Brownie

I welcome all animal lovers!

Someone loves them more, someone less. Someone loves dogs, someone cats, and someone loves birds. I love them all! Now you'll laugh ... but with special trepidation and with that admiration referred to in the competition, I treat cattle!

I was born and grew up in the village, which means that many pets and their habits are familiar to me from childhood.

My parents are great workers, in the yard we had chickens, geese, sheep, piglets, my father even kept bees. But the dominant role among all the cattle was, of course, a cow.

The cow has always been the main breadwinner. (There are quite a few cases when during the years of the Great Patriotic War, thanks to one surviving cow, partisans in the woods escaped hunger.)
In addition to milk, sour cream and cottage cheese a cow is born annually.

If it was a hen, then most often it was sold as soon as she reached the age when she was ready for insemination and gestation of her first cub.

The cow is a clever pet, it remembers well its home and its owners.

I was then about 11-12 years old; I already helped my parents with the housework, including taking care of the chick, who was born in winter, and her name was Nochka.

For a whole summer I wore milk for her, diluted with water and animal feed, to the meadow where she was herded. She checked that she did not get tangled in the rope with which she was attached to the pole, and also scratched her neck and sides with a special brush. I became strongly attached to her ...

And suddenly some people arrived, gave some money to my parents, hooked my Nochka to the cart and drove to the next village. The night was sold ... The unfortunate animal moaned, rested, tried to escape ...

I cried for a long time, mum and dad persuaded me, I understood everything, but it was a pity Nochka.

Three days passed and I heard a familiar moo outside the window! I jumped out into the street, right at the porch stood my little night! Happiness was no end! I drove her into the yard, gave her a drink, scratched it with a brush, and left satisfied.

Towards evening, the same people who had taken Noch then drove up to the house on a horse and cart, it became clear that they would take her again. I ran out into the courtyard, drove Nochka through another gate right into the garden. Then in a kitchen garden and through the next street I drove it away to a corn field, where no one found us that evening. Stupid, how stupid I was.

When it got dark, Nochka and I returned. I was scolded badly, and woke up early in the morning and we took the fugitive to the next village to the new owners. I never saw her again. Now I remember and wonder how a young chick could find a way to her former home.

Many years have passed since then, we moved to the city a long time ago. Parents here bought a private house, and with them only Murka cat, Vaska the cat, were brought from all the big farm ...