Heidi

Kids have always been an important part of our lives. When our daughter was about 15, we started missing having little kids around.  If Heidi hadn't stopped by now and then, I suppose we would have had to rent a kid. (She was five years old and didn't drive "yet," she would have added.)

I realized that our daughter Deb had grown up when she refused to accompany us to "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," or to picnic at Micke Grove so we could see the new sea lion.

"Go without me," Deb said.  But it's not much fun without a believer.  And by the time we suggested "Snow White" to Heidi, she''d seen it -- twice.

Heidi had visited on a Saturday as we were moving rabbit cages from the barn.

"Where are the lambs?" Heidi asked.

"They've gone to the butcher's," I said.

"Why?""

"The butcher cuts the meat into lamb chops," I said.

"What meat?" she asked.

"The lamb meat."

"Oh," she said.  "I didn't know lamb chops came from lambs."

After a while she asked, "What's for dinner?"

"Roast beef," I said.  "Roast beef I bought at the grocery store."

That seemed all right.

"Are those Debbie's cows over there?" Heidi asked.

"No," I answered.  "They belong to the neighbors."  I pointed to their house.

"When do they milk their cows?" she asked.  I guess she hadn't looked closely at these "cows."

"These cows don't need milking," I said.

"My teacher says 'The farmer milks the cows.' When do the neighbors milk their cows?"

I remembered from Debbie's kindergarten days that a teacher's word is more valued than anything said by parents, department store Santas, or a friend cleaning a barn.

"Your teacher is right, but farmers milk girl cows.  These are boys," I said.

"I'll ask my teacher," she said.

"Good idea."

"What is the neighbor going to do with cows that don't have milk?" she asked.

"I don't know," I lied.