By the time I was born, my sister, Eleanor Mae, was thirteen years old, my oldest brother, Kurt Rudolph Jr., was eleven, and my second brother, George Stanford, was six. So, being the youngest by far, and there being no other children within a mile of us, my pre-school years were spent at home alone with Mother. She was involved in an auto accident, along with Eleanor when she was a baby, which frightened her to the point that she decided not to drive any more. So, we didn’t leave home to go anywhere. At the time, I didn’t know anything else and I couldn’t have cared less. I spent my days enjoying my toys, our animals, and the care-free life around the farm.

We had a Rat Terrior dog named Butch; white with scattered black spots and a black “saddle” in her mid-back, a cropped tail, very intelligent, and always playful. She would follow me everywhere that I went, always on guard, and a terror with snakes! Occasionally, during the warm months, she would have a swollen jaw or side of her muzzle from a snakebite. Aside from the usual Garter snake, which loved all the shrubs around our house, and various harmless snakes, we always had Copperheads, Ground Rattlers, and an occasional Coral snake to watch out for. Butch was fierce with all of them. She was not afraid of anything, including gun shots, except for lightning, and although she was strictly an outdoor dog, when we had severe thunderstorms we would let her inside the house, where she would cuddle at our legs and shake!

One of my favorite adventures was to go out to the barn at night with Kurt and George and, of course, Butch. We would quietly enter the big milking room, then one of them would turn on a spotlight and shine it at the ridge of the barn roof where rats would often be hanging out. The other would use our 22 rifle with rat-shot shells to shoot them down. As soon as the rat hit the ground Butch was on it, shaking it fiercely from side to side. It was so funny to watch her and hear her growling as she finished it off.

She would chase armadillos to their holes in the ground, and sometimes try to dig them out. It was comical to see her butt in the air with dirt flying between her hind legs! When Mother and I went berry picking Butch was constantly in and out of the briar patch, which helped us not have to worry so much about snakes.

As I recall, she was with us for close to twenty years. She developed heart worms and passed away on the night of March 5,1953, the same day as Joseph Stalin. Mother and Daddy were out somewhere that evening and when they returned home, George told them that two dogs had died that day, one very bad and one very good.

Of course, we had multiple cats, and I have always been an avid cat lover. I spent many hours watching and playing with them in boxes and buckets. My favorite times were when we had a litter of kittens. They were usually born under the house and would hang out in the shrubs along the sides of the house, and were, of course, wild at first. I would sit very still on the door step with my legs straight out on the walkway and wait for them to wander out of hiding. After a while they would start chasing each other around and over my legs. It was difficult for me to not break out in laughter and scare them away. Eventually they would get used to me and begin to become tame.

We had two riding horses named Buster and Snips. Snips was younger and a bit flighty and liked to run. Buster was an exceptionally well trained and gentle horse which would tolerate all ages. As soon as I was old enough to keep myself in the saddle I would ride him at a walk around and around our driveway. Mother would actually leave me alone with him as I rode.

There was a day when George and I were riding out in the field next to Papa and Mama’s place when George decided to let Snips run. He rode bareback while I had to have a saddle so that I could hold onto the pommel horn since my feet didn’t reach the stirrups. As soon as George galloped away Buster took off at a run following them and I was panicked! I screamed at George to stop, to no avail. I just couldn’t handle the jolting of Buster’s body at that speed and I would start to slide off one side of the saddle, pull myself back up, then slide to the opposite side, back and forth, until I finally slipped completely off and hit the ground. Buster was so well trained that as soon as my weight left his back he came to an immediate halt. His rear hoof hit me in the lip, but that was the extent of my injuries. I was so mad at George that I screamed my curses at him through my tears!

That was not my only mishap riding. When I was around six or seven, I was riding Buster around the driveway when we passed too close to my tricycle. The handlebar caught in a saddle stirrup which spooked him, causing him to jolt and run until the tricycle came loose and he came to that sudden stop. Unfortunately, I didn’t stop with him and went sailing to the ground! Broken arm number one! I put my arms out break my fall and snapped one of the bones in my left forearm. Mother broke her driving ban to take me to the local clinic in Vidor, where I had my first X-ray. The doctor used a cloth of ether to put me to sleep. It would take some time to become accustomed to having a cast from my elbow to my hand. Probably the most aggravating part of the situation was not being able to scratch my arm or hand when they became itchy!

Our two milk cows were similar to the horses in nature. Beauty, a Jersey, was very docile and gentle, while the Guernsey, named Sissy, had a cantankerous side to her and could be pretty ornery when she had a mind to. While Beauty’s horns grew, typically, straight out from her skull, Sissy had horns that arced forward and back toward the center. That fact was significant in that one day I was in the barn while Kurt was preparing to milk them when Sissy decided to act up, by backing me up against the wall and sticking her horns into my ribs, one on each side. Fortunately, I had yelled at her and Kurt saw what was happening just in time to give her a heavy shove before she did major damage. She turned toward him, shaking her head antagonizingly, until he grabbed a piece of 2×4 and smacked her in the side of the head! I ended up with a couple of significant scrapes and some very sore ribs, but I learned to make certain that I had something to defend myself when Sissy was in the barn.

A nasty cow wasn’t my only nemesis. Along with the chickens, there was a time when we had two large White Leghorn roosters that thought they ruled the barnyard. They would often approach us with their wings spread and their heads erect, cackling and acting intimidating. They were very apt to peck us if we weren’t watching. Once again, when I was in the barn with Kurt one of them decided to show me who “ruled the roost” by stalking me back against the wall, then spreading his wings and jumping up to peck me on the chin. Astonished, I yelled out as he did the same thing again. Then, as though out of nowhere, Kurt flashed into view and landed a swift kick to that rooster, launching it all the way against an adjacent wall, leaving a trail of feathers. I don’t recall if the bird survived, but Kurt, it seemed, was my guardian angel when I was very young.