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        flies
    Scoop and shovel and
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  P L O P
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  into the wheelbarrow
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  piles and piles and piles
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  i
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  l
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  e
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  s
    While my parents and Mrs. Falala
    returned to the kitchen
    to drink lemonade
    in the cool, dry
    non-stinky
    non-smelly
    non-fly-filled
    kitchen
    and
    when Luke and I were finished
    we had to wait for Mom and Dad
    outside the house
    because we were too smelly.
    Did Mrs. Falala thank me and Luke
    for the scooping and shoveling
    of the smelly dung?
    Did she?
    Noop.
    What she said as we were leaving was, Tomorrow!
    Mom and Dad looked up at the sky, taking a sudden interest in the clouds above. Luke grabbed ahold of my shirt, tugging at the hem.
    â€˜Tomorrow’? I said.
    Mrs. Falala’s bony fingers danced in the air. She tossed her ropy braid from one side to the other. Tomorrow: cow! And with that, she backed into her house and closed the door while up on the porch rail the parrot eyed us.
    Apparently Luke and I had been volunteered by our parents to “help for a while.”
    What does that mean, ‘a while’? I asked. A couple days? A week? Two weeks? A month?
    Hmm , Dad said.
    Hmm , Mom said.
    And what does Mrs. Falala mean about ‘cow!’? What do we know about cows?
    Luke, who had not spoken since we began scooping the cow dung, now said, We know ZERO about cows.
    ZERO , I agreed.
    Perfect opportunity to learn then! Dad said, with a strained attempt at upbeat optimism. Right? It sounds like a great Maine-y thing to do. Right, Reena? Right, Lukey?

COW!
    The next day, we were back at Mrs. Falala’s, just me and Luke.
    Surely you don’t need us along, right? Dad had said. Surely you and Lukey can handle this on your own, right? And remember, be respectful. Right?
    Right, right, right.
    All the way over, Luke said, Don’t let her poke me, Reena. Don’t let her scold me. Don’t let her be mean to me.
    I will try my best , I said, but I was wishing that my parents were along so I could say, Don’t let her poke me ; don’t let her scold me ; don’t let her be mean to me. And then I thought, Come on, Reena, you are old enough to handle one little old lady.
    Mrs. Falala was waiting for us by the barn, sitting on a hay bale. First: water!
    So much for pleasantries.
    From her hay bale throne, Mrs. Falala barked orders: Empty bucket! Over there! Fill with water! See hose? Not too much. Not too little. Put it over there. There! Get feed bucket. Not that one! The other one! Take to feed bin. Over there! Fill it up! No, not full-full! Half-full! Put it over there. There! See? There!
    Luke was moving carefully, almost in slow motion, and after we’d filled up the water and feed buckets, he stopped and stood still, his arms straight at his sides. He turned toward Mrs. Falala and said, Where is the cow?
    Cow? she said. You think there eez a cow?
    Yes , Luke said. Yesterday you said, ‘Tomorrow! Cow!’ and today is tomorrow and where is the cow?
    You are wanting to see cow?
    He’s not being disrespectful, Mrs. Falala , I said. He’s just asking—
    â€”About cow.
    Yes.
    You are wanting to see cow?
    Yes.
    Why didn’t you say so? Cow over there—see? Mrs. Falala snaked her arm toward the pasture beyond.
    We saw only grass and weeds and fence.
    There—you are not seeing? By bushes.
    In one corner lying beside sprawling bushes