Sherrill's Critter Story #1: The cow in the laundry room

original | Feb. 15, 2009 AD | Dawn Elizabeth Slike

[Dawn Elizabeth Slike]

Dear Friends,

I think the only way I'm going to be able to overcome this sadness I'm experiencing is to share with you some critter stories. As some of you may already know, my daughter Sherrill loved animals, all of her life. It did not matter what shape, what size, what species, or even what condition. She was unafraid of animals, even those that she should have avoided at all costs, even those that might have imperiled her health and well-being.

I will share my best (so far) critter story. If you got a little chuckle or even a belly laugh out of this, send me a little note back, and do please feel free to forward.

Sherrill's Critter Story #1: The cow in the laundry room

We were living with my mother in PA. Sherrill was probably seven or eight years old. My mother fancied herself a "farmer" even though we had exactly three acres, mostly woods, no barn, only a chicken coop, a shed and a delapidated outhouse (which was now used for storing the push mower.) At one point she decided to buy a young male black and white calf, and her plan was that we would eat it when it got big and fat enough.

Sherrill and I never liked the idea of eating animals we had to care for for months beforehand. When I was a child my mom would make me feed the chickens, ducks, and geese, even bunnies, and later the chickens, ducks, geese and (gulp) bunny rabbits would end up in a pot on the stove or in the oven. I never was able to eat something I had been feeding the day before. One Thanksgiving we (my brothers and I) ignored the meat platter in the middle of the table and passed all the other dishes around. It was like a funeral for the bunny rabbit. But that is another story, and I'll try to stay focused here.

Back to this calf. It did not help matters that my mother would sadistically give people-names to the animals that were going to become main courses on our table. The calf was named Sonny, after a long lost love of hers who had moved to Florida. I never did make the connection between the boyfriend who ran away to Florida and the calf who was going to become hamburger. Or maybe I'm just missing something obvious here.

Sherrill somehow decided after school one day that Sonny was thirsty. So she brought him by his short rope, in through the 36" back door to the laundry room, and led him to the open basin of the wringer washer. I do not know how she persuaded the cow to come through such a narrow doorway and navigated him around a wood stove, cabinets, laundry baskets and appliances.

It really probably would have been fine if the cow lapped up several inches of water. I'm sure the clothes in the washer would not have become damaged.

But unfortunately this was not a rinse load. And little Sherrill did not seem particularly interested in such details.

Now anyone who has ever seen a cow at any distance knows what its nostrils look like. Couple this image with wash water. Imagine bubbles. Big bubbles. Imagine mooing. Big mooing, big exhaling, big bubbles.

I was not actually eye-witnessing this event. I learned about it from the other end of the house, hearing grandma's repeated screams to "get that thing out of here!" It was one of those rare situations when my mother's rage was tempered by frustrated laughter.

I do not know how my Sherrill persuaded Sonny to turn around and navigate around appliances, laundry baskets, cabinets and the wood stove and go back outside through the 36" back door.

As a postscript, Sonny never did get eaten by the younger members of our family. We saw the plain white paper wrapped packages in the freezer, exclaimed, "Is that Sonny?" and that was the end of that.

Lesson: Never give your livestock pronouncable names. Or if you're going to expect your kids and grandkids to do the heartless, then deceive them, and re-wrap the meat in styrofoam trays and labeled plastic wrappers unwrapped from the grocery store last week.

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[Jemian]

I loved that story. It was so special. I was expecting you to tell us, however, that the cow’s tongue got caught in that ringer. Poor Sonny!

[gridlock]

When you go into the poultry barn at the fair, notice how many of the turkeys are named “Thanksgiving” and how many of the geese are named “Christmas”.

[Dawn Elizabeth Slike]

Ha! That would have been possible, yes!