Talking about the feed sack dresses reminded me of our cow who got her tail cut off.
As I was milking the cow for Dad on a hot summer evening, the old cow kept switching her bushy tail to fight off the flies when I said to her—the cow that is—“I wish your tail was cut off.”
Well, unknown to me, my mischievous brother, Willard, overheard me. Well lo and behold; when Dad went to the barn to lock up for the night, he came back to the house very upset. He told Mom that somebody had ruined his cow, that her once bushy tail was only a knob.
Well, I confessed that I knew who had done this terrible thing and it was all my fault. My punishment was having to milk the cow until Dad could sell her.
I can tell you that getting switched with her bushy tail was much better than getting hit with the hard knob she had left. So—that’s my tale about the missing tail.