Little Joe Read Online Free PDF Page B

Apple Wood.”
    Eli squinted and thought he could see how Little Joe might become just like Apple Wood. That Little Joe wouldn’t always reach up to Eli’s chest or follow him around the barn, his tiny hooves almost tickling whenever they stepped on Eli’s muck boots, feeling more like plastic shoes. But then he stopped squinting and saw howsquooshed Little Joe’s muzzle still was. Eli felt the bull calf’s hips and thought they were too bony to add volume to anything.
    “Now don’t look at his hips,” Grandpa said. “Sure they’re bony, but watch how wide he stands. He’ll grow into them real soon.”
    Eli rubbed Little Joe’s brisket while Grandpa put the
Angus Journal
back in his pocket.
    “That’s the sweet spot, Eli. Keep rubbin’ on that and he’ll forgive you for everything. Let you do most anything, too. Like getting him halter-broke.”
    Eli’s heart pumped through his chore coat. “You mean right now?”
    Grandpa nodded.
    “But it’s already getting dark.” Eli looked down at the pen floor. He noticed their shadows moving against the sawdust and straw, the shifting light in the barn. He was pretty sure it must be close to five.
    “Now’s the best time to start, Eli. When he’s kinda drowsy and full of milk and happy.” Grandpa came out of the tack room with a rope halter to fit over Little Joe’s muzzle, leaving enough length for Eli to use to lead.
    Curious, Little Joe lowered his head, then came closer.
    “Let ’im sniff it real good,” Grandpa said.
    Little Joe looked up at Eli and down to the halter.
    “You should know right off the bat he’s gonna fight it,”Grandpa admitted. “It’s just normal. Even though you’ve been befriending him. Now reach over and hand me that bucket of corn.”
    Eli wondered how he’d get the halter on Little Joe if there was a bucket of corn around.
    “Put the halter in the bucket and when he reaches in to munch, slip it over his head.” Grandpa’s voice had turned faint and raspy.
    Little Joe darted behind Fancy.
    “Go ahead. Take him a little treat,” Grandpa urged.
    “You mean trick him,” Eli said.
    “Not exactly. You been with him every day, see. He trusts you. His first smell was you. You’re the boss cow. Now go on. And don’t make like you’re doing something mean. He’ll keep eating for a second or two, then start fightin’ it. I’ll grab the bucket once you got the halter on him.”
    Eli and Grandpa stood next to Fancy. She glanced at Eli and took a few steps back, rustling the straw bed as Little Joe hid deeper in the corner.
    “Show him a handful of kernels,” Grandpa whispered.
    Slowly, Little Joe stepped out from the corner of the pen and over to Eli. He sniffed at the yellow niblets in Eli’s palm and lowered his head into the bucket.
    “That’s it. Keep feeding him, lowering your hand until his face is deep inside. Now halter him.”
    As soon as Eli got the halter past Little Joe’s eyes, the bull calf bucked back and thrashed his head from side to side. He swept the halter against his knees, trying to scrape it away, but Eli had already secured it.
    “It’s okay, boy,” Eli murmured, holding the end of the halter snug. “I promise it won’t hurt. Not if you don’t keep rubbing.”
    Grandpa took the corn bucket and placed it under Fancy to keep her occupied. “Go on, Eli,” Grandpa said. “Get up to him and scratch the back of his ears. Whatever you need to do to calm him.”
    Eli began to hum as he followed Little Joe around the pen. But Little Joe wouldn’t let himself be soothed in any way and kept stutter-stepping about Fancy.
    “Let him walk around with it for a little bit,” Grandpa said. “See that it don’t hurt.”
    Eli let go of the rope end and examined his palms. They’d gone all blotchy and swollen at the center, where the rope slivers had cut their way in.
    Realizing he no longer had to fight, Little Joe lay down by Fancy and started chewing on the rope end.
    “That halter’s not a