Our neighbor, Cliff Graves, was a dairy farmer. His pastures rolled out behind our property and across the road behind Lee's, my best buddy's, house. The fields on both sides stretched out to the rivers, my younger brothers, Doug and John, and I played all day in those fields. We caught garter snakes, grass snakes, and tadpoles in all stages of development. And off course we climbed trees. Once I climbed a tree in the pasture and stepped on a branch that had weaken from night rain. Before I knew it I learned the lesson of gravity. Flat on my back grasping for air and calling for every child's savior, Mom. Doug and Lee, both laughing, helped me up. My head just missed a large stone covered in mushy cow plop.

Skippy, Lee's little Jack Russel mixed, always tagged along. He lifted his leg on every clump of tall grass, cut grass. We called it cut grass because it was stiff and sharp. It made great reed instruments by placing a blade firmly between our thumbs and blowing. Mostly one note toots came out.

Skippy never learned his lesson to leave our calico cat, Gladys, alone. Gladys was near his size. Skippy come yapping up to Gladys every day. She just sat on her haunches not batting an eye, then swoop out with her claws and strike Skippy on the nose. Poor Skippy ran off crying only to repeat it the next day.