Always Feed Your Cows

 

They say Farmer Johnson was poor as a kid. That’s why he’s so mean. Rumors are that if someone’s walkin’ home from school and takin’ a shortcut through his farm, he shoots ‘em. Then he takes the body and gives it to the dogs.

          Farmer Johnson hardly ever feeds his cows, though. He spends all his time watchin’ football games on TV. So when the Packers and Raiders came to town this year, he was real happy.

          Well, maybe you should know a little about me. My name’s Fabulous Fred. I’m a ‘Lego Guy’, as my friends call me. Not even an inch tall. I’ve got brown, messy hair that I can never comb since combs don’t come in my size. My skin is pale; light yellow instead of dark, like normal Legos.

          I’m 13 years old and I live in the big city of New York. I often hang out at the football field since I’ve got nowhere else to go.

          The only problem with livin’ at the field is Vladimir. He’s Farmer Johnson’s son. He’s always skateboardin’ on the field, even durin’ games. Whenever he sees me, he tries to run me over. He hasn’t gotten me…yet.

          So, anyway, a few weeks ago while I was layin’ in my bed in the bleachers, I heard voices. The voice I recognized as the coach’s was sayin’ that the next night the Packers and Raiders were playin’.

          I knew I better move all my stuff, so, after hours of hauling (with a little person like me, it’s hard to move all my stuff ten feet!), I was situated under the bench on the field. I figured nobody would see me there. Apparently, I was wrong.

          The first person to show up the next night was Vladimir. He immediately spotted me, and since there was no one there he threw his skateboard under the bench. It barely missed me. He couldn’t do it again, though, ‘cuz now people were showin’ up.

          Then the game began.

          The teams started playing. Usually, I hate football, but I had this strange feeling that night that I should watch. I’m glad I did.

          Not five minutes into the game, a stampede of cows came runnin’ onto the field. Everyone was screamin’ and yellin’ and scramblin’ forward with cameras to get some shots of the cows. I think everyone recognized them as Farmer Johnson’s.

          They were runnin’ all over the football players. Most were either hurt real bad or nearly dead. The few survivors were running from the field. Vladimir kept skatin’ but then a cow started chasin’ him. He went faster; the cow went faster. You could see the look of terror on his face.

          Then the soldiers came. Don’t ask me where they came from, but suddenly a whole army just stepped right out from under the bleachers. I’m not sure if they were aimin’ at the cows or at the players. They sure had bad aim. They didn’t hit anything or anybody.

          People kept takin’ pictures. There was a continuous click, click, click along with the screamin’ of the football players and the sound of cow hooves poundin’ on the ground. Lots of the people who were watchin’ the game were runnin’ off; not everyone was takin’ pictures. Some of the more stingy people were demandin’ their money back from the ticket-sellers.

          I was havin’ a great time watchin’ Vladimir get chased around the field. He had finally abandoned his precious skateboard and was running now. He was too stupid to actually run out of the field, rather than just stay in it and run in circles from the cow. Luckily for him, the cow was stupid too.

          Finally the cows had either killed or hurt all the football players and they were all runnin’ after Vladimir. They cornered him, and Vladimir, once again, was real stupid, and didn’t run up the hill behind him. He let the cows run him over. He wasn’t dead, just hurt real bad. He’s in the hospital now, with both legs, one arm, and one rib broken. Lots of other football players are, too.

          Farmer Johnson started screamin’ for anyone around him with a cell phone to call 911; BECAUSE HIS SON WAS HURT! (He didn’t mention that the reason his son was hurt was because he hadn’t fed his cows, causin’ them to stampede. This we learned later.)

          No one called. Everyone else was layin’ on the field, why save just one person? Turns out the people controllin’ the game had already called. Ambulances were on the way.

          When all the bodies had been taken away, Farmer Johnson went home and quickly came back with some lead ropes. He told everyone they’d better help him get his dumb cows back home. He looked like if they didn’t obey he’d just start choppin’ their heads off right there, so everyone helped. There weren’t enough people to get all the cows, though, so they had to make a few trips.

          It was almost midnight when everyone was gone and I could sleep. I was real tired from all the excitement and I was sleepin’ in no time. The next mornin’ when I woke up, Farmer Johnson and some reporters were out in the field talkin’. Farmer Johnson was tellin’ them all about the night before and the reporters were writin’ it down in these little notebook things. Then they had photographers come take pictures of the farmer with one of his cows, and lots of the people who had taken pictures the night of the game were submittin’ their best ones.

          I kept listenin’ to the interview and then I got bored and dozed off again. I had this real weird dream that Vladimir was ridin’ on a new skateboard and it looked like a cow. He rolled it under the bench and I heard my small body crunch under it. I felt like I was fallin’ down. I wasn’t goin’ anywhere in particular, just fallin’. I kept going down, and down, and down. Everything was black.

          I woke up, drenched in sweat. Wow. That was probably the scariest dream I’ve ever had in my whole life. The interview was still goin’ on. They had brought Vladimir out on a stretcher. He was starin’ at me. He attempted to shake a fist at me, but couldn’t move. He gave me the evil eye instead. I glared back.

          Now the reporters were questionin’ him. Askin’ simple questions like, “How many cows were there?” And, “Did you feel scared?” “Why didn’t you just run off the field?” Vladimir was mostly answerin’ with ‘Um.’ I thought that was pretty pitiful. Actually, I still do think it was pitiful.

          The reporters still didn’t have enough. More pictures of Farmer Johnson. Pictures of the bleachers, the football field, anything that was there at the game the night before.

          They continued askin’ questions. “Did you know they were your cows?” “Why didn’t you do something when you first realized they were yours?” “Were you scared?” “What about when your son got hurt? What did you do then?”

          Then they asked one final question.

          “Has this stampede taught you anything, Mr. Johnson?”

          “It sure has,” he answered. “Always feed your cows.”