At Home On The Range

Beep - beep - beep - beep.

I pressed the button on my watch to silence the alarm. Normally the pesky little electronic beep of my wristwatch would not be sufficient to wake me, but whenever I have my mind set on waking up early I am more easily roused from my slumber.

Five o'clock in the morning. Ughhh! I am not a morning person, but I only had another hour before the others would be rising with the sun. I had to get the job done before anyone else awoke.

I slipped out of my sleeping bag and sat up on the mattress which was tucked into a corner of the living room. My sleeping arrangements were a little basic but I certainly wasn't complaining. I'd been living in the back of my old van for more than two months. With winter quickly approaching, it was infinitely more comfortable to be sleeping on the floor in a nice warm house than in an uninsulated cargo van. The Cotton family had taken me in without a moment's hesitation - a sacrifice for which I was eternally grateful. I knew the family wasn't in great shape financially. Three kids and a new baby were a lot to be supported of one income and the last thing they needed was another mouth to feed. I couldn't help but feel obliged to repay their kindness in some small way.

I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I peered out the window but there was nothing to see in the darkness. Grabbing my jacket and shoes, I tiptoed through the kitchen being careful not to make any noise. Everytime a floorboard creaked I paused for a few seconds and listened for any signs of activity in the house. Nothing! I made it to the door, eased into my shoes and jacket, and slipped outside as quietly as I could.

The air outside was cool and crisp. A layer of frost had settled on the grass overnight and it crunched under every footstep. As I rounded the corner of the house, the barn came into view in the distance. There was one solitary light bulb suspended from a pole near the barn door - my only source of light as I crossed the field.

I'd been staying on the Cotton's ranch in rural Oklahoma for only a few days but was already known by many of the local yokels. Everyone was really friendly, but they didn't mind poking a little good-natured fun at the "tenderfoot city slicker" who was slightly out of his element in farm country. Country folk have a certain gritty self-reliance. They're proud of the fact that they can support and feed themselves without relying entirely on the chains of distribution that city folk depend on. This was my attempt to prove myself a little, to show that I wasn't so helpless after all.

As I got closer to the barn, I could see my breath hanging in the air, illuminated by the lone light. The door creaked heavily as I pulled it open. The hinges were probably older than me. The sudden noise must have interrupted the nocturnal activities of the barn's rodent population and was answered with the scurrying of little feet. This was quickly followed by a rush of flapping wings and I ducked as a bird rushed past my head. As suddenly as the silence had been broken it returned - so pronounced it seemed like I was on the doorstep of an empty void. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. The only sensations were the nip of frosty air on my nose and the rapid beat of my startled heart. As my pulse returned to normal my eyes began to adjust to the darkness and my nose became aware of a veritable corcucopia of smells and odours.

There was a hint of light coming in from the bulb outside, just barely enough to make out some vague shapes and shadows. I stepped slowly inside, shuffling my feet forward through the dirt for fear of unseen obstacles. I'd seen too many Benny Hill sketches where a clumsy oaf stepped on the upturned tines of a rake thereby swinging the shaft upward into the family jewels. I wasn't taking any chances. I groped along the wall for a light switch but my hands felt only the rough, weathered wooden planks. The whole building was a monument to a time gone by.

"Well, if there's no light I'll have to do it in the dark."

My mission was to milk the cow and be back in the house before the family was awake. I'd never milked a cow but I'd seen it done in the movies and figured it couldn't be that hard. The vague outline of the cow was just barely perceptible, standing silent and motionless.

"Hmmm. I guess it's true that cows sleep standing up."

I fumbled in the darkness looking for the obligatory bucket and stool. In the movies, there is always a little three-legged stool next to the cow and a little pail hanging nearby. After five minutes of feeling my way around and ending up with handfulls of straw and other stuff I'd rather not mention, I got a little frustrated. I didn't have time to waste or everyone would be up before I was done.

I made my way back to the house, slipped off my shoes, and tiptoed back through the kitchen. Poking through the cupboards as quietly as I could, I rejected several dishes and containers in my quest for a suitable milking vessel. Eventually I came across a mixing bowl which was large enough to hold a fair amount of liquid and wide enough that I probably wouldn't miss the container and squirt milk onto the dirt floor of the barn.

"That'll do the trick," I whispered to myself.

I went back outside. The sky was starting to change from pitch black to midnight blue. There was only a few minutes before twilight would give way to sunrise, the cock would crow, and the family would emerge from their beds. The whole lot of them, save for the youngest one, were frustratingly good early morning risers. The first day I'd shown my face at 8:00am, early for me, to find that they'd already eaten breakfast, cleaned the dishes, done their bible study, finished the morning chores, and started their daily lessons. Mama Cotton was in charge of home-schooling the kids, and was doing a pretty good job of it from what I could tell.

Each day I stayed with the Cotton family I got up a little earlier, 6:00am the day before, but was always late for breakfast. That just gave the folks one more reason to chuckle at the wussy city slicker.

I reached the barn again, this time with mixing bowl in hand. The emerging twilight outside had no effect on the ambient light inside the barn. I waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark again and then made my way over to the cow. She shifted her weight a little as I approached but didn't make a sound. I still didn't have a stool to sit on so I placed the mixing bowl under the cow and squatted down on my haunches.

I grasped at the air a couple of times before my hand landed on a teat. At that point, I realized I had absolutely no idea how to proceed. I wasn't sure if I should pull or squeeze, or pull and then squeeze, or squeeze and then pull. Would a gentle technique be insufficient to achieve the desired result? Would a firmer approach hurt or upset the cow? Didn't I once read an article about daylight savings time that said cows get accustomed to being milked at the exact same time every day and don't respond well to changes in the schedule? In utter ignorance, I proceeded to pull and squeeze in various combinations trying to achieve the desired result.

Nothing! I tried and tried but couldn't yield a single drop of milk. As I squatted there pondering what to do I heard the door creak behind me. I turned to see a figure standing silhouetted against the twilight sky outside.

"Is that you, Darragh?" came the hushed words from the door. I recognized the voice as being Samuel, the eldest son.

"Yeah, it's me," I responded.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Trying to milk the cow," I admitted sheepishly.

Samuel took a few steps forward and then paused near me.

"Uh, Darragh."

I was curious at the tone of voice he took with me at that moment.

"Yes, Samuel?"

"That's not a cow!"

* * *
I departed the next day. Nobody said anything about the incident in the barn, but I knew it was on their minds. I had tried to redeem myself from my lowly city-slicker upbringing and had succeeded in doing the opposite. I shook hands with the boys and gave Lindsey a hug.

"We'll miss you," she said.

"I'll miss you guys too," I replied. I really would miss their hospitality, despite my little embarassment.

I climbed into my truck and drove out onto the road, waving as I pulled away. The Cotton family's bull was standing out in the field watching me. He looked like he was going to miss me too.

The End!

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