"Yeah, I felt chilly for a minute there, that's all," I answered as I started briskly drying off.

"Maybe we shouldn't have gone swimming?"   He asked, a note of worry in his voice.

"Nah...," I'm okay," I answered, trying to lessen his concern, but feeling good that he was worried about me.  "We had better hurry," I said  "or we both are gonna catch it."

§

 When we reached the house my cock was still half hard, but I couldn't see whether Cam's was the same way because of the way he was hiding his crotch with the towel filled with the tomatoes which we had picked.   When we entered the kitchen, his mother looked at us quizzically and said, " The garden patch ain't far; what'd you do, pick'em or grow'em?"

"No, Ma'am.  You told us not to pick soft ones, so we didn't.  It took us a little longer to get the kind you wanted," he said to her, just a little sassier than I thought he should have since I wasn't exactly sure how to take his mother.  For a moment, I thought he was in trouble until his father spoke up from where he and Gramps were sitting at the table.

"Elizabeth, don't be picking on the boys.  It looks like they were doing what you told them," he said softly, nodding at the tomatoes she had laid out on the sink drain board.

Leaning against the sink, she inhaled deeply; and, looking sideways at both of us standing a few feet away, she said wearily as she wiped her brow with her forearm, "I'm sorry, Boys, I didn't mean to be doing no harm.  It's been a long day; and, what with cleaning the house all morning and then fixin supper, I'm a little out of sorts. Forgive me if it seems like I am picking on you."

Cam went to his mother; and, putting his arms around her, he gave her a hug and kissed her cheek, saying softly, " That's okay, Mom."

His mother looked into his eyes for a moment; and, running her fingers through his hair, she stroked his cheek gently.  From the way she looked at Cam, I understood what he meant when he had said she wasn't always angry even though she acted like she was.  I could see that he knew how to make her feel better. 

A twinge of regret went through me that I hadn't known the feelings that Cam's mother had for him, and I moved to join them asking, "Can I give you a hug, Aunt Elizabeth?"

"Of course you can, Honey, you're my boy now," she said softly, gathering us both to her, a motherly tone in her voice that I had only heard from my grandmother.

We stood holding each other for a few moments when we heard a loud, "Hrumph," followed by, "We are going to eat before the cows need milking, ain't we?

I could tell from the way that Gramps was laughing, and the way his eyes were glistening that there were tears in his eyes that he was happy.   That made me feel good since he hadn't been very happy after Grandma had died.

Gramps and Lucas came into the barn just as we were finishing forking hay into the troughs.   Gramps checked on what we had done; and, nodding his approval, said, "Open the doors and let'em in.  Watch out for that new guernsey, Brad, she's still a little skittish." 

"Okay, Gramps," I hollered as I followed Cam between the yokes to the doors.

When we reached the doors, we could hear the clanging of Marcey's bell mixed with the impatient lowing of the other cows  and the bawling of hungry calves in the holding pens.   When we started to lift the bars that locked the doors, I looked at Cam, saying, "You know what a guernsey looks like, don't you, Cam?"

"Sure do, why?"

"She might knock you on your butt, that's why. You're on the right side, and that's the side she'll be on when the doors open.   She knows her calf is over on that side in the holding pens, and that's where she'll head."

"I can handle her," he called back cockily as the doors swung open from the force of the cows pushing against them.  The  cows streamed through the doors lowing and pushing against each other trying to reach their milking stalls and the fresh hay.

I jumped back keeping the door between me and them, and I lost sight of Cam.  When I looked to see how he was doing, I couldn't see him; but I could see the guernsey shoving her head through the yoke in the end stall, bawling for her calf.   I panicked, hollering, "Cam, Cam!  Where are you; you okay?"

When he didn't answer, I spun around looking for Gramps or Lucas.  I saw them still in the milk room getting the pails and wash buckets.   For a second, I didn't know what to do; and then a picture of him on the ground behind the door flashed in my head.  Panicky, I started pushing and slapping at the cows, trying to get to the other side. 

Fear bubbled up in my throat, and I was hollering for him when I finally reached the the door.  Fearing the worst, I swung the door back and saw him sitting in the mud, laughing his head off.   When he looked up at me and saw me standing wide-eyed over him, he laughed harder.  For a second I felt anger because I had been so scared and he was just sitting in the mud and laughing as if nothing had happened.  I started to curse at him; but, when I saw he was all muddy but okay, a feeling of relief swept over me; and I dropped down on my knees, laughing with him. 

"I..., I, told you to be careful,"  I stammered, trying to breathe and laugh at the same time.    

"Yeah, you did.  That's the first time a cow has knocked me on my ass.  Damn, Brad, she really came through the door,"  he replied, breathing hard and chuckling as he wiped his muddy hands on his overalls.

We didn't hear Gramps and Lucas come up behind us until Gramps spoke, "You're lucky that guernsey didn't stomp you, Son.  It don't pay to get lazy around cows that want milking, especially those with calves bawling to be fed."

"He knows better, Walter," Lucas said with an irritated tone in his voice.

"I reckon he's learned some about Guernseys, Lucas," Gramps said, looking at Cam's Dad with a twinkle in his eyes and chuckling under his breath. 

"I reckon maybe he has.  But now he better wash that mud off'n his hands and start washing udders, so we can get to milking, or he might learn something else."

"You too, Brad, gotta work off that apple pie," Gramps said, glancing at Lucas and chuckling.

"Yes, Sir," I replied; jumping up and helping Cam up.

While we were washing our hands in the milk room, Gramps and Lucas locked the yokes in place around each cow's neck.   I showed Cam where the antiseptic was stored, and he watched while I mixed the solution that we used for cleaning the cows's udders.   When we had two pails mixed, he asked, "Why do you use that stuff, it smells worsen cow shit?  Me and Dad always used plain water."

"Cause, dummy, that's what the dairy tells us we have to do.   We sell the milk to the dairy that does the pasteurizing and processing before they bottle it for delivery and sale in stores," I replied.  "They have big trucks that come around the first of the week and pick up the milk."

"How do they get it in the truck?" He asked as we went back into the barn.

"The driver has a pump, but I don't have to tell you; you'll see how it's done when the truck comes on Monday.  Come on, we better start washing; or we're going to get in more trouble."

"Oh...oh, yeah," he replied anxiously; picking up a pail and following me.

Gramps had eleven cows for milking, ten Holsteins and one Guernsey.  Having Cam helping me with washing their udders and Lucas helping Gramps reduced milking time from over an hour or so to a lot less.  They both talked to the cows as they were milking, and I could hear Gramps calling them by name, smacking one or two on the haunches so they would move and give him room to get between them.  We could hear Cam's Dad talking low much like Gramps did, and every now and then he would call one, "Bossy" or "Old Girl", slapping her gently.

When we had finished our part, we stood aside watching; and, when they filled a pail, we would take it into the milk room and pour it into the large dairy milk cans.  While we were waiting, I could see that Lucas was almost as good a milker as Gramps; and I looked at Cam, who was standing next to me with his hands tucked under the bib of his overalls.  "Your Dad is almost as good as Gramps at milking," I said, a little boastfully.

Lowering his head a little closer to mine, he said, "he could do better; but he's told me that when you're working for someone, never outshine him."

"How come?  Wouldn't you want to show how good you are so they'd want to keep you on?"  I asked, a little puzzled.

"Some folks don't like being bettered, Brad,  especially if they get to thinking you might be trying to show them up," he said as he looked to where his Dad and Gramps were milking with their heads pushing against the cows's flanks.  "Grownups are funny about those things, Brad, and Dad ain't gonna try and show he's a better milker,  at least not until Uncle Walter and him know each other better."

"But your Dad is younger than Gramps, and I reckon he knows your Dad should be faster," I said.

"Yeah, I reckon so; but most grown men take pride in what they do.  It don't make no difference how old they are; they don't like being beat.  Ain't you ever been to a county fair and watched the milking contests?"

"We haven't been to one since Grandma died," I said.  "She used to enter some of her canned pickle relish and sauerkraut in a contest, but Gramps never did anything like that.  He liked to walk around, meet his friends and talk about how the crops were doing, stuff like that."

"That's what most of them do at the fairs, Brad; but, sauerkraut, yuk, how can you eat that stuff?  I don't like it," he said grimacing.

"Grandma used to fix it with sausage that she had made or with pork.  I bet you would have liked it the way she fixed it with sugar to take the sour taste off of it."  I said, punching him playfully in his ribs.

"Not likely," he answered, smiling and grappling with me until we heard Gramps's gruff, "You boys helping with the milking, or would you rather go on to the house and help with the dishes and cleaning the kitchen?"

"Yes, Sir, no Sir," we both answered, spinning around and seeing them watching us.

"Then you better empty these two pails and bring us two more so we can finish," Cam's Dad said seriously.

Scurrying off, we did as we were told and concentrated more on getting the milking done than on who would or would not be the better at milking.   There were several cats milling around underfoot and making a racket with their incessant mewing waiting for what Gramps called their pay.  We never fed them real cat food since it was more or less their job to keep the mice under control.  He believed that, if you fed them, they would lose their hunting instincts but cats being cats would always want milk; and he would fill a large pan for them when we were done.

After the cows were milked, Gramps and Lucas brought the nursing calves from their pen.  I had always thought that the way they would push their muzzles into their mothers' udders would hurt the mothers; but, from what Gramps explained to me, it was their way of getting the remnants of milk that hadn't been stripped down.

Cam and I released the other cows from their yokes, and they slowly ambled outside not paying any attention to the calves.  Every now and then, one of them would swing her huge head sideways for a look or a sniff; but a sharp slap would send them on.   Gramps had always told me to never stand behind one when I did slap, or I might get a swift kick where I didn't want it.  I knew he meant my balls, so I was always careful to stand off to the side.  When the calves finished nursing, they were put, bawling, back in the holding pen; and we released their mothers.

"You boys clean the runway while Lucas and I finish storing the milk and doing the recording," Gramps said.  Just as they started to enter the milk room, he turned around saying, "and don't be playing with the water hose, Bradford."

"Yes, Sir," I answered, knowing that, when he used Bradford rather than Brad, he was serious.

Cleaning the runway was the nasty job of making sure that all of the cow dung was scooped into wheelbarrows and carried to a  large pile outside of the barn for disposal.   After that was done, we hosed the runway clean before spreading lime.   When we finished, I could feel the sweat running down my ribs and in the crack of my ass.  I could tell that Cam was feeling the same way I was, and he gave me a distasteful look.

"Damn, Brad, that's a hell of a lot of work just to milk cows," he said, putting his hand on the small of his back and arching backwards.  "We never did anything like that."

Mimicking him, I stretched my aching muscles, grinning at him.  "If you had wanted to sell the milk, you would have had to do it.  When the milk is picked up, one of the men will check the barn to be sure it's being kept clean," I said, taking my kerchief out of my pocket to wipe the sweat from my forehead and neck.  "I thought it was too much work also at first, and I used to complain until Gramps explained to me how many families drink the milk from our farm and lots of other farms like ours.  The men on the truck check, but the County Health Department inspectors really do an inspection," I said, emphasizing their thoroughness.

He puzzled for a minute before answering, still a little skeptical, "I reckon; you might be right, but the way we cleaned up it seems like an awful lot of extra work just to milk a few cows."

"Brad's right, Son," Cam's father said from behind us.  "If the barn and the animals ain't kept clean, Mr. Brockman could lose his permit to sell his milk; and, times being what they are, a body can't afford to lose his health permits.

"Besides that, Cam," Gramps said stepping alongside Lucas, "those few cows produce a lot of milk.  If it's not sold, what would we do with it, pour it out?"

"I don't reckon you could do that, Uncle Walter, I just ain't never thought about it like that," Cam answered sheepishly.

"Time was, Cam, I didn't have so many milk cows," Gramps said, ruffling Cams hair and looking at Lucas with a smile.  "We only had Marcey.  She produced enough for drinking and for Brad's grandmother to make butter.  But when the depression set in and the crops weren't selling, I added a few more.  We've always been able to eat; but sometimes we need cash for store bought things such as salt, sugar, matches, things we can't grow.  I don't want you thinking you're being bawled out, but I reckon you understand that don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I reckon he does, Walter,"  Lucas said, with an amused look on his face.  "We're about finished here, Walter, so why don't we let'em run on up to the house and clean up while we close the barn.

"I want to check the guernsey's record before we leave, but I don't see why not,"  he replied to Lucas and then said, "Do you think, Elizabeth might have one of her pies hidden away for later?  My missus most always baked at least two, and another slice along with a cup of coffee on the front porch would surely go down nicely."

"She just might, Walter, she just might,"  he answered grinning and looking at us inquisitively.

We took the hint and scampered from the barn with Cam a couple of steps ahead of me, headed in the direction of the outhouse.

§

TBC