Cows That Type Farmer Dan has a problem. His cows like to type. At first, he couldn't believe his ears. “I Can't bear the noise any longer!” cried Farmer Dan. Cows that type? Impossible! Dear Farmer Dan, The barn is very cold at night. We'd like some electric blankets. Sincerely, The Cows. Then, he couldn't believe his eyes.“ No way, ” said Farmer Dan. “No electric blankets!” Sorry. We're closed. No milk today. The Cows. So the cows went on strike. They left a note on the barn door. Dear Farmer Dan, The hens are cold too. They'd like electric blankets. Sincerely, The Cows. “No milk! Today!” cried Farmer Dan. The next day, he got another note. Closed. No milk. No eggs. The Cows & Hens. The cows were growing impatient with the farmer. They left a new note on the barn door. “Cows that type. Hens on strike! Whoever heard of such a thing? How can I run a farm with no milk and no eggs!” Farmer Dan was furious.

Where’s the Joey? What's a Joey? A joey is a baby marsupial (mar-SOO-pee-ul). A marsupial is an unusual type of animal. Its babies are carried in a pouch, or pocket, on the mother's belly. As it grows, the little joey stays hidden inside the pouch. Safe inside, the tiny joey drinks milk and grows while it is carried around. Even after it can walk, the joey may still ride in mom's pouch. There are over three hundred types of marsupials. Most of them live in Australia (aw-STRAYL-yuh) and eat plants. Let's look at a few kinds of marsupials and their joeys. A Jumping Joey This joey stays in its mother's pouch for eight months while it grows very tall. Its feet and tail grow very long. too. Can you guess what it is? It's a red kangaroo! A red kangaroo is the largest marsupial. It can stand over six feet tall and weigh 200 lbs (91 kg). It can jump 30 feet (9 m) with each leap! A Joey That Lives in a Tree When grown, this little joey will look like a furry teddy bear with big ears. It will live most of its life sitting in trees and eating leaves. Can you guess what it is? It's a koala! A koala lives, eats, and sleeps in eucalyptus (yoo-kuh-LIP-tus) trees. It is happy just to sit anp eat lots of leaves every day. A koala usually only walks around at night. Joey the Screamer This marsupial mom might carry three or four noisy joeys in her pouch at one time. Her little joeys can scream very loudly. What are they? They are Tasmanian devils! The Tasmanian devil gets its name from its loud screams, sharp teeth, bad smell, and wild look. It is a meat-eater, and lives only on the island of Tasmania (taz-MAY-nee-uh). Protecting the Marsupials Most marsupials eat plants, and many, like the koala, live quietly in forests. When those forests are cut down, their homes, food, and safety are lost. Other marsupials have lost their sources of food to herds of grazing cows or growing cities. Marsupials Are Special Animals Most marsupials and their joeys live in only one place on Earth. We need to protect their special habitats and food sources-so we will always know where the joeys are.

Not very musical What can music do? Music Helps Plants Grow Faster A study used 14 different classical pieces, including Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, in rice fields. People found that the music helped the crops grow at a faster pace, and plants have genes which make them 'hear'. When listening to slow music, cows produce more milk. While cows that listened to rap showed no increase in milk production, those who listened to slow, soothing songs produced 3 percent more milk. That's because when a cow is stressed, it slows down the release of oxytocin(催产素), which is important for producing milk. So playing music relaxes them to help them produce more milk. A song that gets stuck in your head is called an earworm. An earworm refers to catchy music that continually repeats through a person's mind, even after it's not playing. A person's experiences may bring up a memory of a song, such as seeing a word will remind you of the song.

All Kinds of Farms What Lives on Farms? Cows live on farms. Milk comes from cows. People drink milk. People make cheese and butter from milk. Sheep live on farms. Wool comes from sheep. People make clothes from wool. Chickens live on farms. Eggs come from chickens. People eat eggs for breakfast. What Grows on Farms? Apples grow on farms. People eat apples. Other fruits grow on farms, too. People eat fruits. Sugarcane grows on farms. Sugar comes from sugarcane. Sugar makes foods sweet. Cotton grows on farms. People use cotton to make clothing. Shirts, pants, and socks are made from cotton. What did you use today that came from a farm?

Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious t

How does a nomad child go to class every day, though? A new idea is the travelling school, a big ger which goes where the herders go in the warmer months. These are the months when nomad parents really need their children's help. Mongolia is developing. There are more jobs now, and new towns. The travelling school allows Mongolian nomads to keep their traditional lifestyle, but learn about the modern world, too. The nomads hope their children can be part of both. Most people nowadays live in cities and towns crowded with people in towering skyscrapers or blocks of flats and heavy traffic on the streets. There are schools, shopping centres, cinemas, theatres and restaurants. The life of a Mongolian nomad couldn't be more different. B A family's nearest neighbours are kilometres away and the only building is the ger, their traditional tent. But it is thanks to their animals that these nomads manage to survive. Their horses carry them and their equipment over long distances. Their cows, yaks, goats and sheep give them food, wool and leather. The herder goes where the animals go, moving to find new grass. It's a hard life. The nomads' skin is dark and tough from the sun and wind, and their eyes are narrow to protect them from the harsh winter. If it gets too cold, there isn't enough to eat and they lose many animals. Nomads are proud to be herders and proud to live more freely than city people. They want their children to have an easier life, however, and try to send them to school.

When Europeans met American Indians in the late 15th century, the people of two continents exchanged many beneficial customs and goods. Europeans received New World crops such as potatoes and corn. American Indians acquired cloth and horses. However, besides the beneficial exchanges, Europeans and American Indians often traded deadly germs–bacteria and viruses–for which they had no immunity. Smallpox and Indians Image 1: Smallpox epidemics helped Europeans conquer the Aztec and Incan Empires of Mexico and South America. North American Indians quickly concluded that contact with Europeans often resulted in devastating diseases that caused widespread death. This drawing, made in the 1500s in Mexico, shows how the disease was passed from a European to an American Indian through simple contact. Many of the diseases that were common in Europe were entirely new to the peoples of North America. Diseases such as tuberculosis and measles could be fatal, but Europeans had developed resistance to the disease, so many people survived. However, when European diseases infected American Indians with no previous exposure, the people suffered terribly. The most devastating of these diseases was smallpox which is caused by a virus (Variola major). Smallpox, like many other diseases, had a latent period of about one week between the time the person was exposed to the disease and the time when signs of the disease became apparent. During this time, the sick person might begin a journey and carry the germs along with him. Anyone the person met would be exposed to smallpox. Anything the victim touched including clothing, bedding, or unwashed dishes carried living germs of smallpox. Cotton Mather Image 2: Cotton Mather was a Boston minister. When smallpox threatened Boston, he remembered reading about how the Turks inoculated people with dried material from smallpox blisters. The inoculation usually gave the person a mild case of the disease and future immunity. The procedure was highly controversial, but it helped save the lives of 274 people who were inoculated during the Boston smallpox epidemic of 1721. Symptoms of the disease began with fever, chills, and aches. The fever might raise a person’s temperature from the normal 98.6o to a dangerous 106o. After four days of misery, the victim entered the second stage when large pustules (fluid-filled bumps) appeared on the body. The rash made the person feel as if their skin were on fire. After suffering with the rash for nine days, the victim entered a new stage-if he or she had survived this long. The pustules opened and dried up. Each pustule formed a scab that turned into a scar that marked the person’s face for the rest of his or her life. Complications of smallpox for those who survived might include loss of vision or damage to the lungs, heart, or liver. Waterhouse Image 3: Dr. Benjamin Waterhouse of Harvard University brought Jenner’s smallpox preventative to the United States. It was called vaccination and used cowpox as the infective material. This much milder form of pox gave immunity to smallpox with fewer complications. Dr. Waterhouse encouraged President-elect Thomas Jefferson to promote vaccination. Jefferson responded, “Every friend of humanity must look with pleasure on this discovery, by which one evil more is withdrawn from the condition of man.” (T. Jefferson 12/25/1800 to Benjamin Waterhouse, December 25, 1800) Historians have found evidence of smallpox as far back as 1157 B.C. when the Egyptian pharaoh Ramses V apparently died of smallpox. From Egypt, where scientists believe smallpox began, the disease spread to Asia. Europeans began to experience periodic epidemics of smallpox in the14th century when Crusaders returning from the Middle East brought smallpox to Europe. People who survived the disease were immune and could not get smallpox again. This fact explains why epidemics struck periodically and the disease was not a constant threat to European societies. Smallpox Vaccination 1803 Image 4: Dr. Edward Jenner’s new smallpox vaccination (from cowpox) was widely accepted. This medical image was published by a Spanish physician to teach colonial doctors how to apply the vaccine to native Mexicans. The scratches were supposed to go through several stages of development as evidence that the vaccine had given the patient immunity. Vaccination was very effective in preventing smallpox epidemics among those who received the vaccine. In 1520, while Cortés was trying to conquer the Aztecs, smallpox broke out among the Spaniards and was transferred to the Aztecs. By 1527, the disease had migrated through Central America to Peru where it helped Pizarro conquer the Incas. (See Image 1.) In 1633, smallpox infected American Indians living near the English colony of Plymouth, Massachusetts. The disease traveled very quickly to tribes living far inland from the English colonies. In 1721, a smallpox epidemic threatened the English colonists of Boston. (See Image 2.) Cotton Mather, a Boston minister, wanted to inoculate people against the disease. He knew that Turkish healers took material from a dried smallpox scab and injected it into the body of a healthy person by scratching the surface of the skin. The patients developed a mild form of the disease from which they recovered. The procedure was highly controversial in Boston where about 280 Bostonians accepted inoculation. The epidemic infected more than half of the people living in Boston at the time. About 15% of those who got sick died of the disease. Among those who were inoculated, only six (2%) died of smallpox. The practice of inoculation spread to other English colonies, but not to the American Indian tribes living near the colonies. Late in the 18th century, British doctor Edward Jenner recognized that people who milked cows never came down with smallpox. They had already been infected with cowpox, a similar, but much milder disease that gave them immunity to smallpox. In 1796, Jenner inoculated a young man with cowpox virus he had collected from a milkmaid. The young man had a mild infection for less than 24 hours and recovered. Jenner’s efforts resulted in a widespread acceptance of vaccination (vaccine comes from Latin words meaning “taken from a cow”). By 1800, many Americans were receiving smallpox vaccinations. (See Image 3.) President Thomas Jefferson supported and encouraged the vaccination program in major American cities. (See Image 4.) By the middle of the 19th century, smallpox was under control, but broke out from time to time among unvaccinated people. Bismarck, Dakota Territory, experienced a small outbreak of smallpox in 1882. American Indians, however, were still subject to the disease in its most dangerous form.

Cows

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