Page 38 - SuperCowboyFlipBook

they have half a chance. Our cows seldom turn on anyone, but plod along like overgrown, cud-chewing moo-rons. That’s what Daniel calls them. “Moo-rons.” I made sure Mom wasn’t looking, then I hurried out. Tippy and Nosey were there to meet me, and I showed them how neat my clothes were. They didn’t seem impressed, so I decided to make my way out to the milking barn. I marched, with my head held high, and Tippy and Nosey by my side. I loved the marks my cowboy boots made in the soft dirt. They leave an imprint shaped like the boots, with a deep hole where the heel sinks. I swaggered along, straining my knees outward so I would have the bowed legs of a real cowboy. I walked across the cement and clomped my boots as loudly as I could. I didn’t have any spurs, so I had to lift my feet high, like a prancing horse. I walked into the milking barn, and Daniel and Jason, my second oldest brother, laughed. “What’s so funny?” I asked. “Well, if it isn’t Super Cowboy,” Daniel snickered. “How would Super Cowboy like to ride a cow?” I know cowboys don’t ride cows. They will sometimes ride a bull, but bulls are mean, tough, and ornery. They make a worthy opponent. But riding a cow, especially the milking kind, is like picking a fight with a girl. You can’t brag if you win, and you’re miserably ashamed if you lose. I turned to make a mad dash for the house. I wasn’t clomping now. It didn’t make any difference, though, because they caught me. I started screaming like a pig headed for the