OLD HOMESTEAD 



Teaching a calf to drink was sometimes funny and sometimes 

 not — all depended on the calf. If he took to it naturally and 

 supped up the warm milk slowly while he gracefully wiggled his 

 tail and mildly bunted his approval, it was all right, soon over, 

 and his transfer from mother's milk to skimmed milk was suc- 

 cessfully and peacefully accomplished. The chances were 

 against such good luck, and the average calf made a sharp 

 struggle before adopting this new and unnatural method of taking 

 his dinner; but he had to come to it or starve, no matter how 

 loudly he bawled. His head was forced into the pail of milk 

 and held there till he choked and strangled and blowed and 

 bunted the milk all over the stable. He would thus get the 

 taste of the milk, then we would wet our fingers in the milk 

 and put them in his mouth. This was a pleasant surprise, and 

 he would begin to suck and swallow, and again choke and 

 splutter and get mad, and sometimes bunt the pail bottom-side 

 up. A contrary, fool calf would be a week weaning and learning 

 to drink, and if within hearing of its mother, would make her so 

 nervous and crazy that she was of little use till the trouble was 

 over. 



The occasion which most sorely tried one's patience was 

 when dressed up, ready to go to church or elsewhere, to have 

 the vicious little beast bunt and blow greasy milk all over your 

 black pants and satin vest. Many a backslidden rural Chris- 

 tian can trace the moment of his downfall to the Sunday morn- 

 ing he lost his temper and became shamefully profane in trying 

 to teach a calf to drink. 



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