The Cow-Pie Chronicles Read Free Page B

offer, wondering if her brother was trying to trick her. “Why does he sing?”
    Tim grew more frustrated by the second. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s lonely.”
    Dana thought about it again, convinced something was not right about Tim’s suggestion. “Well, I’m not lonely. So you be Gene Autry, and I’ll be Roy Rogers.”
    â€œWhat? I’m always Roy Rogers!”
    â€œThen you be Dale Evans.”
    â€œMe? No way! I’m not pretending to be no girl!”
    â€œThen I’m not playing.”
    â€œOkay, I’ll be Gene Autry this one time,” Tim finally said, not wanting the entire day to be lost. They both agreed and resumed their make-believe cowboy game.
    â€œ They’re heading for the pass! We can ambush them from the hayloft ,” Dana said. She ran into the barn, with Tim chasing after her. There they spent the rest of the afternoon, running from hiding place to hiding place, chasing after the pretend rustlers until they were so tired that they collapsed in the soft straw in the loft. Both Tim and Dana were sweaty and had scratches on their arms and legs from the hay bales. They were also covered with dirt, dust and hay chaff .
    â€œYou ever wonder what it would be like to live in town?” Dana asked.
    The question was so out of the blue that it surprised Tim. “No,” he said. Living in town was the last thing Tim wanted to talk about—with Dana or anyone else.
    â€œWhat would we do there?” Dana asked.
    â€œProbably be bored to death.”
    â€œMom said I’d be able to play with girls my own age.”
    Tim took off his cowboy hat and stared at Dana. “Why are you talking to Mom about living in town?”
    â€œShe asked me how I would feel about it if we moved.”
    Tim sat quietly, trying to figure out what was going on with Dana and Mom. “Roy Rogers wouldn’t want to live in a town,” he finally said.
    â€œWhat about Gene Autry?” Dana asked.
    â€œNo cowboy wants to live in town. They just go there to drink and gamble.”
    Dana nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. When does Gene Autry sing?”
    â€œUsually at the end of the movie, to some girl. Why?”
    Dana gave Tim a curious look, sensing he was getting annoyed with all of her questions. “Is this the end of the movie?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, I guess.”
    â€œSo sing a song.”
    Tim was stunned that his sister, of all people, would suggest such a thing. “There’s no girl!”
    â€œI’m a girl.”
    â€œYou’re Roy Rogers, remember. Gene Autry never sings to boys.”
    â€œI’ll be Dale Evans now.”
    â€œYou’re Dee-Dee!”
    â€œYou’re a Poop Slinger!”
    Tim stuck his gun in his holster, put his hat back on, got up from where he sat and started climbing down from the loft. There was no way he was going to fulfill Devil Dana’s stupid request.
    â€œWhere are you going?” Dana asked.
    â€œTime to feed Patsy.”
    Worried her brother wouldn’t want to play cowboys ever again with her, Dana decided she had better be nice to him. “I’ll help,” Dana said.

    They walked through the milking parlor, which now was full of cows munching on grain. Mr. Slinger tended to the milking. He would corral several cows into the sliding metal bar holders, hook each one up to a milking machine then turn the machines on. The machine would extract the milk from the cows, and then the milk would travel to a holding tank. Once all the cows in that group were done, Mr. Slinger would then let them loose and bring in another group to milk. It was a hard job and had to be done two times a day. There were never any days off or milking sessions skipped—if this happened, the cows would be too full and get upset. Over time, they would stop producing milk altogether.
    Tim grabbed an empty two-gallon bucket sitting next to a