Bash and the Chocolate Milk Cows by Burton W. Cole

Author:Burton W. Cole
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction/Religious/Christian/Humorous
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Great Gallons

of Chocolate Milk

The rumble of a big diesel engine rattled my ears. Monkey Man Bash let go of the limb of an apple tree and dropped to the orchard ground. “Hear that, Beamer?”

My stomach clenched. My heart scrambled up my throat. My brain screamed.

The milk truck.

Bash clapped bark from his hands. “This is gonna be such awesome-sauce. Let’s go.” He shot across the field.

I shuffled across the field toward the milking parlor. Would the milkman go spastic? What does 448 gallons of chocolate milk look like, anyway? My mouth twitched. I drooled at the thought of so much chocolate. It wouldn’t hurt to guzzle a glass or two before getting grounded. I lowered my head and churned my legs like a bull charging the barn.

Whumpf. I splatted horns first—or would have if I had horns—into a galloping Jig.

“Oof.”

“Ow.”

Ka-plang.

We tumbled in a tangled mess into a parked bicycle. All three of us—Jig, bike, and me—rolled to a stop in front of tennis shoe toes. I looked up. Two flame-orange ponytails swished above me as Jag looked down, shaking her head. She snorted. “Boys. Always running, never looking.”

Jig unclamped his teeth from the back tire. “Bonkers is here. We found his bicycle.”

I tugged a leg from under Jig’s armpit and unwedged my knee from the bike frame. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Jig kicked his legs, bouncing the bicycle off both of us. “As soon as the milk truck left our place, we took off running for here.”

Jag snorted again. “But some of us watched where we were going.”

I scratched gravel from my palms and groaned my way to my feet. “We better get in there.”

The three of us ran into the dairy barn and blasted our way through the door to the bulk tank room. A dark giant leaning over the tank jumped. Something clattered from one of his big, brown hands as he dove to the floor. “Yipes. More of them!”

I ducked. More what? Spiders? I looked around. I only saw Bash, Bonkers, Lauren, and Mary Jane. Heard only the refrigerator hum of the milk tank.

Bash winked. “Mr. Sneedlehouser was about to measure the milk. He’s the milk truck driver.” He leaned past the tank. “C’mon out, Mr. Sneedlehouser. It’s just Jig and Jag, and Ray-Ray Sunbeam Beamer.”

“Stop calling me that.”

The shaking giant peered over the tank. “So it is. Right.” He took a single step. “Is, uh, anyone else going to come crashing through that door?”

“Nope. We’re all here.”

The milkman hunched shoulders as bulky as feed sacks. Muscles quivered through his shirt sleeves. The door didn’t move. So he reached again for the top of the bulk cooling tank. The milkman didn’t need a stool. He pinched a handle, and started pulling a silver stick out of the tank.

I raised my hand. “What’s that thing, Mr. Sneedlehouser? The way you dropped it when I came in, I thought it was a spider.”

The milkman jumped. “Where?” The stick again clattered back into its slot.

Bash pushed his stool toward the tank. “No spiders, Mr.

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