Submitted by Ann Horstmann
My father-in-law, Leon Horstmann, bought the mailman's old horse when the horse could no longer do the job.
But every time he hooked the horse up to the wagon to go to town or take the kids to school, the horse would stop at every mailbox. So it took quite awhile to get to town.
Author unknown, previously submitted
I remember the first time I tried it. I was only a kid of 15.
And even though she was much younger than I, she was far more composed and serene.
I was eager yet awkward and backward, uncertain of how to proceed. But she seemed not to notice the hesitancy with which I prepared for the deed. I remember I spoke to her softly and the touch of her body was warm.
And my fingers moved awkwardly over her throat while she nestled her head on my arm. Looking back on it now, I remember how I stood, while my head seemed to spin with the thought of the thing I was going to do . . . yet reluctant to begin.
Much later, I stood up, uncertain to stay or run. A tingle with pride, yet shaken and awed. As I knew at last it was done.
I remember, it seemed some hours later. How my heart hammered through my shirt with the joy of a boy who became a man as I made my way to the house.
Twenty years have gone by since that evening, but I've never forgotten the thrill and joy I felt as a boy. That day when I first milked a cow.
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