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name) grumbled about the batch of fox grape jelly that needed squeezing and Arleen (fictitious name) growled about two bushels of snap beans waiting to be canned or frozen, they both plodded onward, agreeing that the day didn’t include one minute to chase a fool calf. On they went and Carvar (fictitious name) went with them, the jungle of weeds soon closing about them.
“Hey Lottie, I just heard him cough.”
“That’s not the calf, that is my blamed asthma. I’m all choked up with this ragweed pollen and I sure don’t sound like that darned thing anyway. Hey Arleen, he’s right in front of me.”
“Lottie, what’s wrong with you? That’s me.”
“Well, my eyes are watering so I can’t see, and I feel awful. Put that stick up in the air then I’ll know you’re not the calf.”
This went on for fifteen minutes. Finally with both Carvar and the calf lost to sight and sound; when no rustling but that of the two women was heard, Lottie says, “I’m going to get my old Abergail, the milk cow; she’ll lead him out.” So Lottie and Abergail returned and Lottie says to Abergail, “Call him,” for not only does this grand girl give 90 pounds a day, but she understands cow language and some English. With a plaintive moo, Abergail called and somewhere in the distance the echo answered Baa. Lottie said, “call again,” and again Gideon answered, only closer. On the third round of Moo-baa, out comes Gideon confirming that something about honey being a better fly-catcher than vinegar.
Abergail now turned Judas and quietly walked Gideon toward the trap. In fact, he was already in it when he realized that he had been in a cattle shoot once before that day. So he braced his feet too late, as two brooms descended on his back and a big stick whacked the side of the shoot, a combination which would startle any animal forward. At last the door slammed and Lottie went back to the grape jelly, Arleen to canning green beans. Carvar pointed the truck toward Front Royal and Gideon went into hamburger.
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