Of course Tommy Peele knew about most of them. And maybe you think he wasn’t puzzled! The very first morning, while it was still raining, he came sloshing down to the barn with his tall rubber boots on—because it was so wet he needed them. And splash! went somebody into the trough where the cattle drink. Of course it was Doctor Muskrat. He was just examining it because it was the queerest kind of a pond he’d ever seen, and he was a little bit scary because he didn’t feel at home yet.
He swam all the way down it in about two paw-strokes, hunting for a lily leaf to hide under while he peeked out to see who was coming. Of course there wasn’t any lily leaf. There was no mud for one to grow in—because Tommy kept the trough too clean. And there weren’t any snails, or water beetles, or anything but just water, as fresh as the water out in the cool, deep middle of his own pond. It was a great deal warmer, and it had a queer, woody taste that came from the rain water dripping in from the shingles of the barn. No wonder the wise old fellow was puzzled.
The doctor climbed up on the edge of the trough and settled his fur for a comfortable visit with his little boy friend. But he didn’t stay there, for Tommy had already unlocked the gate and the cows came rushing in, shouldering each other to get the first drink. The wise old muskrat slipped between the trough and the barn to wait until they were gone again.
That was really sensible, because he’d done something to make the cows angry with him—though he didn’t mean to. They began snorting and puffing. “Ugh! What an awful smell!” mooed one of them. “Somebody’s been bathing in our drink. I’d like to get my horn on whoever it was! I’d teach him not to do a trick like that again!”
“Mff-ff-ff!” sniffed the Red Cow—she was a big, happy-looking one by now, not a bit like the wild, scary thing who ran away from Tommy in the spring. “I like that smell. It reminds me of the kindest beast I ever knew, excepting dear little Nibble Rabbit. It reminds me of wise old Doctor Muskrat, who owns the pond at the end of the woods and fields.” And she took a sentimental sip of it.
Doctor Muskrat examines the White Cow’s drinking pond.
Doctor Muskrat was fearfully ruffled because the cows made all that fuss over his dip into their drinking trough. He thought they were just putting on airs. He put up his head between the trough and the barn, where he knew they couldn’t hurt him. “Hoot-toot!” said he severely. “What’s all this about a dive that didn’t wet my fur? Many’s the time you’ve stepped into my pond. Did I ever snap a word at you?”
“Yes, indeed!” put in the Red Cow. “Step in! I’ve seen you stamping flies in it till you had it so muddy you couldn’t see your own hooves. I’ll teach you to sniff at my friends!” She laid her horn into the cow who did the first complaining with a shove that sent her staggering. There might have been some lively argument if the wise White Cow hadn’t stopped them.
“Here, here!” she interrupted. “We didn’t know who we were sniffing at. A sensible beast like Doctor Muskrat will understand there was no offense meant.” She lowered her head respectfully and spoke in her flutiest voice. “You’ll pardon me for explaining, sir, that this isn’t a pond. The water doesn’t run through it. The wind doesn’t blow over it; it goes stale as fast as a mud puddle.”