The Children’s Train

In Coventry, Peter tried to balance on the three-legged milking stool. As he moved to pat the agitated white-faced cow, the unstable stool teetered.

Peter tried to right the off-balance stool, but his leg jerked out, and the milking can tipped over. All the creamy white milk that Peter had worked so hard to get spilled onto the straw-strewn floor of the old barn.

Peter buried his face in his hands for a second. Then he glared at the animal. “You are a cantankerous cow. I’m going to call you Olga, because you remind me of her. You’re mean and nasty, and you like to swish your tail.”

He laughed and righted the milking can. He patted the restless and snooty cow he’d nicknamed after Eva’s cruel friend. He didn’t want to milk the cows, but he didn’t have a choice. Emil expected him to do all the farm chores in exchange for his staying there. Peter thought Emil was getting the better deal, but he had no other options, so he milked the cows, even the ones with bad attitudes.

A lone butterfly, a schmetterling, circled over Olga’s head and fluttered down, hovering over the milk bucket. Peter thought of an old German tale that said butterflies were witches trying to steal the cream. It reminded him of how butterflies used to hover around Becca.

Olga’s tail swished across Peter’s face, and he laughed, “Stop it. Okay? Okay?”

The butterfly flitted away.

“How about I trade you a song for your milk?” he asked the haughty cow. Olga rolled her big cow eyes and mooed a reluctant acquiescence.

Peter sang “Schmetterling.” Olga stood still, listening, and Peter milked her until the bucket was full again. Peter had earned his meager keep for another day.