Page 39 - SuperCowboyFlipBook

slaughter. I was not going to give in without a fight. I kicked out and caught Daniel with a pointed boot, but he acted like it hardly fazed him; although, with my great Super Cowboy strength, I know he must have been greatly wounded. Daniel stuck me on top of a big, black and white Holstein that had her head in the stanchion and was being milked. Milking cows, for the most part, are really quite gentle. But they don’t like to be considered a leather chair. This cow bellered like an old tractor pulling a plow, and she slammed back against the stanchion that was holding her. She kept leaping forward and slamming back - her bellering, and me screaming and holding onto her skin. Milk cows don’t even have decent skin to hold onto. My brothers were bent over with laughter, tears rolling from their eyes. They didn’t even see the block that held the cow in the stall wiggling loose. With each lunge, the block wiggled a little more, and the cow became angrier. With each lunge, my head snapped back and forth. Then, with one final lunge, the block slipped free. The cow whirled, and I was barely able to hold on. Snorting snot from her nostrils like a fire-breathing dragon, she plastered the walls, the other cows, and my brothers. Foam was coming from her mouth as if she were a rabid dog. Her sides were heaving. She was bellowing to let everyone who dared challenge her know they were taking their life into their hands. Angrily she headed for the open door. My brothers, who weren’t laughing now, tried to head her off. The milker was still attached to her and the hoses stretched tight like a rubber band before it popped loose, flying back and smashing into the wall.