“First of all,” said Aunt Sally, “nobody takes a punishment of mine sitting down. Stand up.”
Tooter stood up.
“Okay, now. This—” Aunt Sally swept her arm about “—is the honey house.”
“I don’t see any honey,” said Tooter.
“That’s because it ain’t here,” said Aunt Sally. “It’s out yonder in the hives. The bees are making it. I’ll be collecting it in here later this summer.” She nodded to the doorway. “Let’s go see the great outdoors.”
Outside the honey house was a grassy hill. The near slope of the hill was fenced in. In the field a single animal grazed.
Aunt Sally pointed. “What is it?”
Tooter had seen this beast before. It was black and white and had four legs. There was a bag-like thing hanging beneath it. She was pretty sure the bag-like thing was an udder. The problem was, as far as she knew, only cows had udders.
This thing was not a cow. At least, she didn’t think so.
“It’s an animal,” Tooter stated firmly.
“You’re cookin’,” said Aunt Sally. “Tell me more.”
Tooter took a deep breath. “It’s not … a cow.”
Aunt Sally slapped her on the back. “Good girl! That there critter is not a cow and never was.”
“But that is an udder there, isn’t it?” said Tooter.
Aunt Sally nodded. “Bingo. That there is one fine upstanding all-American Grade-A udder. So tell me—” she leaned into Tooter’s face “—what’s that udder hanging onto?”
Tooter frowned. “This isn’t school. It’s summer vacation. I’m not supposed to have a test.”
Aunt Sally moved in. She pressed her fingertip on the end of Tooter’s nose. “This is not a test. This is punishment. And you’re stalling. Answer.”
Tooter squealed and stomped her foot and knew that she was out of time. She took a wild guess. “A moose?”
Aunt Sally seemed about to laugh. And then she was hugging Tooter tightly and stroking her hair. She was saying, as if to a baby or puppy, “You poor creature. Don’t even know the difference between a moose and a goat. What did that awful town place do to you?”
Tooter felt like she could take a nap right there snuggled up against her aunt. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she hated this place.
“It’s a goat?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. That there is one goat.”
“Goats have udders too?”
“Goats have udders too.”
“Do they make milk too?”
“Like the old saying goes,” said Aunt Sally. “Where there’s an udder, there’s milk.”
A terrible thought began to wriggle into Tooter’s brain. She backed away. She stared at her aunt.
“I drink milk every day.”
Aunt Sally nodded. “I believe you do.”
“And you’re telling me the milk I drink comes from—” she pointed at the goat “—that?”
Aunt Sally answered cheerily: “That’s why it’s called goat’s milk.”
Tooter’s tongue shot out as if trying to escape her mouth. She gagged. She stepped backward. She felt something mushy underfoot. She looked down at her sneaker. She looked up at Aunt Sally.
Aunt Sally nodded: “Goat poop.”
Tooter howled. She scrubbed her sneaker into the ground. She howled again and bolted for the house.