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digestive systems had become adjusted, our
dairy products were unbearable.
My father named our animals for friends and relatives. In the
early days we had a black cow, Celin and a red one, Sophy, hon-oring two
of my aunts with black and red hair respectively. When our cows became
dry they were sold to Mr. Dector of Saxonville, a short man with a long
beard, who was always smiling and rub-bing his hands during any business
transaction. (He had a strong odor about him which I suppose came from
constant association with cows.) For a while we had a bull, Theodore,
named for my brother Teddy. In spite of the heavy copper ring in his
nose he became unmanageable and had to be turned over to Mr. Dector
along with his dry lady friends.
Among our dogs were Clara, Sattie and Barga, honoring
Aunt Clara Frothingham, Aunt Sally Fairchild and Aunt Margaret Cochran.
Our two pigs were Helen and Carol named for the two oldest Paine girls
who happened to be at our house when the pigs
arrived. Helen and Carol lived in the manure pit. Once,
after a rainy spell, the water level in the pit rose and Carol was
drowned and my mother felt so badly about it that we stopped keeping
pigs.
Our poultry consisted mostly of Rhode Island Reds and
Barred Plymouth Rocks but we also had bantams and guinea
hens and, from time to time, various exotic brands, none of
which were too successful. Our hens, being very numerous, were seldom
honored with names.
The guinea hens were particularly obnoxious. They flew all
over the place, squawking at the top of their lungs. In the morn-
ing when they were first let out they went over to serenade the |
