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THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Jnl.v 25, 
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I).'. Hope Farm || 
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A FARMER should fool at peace with 
the world after supper on Sunday 
night. Fourth of July had come and 
gone, and the danger from fireworks had 
gone with it. The rain and fog had boon 
bad for haying, and the crab grass and 
woods had worked into our wot ground, 
yet thus far the season had boon a good 
one for us. So, after supper, I was not 
disposed to fight with anyone. Very 
likely I should have come out better if 
there had been more desire for battle. I 
wanted to see how the beets wore growing 
on the lower field, so with the little boys 
to follow and Fritz, the mongrel dog, to 
lead the way, we started across the road 
and down the little hill by the pasture. 
My little Airedale friend considered this 
mission so far from danger that she did 
not think the journey worth while, so she 
curled up in front of the house. We 
looked over the beet crop and examined 
our trees and then started back. Fritz 
went running across the field at the sus¬ 
picion of a woodchuck. There is a wet 
spot in the field, so I climbed over the 
fence and walked along the stone wall in 
the pasture. The big black heifer raised 
her head and took a good look at me— 
then slowly moved my way. She is a 
big, heavy animal—the daughter of our 
old cow. We expected great things of 
her, but she has developed into a great 
beefy animal, unruly and mean. I should 
have remembered this, but she seemed 
good-natured enough as she approached, 
and I got off my guard. She came up 
slowly, and I put out my hand to see if 
the strap was on her neck. Quick as a 
flash she lowered her head and dived un¬ 
der my arm. Iler head caught me on 
the side like a battering ram. I was 
standing on a round stone, and as I 
slipped my left leg curled under and my 
ankle twisted. Down I went flat be¬ 
tween a post and a big stone. I could 
not got out, and my left leg was twisted. 
Then that big black brute seemed to know 
just what to do. She stamped with her 
front feet and tried to rip me with her 
horns. She seemed mad with rage, and 
came at me like a tiger, ripping, butting 
and stamping as if I were the “enemy.” 
I thought that Florida cow that Uncle 
Ed and I bought was about the limit for 
fighting, but this New Jersey heifer was 
like Jack Johnson compared with a very 
ordinary citizen. 
The Hope Farm man has faced several 
serious situation and had much time for 
reflection, but events never moved quite 
so rapidly through his mind as when he 
lay pinned between that post and rock 
with that maddened brute stamping and 
ripping at him. All I could do was to 
get her by the horns with both hands 
and try to hold her head away. On the 
ground near me lay a big stone. If I 
could get hold of this I could pound her 
over the jaw—but it was six inches be¬ 
yond my fingers and if I let go my grip 
those horns would be free! If you want 
to know what people think of in such a 
situation I can give a few facts. First, 
there came into mind the absurdity of 
this fight. The heifer could gain nothing 
by killing or maiming me, as she was bent 
on doing. It was a foolish thing for me 
ever to trust such a creature, or give her 
the chance she had taken. As I lay there 
trying to hold her off I remembered that 
scene from “Quo Vadis” where the giant 
struggled with the bull until both were 
exhausted. It was hard for me to re¬ 
alize at first that the heifer was in 
earnest, but she grew fiercer as she 
fought, and I found my strength going! 
Then I suddenly realized that unless I 
could get help I was gone. On my feet I 
could have handled her, but she had me 
where I could not move. Then I thought 
of the little boys—one 10 and the other 
seven. Up to this moment I had not 
thought of risking them in such a battle, 
but it was now or never. So I called 
them to help, not knowing what they 
would do. Most boys and women and 
many men would have screamed or faint¬ 
ed or stood still—deprived of thought. 
My boys let out a call for the Airedale, 
picked up the first club they could find 
and came on. That heifer had wrenched 
one sharp horn loose and was slashing at 
me, when suddenly there came a sound 
such as an energetic man who seeks to 
please his wife makes when he beats a 
carpet. That sharp horn flashed within a 
couple of inches of my face. Out of the 
corner of my eye I saw Redhead and 
Towhead standing on the bars hammer¬ 
ing that heifer with their war clubs. 
Perhaps you have read Rider Haggard’s 
story of the African chief who stood at 
the head of the stairs with his battle axe 
and kept the great company at bay! 
Well, little Redhead had something of the 
same spirit as he balanced himself on 
that rail and made base hits on that 
heifer’s neck ! Flesh and blood could not 
stand that pounding long. The heifer 
finally backed out of range, bellowing and 
shaking her head, but before I could get 
on my feet she put down her head and 
came for another charge. Then there 
was a flash of gray color and little Aire¬ 
dale was at her throat, while Fritz had 
her by the heel. It is the blue blood that 
A Redhead and a P»ox of Marshalls. 
Fig. 399. 
goes to the seat of danger! The dogs 
soon had her in the center of the pasture 
and I got over the fence a little bruised 
and shaken, but very much wiser than 
I was before. The little boys went up 
to the house to receive congratulations 
and little Airedale sat with her wise head 
on one side only regretting that she did 
not have more of the fun. 
The big heifer goes into beef. I have 
had two or three cows that picked up 
this habit of fighting, and they were al¬ 
ways dangerous. One of them broke 
loose and got into the lane where our 
folks were walking. This brute attacked 
a woman and pinned her against a post. 
We cut the horns off, but as soon as her 
head was healed she resumed her hitting 
and crushing. On a farm like ours, 
where there are children at play, an ani¬ 
mal with such habits and disposition is 
a constant danger. This big, plump heif¬ 
er will make fine beef. One would think 
that some of these “white hopes” could 
eat a few steaks from her and then han¬ 
dle Jack Johnson with ease! At any 
rate she goes for beef, and here comes the 
singular thing about it. In spite of all 
this talk about a meat shortage it is a 
job to sell this big heifer. The local 
butcher will not touch her. There are 
no slaughter-houses left, and the dressed 
beef people will not bother with single 
animals. You can only sell to peddlers or 
“independents,” and take what they see 
fit to offer. There are several silly Con¬ 
gressmen who, each year, introduce bills 
which would compel every farmer to 
raise two or more beef animals each year. 
Thousands of us would raise such ani¬ 
mals at a loss, even at fair prices, and 
when we tried to sell them we should 
have to just about give them away. Wait 
and see what we actually get for my big 
heifer! 
Tiie Hope Farm Scrubs. —They did 
not do quite so well in June, but it is our 
duty to report progress without any com¬ 
plaint or apology. Here is the secord: 
No. 
1 .... 
May June 
. 21 7 
No. 6 . 
May June 
. 25 19 
No. 
2 
22 
19 
No. 7 . 
. 13 
11 
No. 
3 .... 
. 23 
22 
No. 8 . 
19 
18 
No. 
4 ... . 
. 21 
19 
No. 9 _ 
22 
23 
No. 
5 .... 
. 28 
21 
No. 10. 
19 
19 
There were 15 eggs laid outside the 
trap-nests, so the total was 183. It is im¬ 
possible to say which hens laid these 15 
eggs. No. 1 may have laid some of them, 
or No. 5 may have laid several more 
than the record show's. I spend no time 
worrying about that. The scrubs laid 
183 all told in June. Hot us see how they 
compared with the blue bloods. Here is 
another table: 
Record for June. 
Hope Farm Scrubs. 1S3 
Average—all pens . 170 
Tom Barron's Wyandottes. 100 
Best P. Rocks (all breeds). 192 
Poorest P. Rocks (all breeds). 140 
Average all Rocks. 105 
Best Wyandotte (all breeds). 202 
Poorest Wyandotte (all breeds). 115 
Average Wyandotte (all breeds). 153 
Best R. I. Red. 211 
Poorest R. I. Red. 97 
Average R. I. Red (15 pens). 140 
Best Leghorn . 249 
Poorest Leghorn . 117 
Average Leghorn (34 pens). 200 
Thus the scrubs beat the average per¬ 
formance of every breed in the contest, 
except the Leghorns. There is one pen 
of Silver Cam pines. They laid 185 eggs 
—two more than the scrubs. Out of 82 
pens there were 51 below the scrubs in 
the June total. Starting at the extreme 
tail end of the procession—there are now 
12 pens behind them. On individual rec¬ 
ords they fell down a little. No. 5 laid 
49 recorded eggs in 61 days, but this is 
behind several birds in the contest. No. 
1 and No. 7 ought to be ashamed of their 
record unless those outside eggs belong 
to them, but we find no fault. These 
scrubs were in very bad condition when 
the contest started. They all had colds 
and most of them had been starved and 
jammed about in the live poultry market. 
Their egg record really starts from about 
March 1. They lost about 100 days at 
the start. I figured that the best they 
could do by July 1 would be 800 eggs. 
They actually laid 815. My figures are 
950 by August 1. They have done far 
better than I ever expected, and the les¬ 
son I hope they will teach has hardly 
been started. 
A Combination Crop. —The little pic¬ 
ture at Fig. 399 shows a couple of Hope 
Farm crops—a Redhead and a box of 
Marshall strawberries. Both are high in 
color, with good foliage and healthy fruit. 
One helps grow the other. I think every 
farm should adapt itself to the best crop 
combination—suited to the soil and the 
temper of the farmer. Some soils are 
w r ell adapted to fruit, but would fail with 
grain or potatoes, while others are not at 
all adapted to fruit or truck. Some farm¬ 
ers ought to be surrounded with children 
while in other cases it would be a mis¬ 
take to let a child come on the farm! 
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BOOKS WORTH READING 
The best sort of farming is done when 
the crop combination is right. Redheads 
and Marshall berries suit us well. 
II. w. c. 
fl How Crops Grow, Johnson. 1.50 
II Celery Culture, Beattie.50 
ij Greenhouse Construction, Taft.... 1.50 
The Rural New-Yorker, 333 W. 30th St., N. 
Y. 
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