Until The Cows Come Home

More Lattice of Coincidence stuff. For a few days, God knows why, I've been puttering around with the idea of doing something writerly with the phrase "until the cows come home." Then, plate of shrimp-like, as I was getting my daily fill of the only news that matters here, I stumbled upon this story/picture, of a cow seemingly being abducted by a UFO in Argentina. Voila, prosaic license activated, validated, and eventually mutilated by the following (disclaimer: several regional dilaects were undoubtedly harmed in the process of the writing of this nonsense; snickers and grins come with a price, gang).


`Til The Cow Come Home


Rayleen shouted, “Boy, get them cows out afore I whup ya's to June.”

This being only October, I put down my whittler and hooked up my britches and awoke Curdle and Fine Tune. They ain't really my cousins `cept they act like it. Curdle ain't his given name, that's Plymouth, but everybuddy call him Curdle on account of he likes his milk old and warm. Fine Tune is Fine Tune.

“Boy yor sister sure can screech,” Fine Tune said as we ambled to the barn.

“She ain't my sister either.”

“Then what is she?”

“She Rayleen is all.”

We got four cows left. Jesse G., Dander, DeLorean and Jack. That one's mine, Jack. County Fair in `12 better watch on out for us two.

They was all kind of slow to muster like Aunt Conestoga is after supper but my whistlin' won out and soon we was gettin' them up the hill into the sun.

“Why can't we never run `em up there? Have some fun?” Just `cause Curdle's awake, don't mean he's alert. That boy sure ain't well-lit, Rayleen like to say.

“`Cause we got to amble `em. Good for the blood, theirs'n ours. That's what Uncle Evelyn say.”

“How come you call yor daddy Uncle not daddy?” See, I told you about Curdle. He flickers, at best. But at least he's tolerable. Fine Tune can get you hiding in the outhouse all afternoon a sunny day. What with his extrateez. Think he know everything, Grandpa Lick'd say, and you know right then he'd spit. Splotchit! Don't know his Brussel sprouts from his carrot. I can't tell Lima beans from Garbanzo beans, but Grandpa Lick don't know that.

“Ell I be `stilled. Lookit `at” Fine Tune was already atop the hill on account he thinks he knows how to amble quick, of which there ain't no thing. Curdle ran up but I'm a thisaplanned ambler. Besides, `cept for DeLorean, who namewise naturally was speedy and had crested even afore Fine Tune, the other cows were doing more munching and musing than ambling and were still scattered about the upside of the hill.

“Gawl.” Curdle kind of froze near to the top.

“It's a genuine youfoe!” Uh oh. He know all about `em, surely he do. Fine Tune was dancing like the caller suddenly sped up the record. “I know all about `em, surely I do. It look just like Cal Daddy say it do.”

I confess I quit amblin' then; Cal Daddy is a real thing extrateezer on such like is-so stuff so I hoofed up top.

Lo and behold there it was, hoovering over the flat beyond the back slope higher'n even Uncle Evelyn could throw a stick at but not much higher, a round thing about the color a Granny Lick's hair, and just as silent too. It was right above DeLorean, who was looking up at it and trying to get her front hooves to swat at it like kitty Shizzle do to Rayleen's yarn balls.

“That's a youfoe or I ain't Fine Tune,” Fine Tune said and started to amble proper for once down toward it and DeLorean.

“Fine Tune, don't!” Curdle whined like when you flick his ears, and sure enough, I smelled it first and didn't actually see the spot until after everything, damped his britches.

Fine Tune hadn't taken more'n six amble steps when all sudden that thing shot straight up another stick throw or two and made one quick sound sorta like a Rayleen windbreaker that she swear warn't her and then, may I drown in the outhouse if I fib it, DeLorean started flying straight up to it. Good thing we ain't had no breakfast `cause Curdle woulda stained the other side a his britches. He just kinda made a soft sound like Granny Lick does when Granpa Lick takes his fake teeth out at the supper table when Rayleen brings out her homemade cream.

If there's such a thing as a flying amble, that's what DeLorean was doing on his way up to the youfoe. `Bout halfway up he let out a noise that warn't scared like the ones Curdle kept making but almost innerested noises like what Rayleen makes when Cal Daddy lathers up his face on a Sunday for his twice a month shave. Kinda like this: “Hhhhhhmmmmmmooooooooowwww!” Which must be some kind of secret cow talk `cause without hearing `em all sudden Jesse G., Dander, and Jack were standing next to me craning their necks just like me watching DeLorean get sucked all the way into that youfoe which opened up a door or at least some kinda window just as DeLorean got to it and then she disappeared in it.

“Holy cow!” Fine Tune yelped and was running down the backslope waving at the youfoe which now was kinda bumping in place in the air sorta like it was chewin' or something. Curdle was all fours trying to stick his head in the hill by then.

“Take me too, take me too!” Fine Tune was yelling up at the thing and jumping like he was trying to get to it. Well, and I ain't never drunk from Grandpa Lick's demijohn `cept for that one time of which on cold nights I still can't sit right, them youfoers must be pretty good at talking English `cause right then, much faster'n DeLorean ambledflew, Fine Tune shot right up to the thing, that window opened and shut real quick, I never saw no chewin' bounce and with a quick little almost goodbye wave that youfoe started toward Boone then swerved the other way toward Strother and was gone.

That was hours ago. Curdle's all dry now but still all fours and whimpering. Jesse G., Dander, and Jack are all sitting down but their tails are acting all funny. I'm hungrier than Uncle Evelyn's caged muskrat but I'm just not thinking about it, just whittlin' my time away, knowin' I better not go home with one cow less'n I left it with. It's kind of peaceful without Fine Tune extrateezin' in my ear. I reckon everybuddy else will feel the same and besides even if he do come back maybe he'll be all dollso like they say Aunt Conestoga's been ever since she got back from having her bottommee lowered , but I gotta wait `til that cow come home or I'm gonna get hellfire on my backside less the britches.

By the way, my name ain't Boy, it Roswell, but when I get to the County Fair in `12 I'm gonna change it to Hercules.

Daniel Johnston-Walking the Cow