I. — A Sick Cow 



THIS week the monotony of the winter has 

 been broken. I have been sitting up with 

 a sick cow. Fenceviewer I. has suffered the 

 first check in her career of rapacity, vo- 

 racity and capacity. A couple of days ago it was 

 noticed that she was off her feed — that she only 

 nibbled at the blue grass when it was put in her man- 

 ger. Knowing that in her normal condition she is 

 an incarnate appetite — "A belly that walks on four 

 legs" — I knew that something was the matter. I 

 could not imagine her refusing to eat until Death 

 had "clawed her in his clutch," so I took the matter 

 seriously from the beginning. I also noticed that 

 she did not take kindly to water, but stood over it 

 and shivered. There was no doubt about it. She 

 was a sick cow. After a hasty consultation it was 

 decided to give her a dose of salts, and I comman- 

 deered all that we had in the house — almost a pound. 

 After it had been dissolved in about a quart of warm 

 water I took some further advice and added to it, 



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