Reflections on the Seventh Week of Summer – Droppings

    Wednesday, Spence and I walked down the lane to the horse arena at the Cochranton Community Fair. Bustling teens carried bundles of clothes into the portable restrooms in front of the cow barn and slammed the doors. Minutes later, exiting in white shirts and slacks, the teens slammed the doors again.

    One by one, seven girls and one boy led black and white Holsteins, red and white Holsteins, and a Brown Swiss out of the barn and along the lane to the arena.

    Most of the spectators climbed into the stands by the cow barn. Spence and I sat in bleachers on the far side to put the sun behind us so I could take photos. I readied my camera and wondered what Junior Fitting and Showmanship entailed.

    Guiding cows, teens inched backwards and held their stern faces close to cows' heads. Right hands gripped halters. Left hands held flabby skin under the cows' throats but briefly darted to pinch hairs on backs to make the animals stand straight. Arm muscles flexed, teens yanked halters, and cows formed a line that grudgingly moved around the hot, sunny arena.

    When the judge told the handlers to halt, two girls stepped on their cows' front hooves to make sure they didn't move. The judge commanded the parade to resume. He approached each exhibitor in turn and asked, “What can you tell me about your cow? What are your plans for the cow?”

    The creeping pace didn't suit all the cows. The Brown Swiss stopped, a black and white Holstein turned in the opposite direction, and a red and white Holstein jerked her handler out of line. The lead cow spit foamy saliva.

    I leaned towards Spence and whispered, “This isn't the same as watching ice melt, but there are similarities.”

   After the second time around the area, the judge took hold of the first cow's halter and instructed the teen to take the next cow in line. She circled the second cow clockwise before taking the halter and releasing the owner to move down the line. Transition finished, line inched forward.

    I admired the teens' deft footwork avoiding fresh droppings. And the cow chips reminded me of an incident that happened two years earlier at the rabbit exhibit.

    I had oohed and aahed at hot bunnies snoozing beside piles of poop.

    The teen on duty waved his hands and chuckled with a friend about buying tickets for Cow Chip Bingo.

    I enjoyed games but wasn't sure I'd want to play that one. I asked, “Do you put dry pieces of manure on bingo cards?”

    The teen, not wearing white but with the same stern expression as the cow exhibitors had worn, said, “They mark off squares in the horse arena and let a cow loose. Whoever has the ticket for the square where the cow poops first wins.”

    Grateful he didn't laugh at my citified interpretation, I said, “That could take awhile.”

    “When it takes too long, they put in a second cow.”

    This year, if they use the black and white Holstein that turned backwards in the Junior Cattle Show, they won't need a second cow. On the Holstein's first circle, she arched her tail and let loose a plop, plop, plop.

   Right in front of our bleacher seats.

   She's a blue ribbon dung dropper.