I was all ready for the day and had my jeans and stilletos on but I said, "I'm coming too, Man." I really like feeding calves.
"GOSH, fine." He replied. "But you're not going looking like that." (We have a strange sort of interaction with each other, but it works.)
"Obviously."
So I went downstairs and found my old coveralls and put them on over my brand new Gap jeans. I took off my heels, grabbed a pair of The Kid's socks (when he found out I was wearing his socks he got all bent out of shape, but I don't care) and went out to the garage to find my old mud boots.
I think Pops has downsized the boots collection in recent months, because all I could find was the ginormous ones. So I grabbed two huge boots and stuffed my feet and jeans inside them, pulling the coverall part down over the boot for optimal protection of my new jeans.
"You're going to smell terrible now," said The Kid as he came outside and realized I was still wearing my earlier outfit, just with the coveralls over it.
"I don't even care what you say," I said.
The Kid shoved a baby calf bottle into my hands. "Hold that."
(In my defense, the coveralls add 50 pounds. At least.)So we tromped out to the barn exchanging insults along the way like "your boots have more poo in the treads than mine do" and "obviously you don't know anything about walking on ice" and "it's unlikely that you'll succeed in life".
"Are these new calves?" I asked The Kid.
"Yes, they're a month old. Dad got them on Christmas day." The Kid replied. Earlier he had complained and carried on that Pops had made him do that thing on a holiday. See, the thing is Pops isn't actually a farmer, he just really wishes that he was so he has some cows and chickens that he keeps around for fun.
We entered the baby calves' stall and the calves ran up to us and slammed their little heads into our tummies.
The Kid's calf finished his milk first and decided he wanted to get in on some of my calves' action so he came over and stomped on my foot and shoved his head right into my stomach in the diaphragm area. It was very shocking.
Pops had a nice teenager-sized calf in the next stall who was real furry and apathetic looking."You can pet that one if you want, but he's not real social," The Kid said as he threw hay at the bigger, furrier calf.
Like I'm going to turn down an opportunity to pet a big furry calf, so I ran into the stall (stepped in some cow business on the way, too, which was kind of fragrant and disgusting) and tried to pet the cow. He wasn't interested in me.
And...that's about the extent of the excitement at the Laird house today. We're supposed to get some kind of snowstorm tomorrow so Pops and I went to get Diesel fuel so he can run the "tractor" to plow us out if necessary.
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