Farm Animals' Desertion: In Which Puss in Boots Learns That the Kota Is Full
by Magdalene Redekop
It’s a way of life that is vanishing, people say—in a mournful tone of voice that makes me want to kick something.
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Esther Elias
Growing up on a farm, and dealing with dirt, manure, toil, and inconvenience might make one immune to romantic feelings about the farm. I feel for my Aunt Maggie, (the daily ritual of donning the smelly barn clothes in the basement, and dealing with dirty, stubborn cows). She might want to kick me after she reads how I felt during my few summer weeks at Grandpa's farm. They were long, lazy, summer days spent cuddling the purring, incessantly meowing cats at milking time; making best friends with "Shep", the beloved dog, who followed me everywhere; listening enviously to the girlish chatter of my young aunties, and learning to ride a bike with no hands, (up and down that long driveway). Being treated to chocolate bars and a delicious banana split on a trip to Morden only added to my feeling of joy and wonder on the farm. The Hayloft provided the perfect launch site into grain piled up in the barn, and every animal provided endless entertainment, (eg. chickens, pigs, etc.). Dodging the free grazing cows and cow pies was a little less exhilarating, in fact, even terrifying. I know that Grandpa and Grandma toiled and struggled, along with their family on that farm, and I only experienced an outsider's glimpse into that life, but I am one who still mourns the vanishing of that way of life.