The Cow Country Chronicle And Buttfat Beaconette

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 3, Issue 273, 19 February 1941, Page 6

The Cow Country Chronicle And Buttfat Beaconette

Edited by WHAT ROT ! TALK OF COPS ! EDGECUMBE ANIMALS PROTEST Snobping round the cow pastures and pig jmddocks of Edgecumbe ("Metropolis of the Rangitaiki") the other night I found an uproar in the animal world. The animals were up in arms, so to speak. Of course having no arms they could only be up in fore-legs and hoof&. At first I thought it musit be that the buttermilk supply had given out and that the inhabitants of the R.P. Dairy Coy's model pig farm were protesting against food restrictions. No such thing. It was all about something that had appeared in the BEACON. Mr Big-Tusker Hoggie put me wise to his kinsmen's grievance. | "Huh!" he grunted defiantly, "so there is talk in Whakatane about stationing a constable at Edgecuinbei! What for, may I ask?" "Search me!" I replied. "I am not the Chamber of Commerce. I don't look as dead as that, do I?" "S'pose those good-goody Whakataneites think we're a bad lot out here," Hoggie, "Well the human beings may be in need of police supervision, but we animals are O.K. We are on the level." v "Yes it is a bit flat round here," said I looking round the Plains. "Maybe they think," chipped in Mrs Mother-of-Ten Tammie, "that a few hundred pigs can't get together without needing a cop to say "Time gentlemen! 6 o'clock comes round. The. idea of it! I'd like you to know that my youngsters are not gangsters. T never 'lows 'em out at nights." So there you are. Believe it or not (of course you won't) the animals of Edgecumbe say they don't need a policeman. They're all teetotallers. "I never touch anything stronger out of a barrel than nydasses," declared Mr Hoggie.

; Esop Junr. CURDS AND WHEY BUT NOT ABOUT MSS MiUFFET Up Opouriao way—please Mr Printer don't spell it Avliey—everyone seems rnix' il up with curds and whey. Little Miss Muffet would have a great time at the cheese factories there. Vats and vats of curds, and tanks and tanlcs of whey! You remember hearing tell of little Miss Muffet. She sat on a tuffet, eating' her curds and whey. Perhaps it was different sort of curds and whey to what they will show you at the Opouriao and Ruatoki factories. At least nobody seemed to be sitting on a tuffet there eating curds. Perhaps its part of their war effort to make cheese for soldiers instead. Has it ever o- cur red to you that the curds grow into cheeses, and the cheeses hit the trail for London, like Hick Whittington. Cheeses can't live long in England, not when there's a "choom" with an appetite and a slice of bread nearby. But the whey. It rides back to the cockies' farms in cans. I't masquerades as "Skim Dick, the piggies pal," and somehow manages to bluff , the unsuspecting pigs. But of course a pig will swallow anything—just like the humans who listen to and repeat war rumours. By the whey—do you remember that old song: "Its a long, long whey to Tipperary?" It must have been a propaganda song composed by the "Irish gentlemen who pays the rent" But that's a long whey from where Ave started from—the Opouriao Dairy Coy's cheese vats. Just think now: You can whey 10.7 or 20st, according to whether you do or do not take Mr Maclslow's advertised reducing remedy. You can whey anchor. You can geit under whey. But the Opouriao pigs go one better. Why yes, they get the whey.