From the “It seemed like a good idea at the time” department ….
The way I remember it, Dad had always wanted to have a farm. That being the case, he didn’t waste any time snapping up the rental property he found in Fair Oaks. It included a two-story white house, several acres of fenced land and a barn, one side of which was divided into stalls.
The price of beef got where it was pretty good, so Dad decided to take a stab at cattle. I guess he thought he’d start small … literally; he decided to buy calves. (He might have reconsidered that particular choice, if he’d stopped to think it through. I mean, you can’t put cute, cuddly calves that need to be bottle fed together with two daughters genetically predisposed to getting attached to animals. It just isn’t done, at least, not if you’re planning to sell or butcher those cows. By the time he figured that out, it was too late, and we had some of the biggest pets in town.)
Anyway, he decided to buy some calves. So into the family station wagon he hopped and off to the dairy he drove.
As for Mom, I’m not sure she was as enthusiastic about cattle buying as Dad was, but true to form, she was supportive and willing to let Dad give it a try. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t expect him to come home with calves that day. I mean, he wouldn’t have taken the family station wagon, if he’d planned to buy calves that day, right? He’d get … well, a truck or something, right?
Ah, but life, as we all know, is full of surprises.
So was Dad.
Late that night, he came home with a station-wagonload of calves (I think there were four). Now, to be fair, he’d made sure the animals would travel safely. Down at the dairy, they’d obligingly slipped each calf’s body into a gunny sack, leaving only the bawling head sticking out. Male ingenuity is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Unfortunately, said ingenuity didn’t take into consideration–or didn’t bother its head about–what the other ends of the calves would be doing in, and through, the gunny sacks.
I didn’t hear what Mom said to Dad when she got her first whiff of the car. I’m sure it was brief and … dare I say, pungent? It’s not like she had time for a lot of chit-chat, because the next day was her day to drive the four or five ladies in her carpool. I do know she scrubbed that car all night long. Never was more elbow grease expended with greater gusto. There just wasn’t enough soap or Lysol in the world ….
So, the next morning, commuters between Fair Oaks and Sacramento were treated to the sight of a station wagon speeding down the highway, once immaculately coiffed heads sticking out every available window. Thankfully, none of the passing motorists could read Mom’s mind.
