Doctor, my eye: When do you say when?
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Nessie, a small, straw-colored Cairn terrier, came out from under the feed rack, shaking her head vigorously as the small rat hung limply from her mouth.
“That’s the way to get ‘em,” Ayers hollered as Nessie discarded the dead rat and ran up the hill toward us.
He laughed and stuck his hands into the pockets of his bib overalls. He looked at me with a broad smile, and his good eye twinkled.
“I love that little ragamuffin of a dog,” he said.
We had just finished working on a cow with pink eye. The white-faced cattle suffered a little in this dry and dusty weather of mid-August in...
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