Texas State Historical Association - My Texas

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Our Docile (?) Cow, Sammye

In the spring of 1942, after L. C. Covington and I were married, we bought a cow from the veterinarian in Pecan Gap, Texas. Named Sammye, she produced three gallons of milk daily. Since L. C. worked our rented farm near Ladonia plowing and planting our cotton crop, it was my job to milk her morning and evening.

She was kept in the barn at night so she would be available to feed and milk in the mornings. There was a box-like feed trough in the milking shed in the barn, which had slatted walls on two sides that were four feet high. The stall was six feet wide, so there was not much space except for the cow and the person milking her.

Since Sammye loved her feed, she was always anxious to get her head into the feed trough to eat. She had been "de-horned," but a three-inch stump remained on her right horn. Sammye used her big head to shove me against the slatted wall and proceeded to put her horn's stump into my diaphragm between my short ribs, then twist her head. This always caused me to panic. While I had never been afraid of any of our mules when I was growing up, I was terrified of Sammye, and I feel sure she knew it!

When she began to eat I sat on a stool to milk her. After washing her udders I placed the pail under them, then squeezed one after the other, squirting the milk into the pail. Since she gave such a large amount of milk I had to rush to finish milking before she finished eating, because as soon as she was through she became restless, wanting to go to the lush green grass in the pasture.

While I was milking she swished her tail in large half-circles to keep the flies away. In the summer and fall, when the cockleburs were in full production, she always had some in her tail. When she swung her tail she whacked me on the head with those cockleburs. I couldn't devise a way to keep her tail from hitting me.

If she finished eating before I finished milking she would begin backing out of the stall. I'd say, "Whoa, Sammye!" As long as I kept my head in the hollow where the inside of her back leg joined her body, she would stay. However, if she felt I was taking too long, she lifted her hoof and put it in the pail of milk, thereby spoiling it! When I moved out of the way she backed out of the stall and headed for the pasture. I'd hold on to the rope around her horns until we got to the gate, open it, and remove the rope, and she would begin grazing. I was usually exhausted after a milking session. The tales I'd heard about docile cows, like Elsie the Borden cow, definitely did NOT apply to our cow. To say we were not the best of friends would be putting it mildly.

Our daughter was born on February 16, 1944. Five months later L. C. had his right arm removed because of cancer. That dreaded disease returned in December 1946 in his lungs, and the doctors said he had only about six months to live. He died on June 20, 1947, in the cancer clinic in Dallas.

After his funeral I went to Dallas to look for a job. Since I had married in the middle of my senior year, I had not finished high school. When the places where I applied for jobs learned that, they would not hire me. I returned to my in-laws very downhearted. I could not farm alone. I had only a very small bank account. What could I do?

Then the veterinarian who had sold Sammye to us called. If she were as good a cow as he remembered, he would give me $100 for her. One hundred dollars? It sounded like a million to me! That would give me at least three months to find some job. He would be there the next morning. When he arrived at 6:00 a.m., he and my father-in-law went to look at her. They came back with the strangest expressions on their faces. Sammye had lain down and died during the night.

I had held up pretty good until then, but I cried for three days. Daddy came and said, "Now, honey, you're going to have to stop this crying." I said, "But, Daddy, I can't farm by myself, I don't own anything, and I can't get a job. I just have more than I can bear." Daddy said, "No, you don't. Remember the Good Lord said He would never send us more than we could bear." I replied, "Well, He has done it this time!" Daddy wisely said, "No, He hasn't. You are young, in good health, and have this precious child to care for. Now you just think about that." He left me to think about it, as he knew I would. That night I prayed, "Dear God, I don't know why you sent me this burden, but nevertheless, Your will, not mine, be done." I slept peacefully for the first time since L. C.'s death.

Three days later, the Jot 'Em Down gin manager came to see me. Their bookkeeper was injured and would be unable to keep the books for six weeks. On his return he agreed to work in the gin and teach me to keep the books. The job paid thirty-five cents an hour. During ginning season, they worked twenty hours a day sometimes. It seemed that God had solved my problem.

Through the years when things have gone wrong in our family, and troubles seem to abound, we just smile and say, "Well, at least the cow hasn't died yet." That seems to put things back into perspective.

Lowell McCormack
Gainesville, Texas
Published: November 14, 2005