Short Story: Billy and the Calf, by John A. Roof

Star the Calf

It was an unusually warm spring in Texas in the year of 1955. The pecan trees were blooming early and so were the spiderwarts and other wild flowers.

Our Father, Russell Roof, was busy in his shop building furniture for one of his customers. My brother, Bill, was with his friend, Troy, riding his new bicycle he had gotten for his birthday.

We lived in a small village called Staples, not far from San Marcos. The boys headed down the road towards the San Marcos River on FM1977. Here is where the story begins about my brother’s big adventure.

As Bill and Troy rode past the Swift Ranch, they looked at all the new calves in the pasture with their mothers. Bill spotted one small calf looking at him. He watched as it followed them closely with her eyes, and then out of the blue, the calf tore off from her mother at a full run right towards them.

As they continued down the road on their bikes, the calf followed them til she had to stop at the fence line. Bill and Troy rode on up to Mr. Swift’s barn to ask Rancher Swift about the calf.

He told them that she had been born during the night under a shooting star and she had a perfect white star on her face, so he named her Star. Rancher Swift told the boys that Star was different from the other calves. He had never seen a newborn calf stand so fast and she was so eager to run.

Every day after school, Bill and Troy rode their bikes by the pasture and Star would run to the fence and follow them. No matter how fast they rode their bikes, Star stayed right alongside them till the end of the pasture. Then Bill would come home and tell us about the strange calf named Star, and how she seemed to wait for them every day and come running.

One day, Bill and Troy approached the fence and gave Star a rub on her nose. She looked at them with her big brown eyes, turned herself in circles, then ran down the fence line and then back up again. She repeated this until Bill and Troy got on their bikes and rode on down the road towards home.

“Troy, don’t you think that was strange, how Star would run down the fence line, return, and then run down the fence line again?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I know. I've never seen a calf do anything like that before.” answered Troy.

“I wonder if Star is trying to tell us something.” Bill said.

“I don’t know, Bill. Maybe."

The following day, they returned to the pasture. As they walked to the fence, Star again welcomed them. Then she repeated everything just like she had done the day before. That night at home, my brother was especially silent. At the dinner table, mom asked him if he was feeling okay.

“Yes I'm fine. I'm just thinking about Star and wondering why she's acting so funny.” he said.

Bill told us all about how Star would run to them, turn in circles, and then run down the fence line and how she repeated it over and over. He said she wouldn't stop till he and Troy got on their bikes and rode on down the road beside the fence.

“Dad, do you think Star is okay? Do you think something is wrong with her?” Asked Bill.

“I don’t know, son, but I do know this. We're all put here for a reason, man or animal, and I'm sure the Lord has a reason for Star to do what she does. You just need to find out what that is. That's your job.” His Dad answered.

The next day was Saturday and Bill and Troy spent the whole day sitting across from Star’s pasture and watching her. She would look at them, come over to the fence, turn in circles, and run and then come back. Time passed and after a while, Troy said, “Let's go I'm bored and hungry.”

As they walked over to their bikes, Bill noticed something. Star's ears perked up and she became very excited. As Bill approached her and leaned his bike against the fence, Star seemed very interested in it. She came right over, poked her head between the fence boards to nose and lick the bike.

“That’s it!” Bill yelled. “She wants to ride our bikes!”

“What?" Troy yelled back.

“I'm telling ya, she wants to ride our bikes! She wants to go faster than any cow has ever gone.” Bill explained.

“Okay, let’s say that's what she wants to do -- ride our bikes -- how do you get a calf on a bicycle?” asked Troy.

“I don’t know yet, but I do know that's what Star wants. We have to think of a way.” Said Bill.

For a few days after, Bill and Troy tried to think of a way to put Star on their bikes, when finally it came to them. Let’s make a trailer! We can pull it behind our bikes, just like you would behind a truck. Bill went to his father and asked if there was any old lumber he could have.

“What do you need wood for?” asked his Father.

“Troy and I are going to build a tree house in the woods by the river for the summer.” Bill fibbed.

“There's some old lumber in the back shed you can use.” said his father.

The next day, Troy and Bill began to build the trailer. They found a couple of old wheels in a shed on the Lowman’s popcorn farm and they asked if they could buy them. Mr. Lowman told the boys the wheels were from an old wagon his son had and they could just have them.

The plan was to be finished on Friday and take Star for a ride early Saturday morning. Friday night, Bill couldn't sit still. He kept asking if it was time to go to bed yet. He told his father to make sure he was up early so he and Troy could go work on the tree house.

Saturday morning, they went to the pasture and opened the gate. They found Star and put a halter on her and led her out of the pasture. Star’s mother was not too pleased and she raised quite a ruckus. The boys took Star to their bikes where the trailer was already attached and checked the ropes one more time. When star saw the bikes and the trailer, she immediately walked to the back and climbed into the trailer.

“Are you ready, Troy? Are you ready, Star?” asked Bill.

With that, they were off. Knowing Star was far heavier than what they were used to, they put their bikes on a little hill near the pasture. In the background, Star’s mother was still raising a ruckus and here was Star, mooing for joy as Bill and Troy were peddling.

The two bikes hauling the trailer began to move down the road. Rancher Swift heard all the noise and came running and what he saw was something that took his breath away. Before him were two boys on their bikes peddling as fast and as hard as they could down the road with a calf riding in a trailer behind them.

To this day, Rancher Swift tells everyone that Star, the calf, was yelling "Yipppppppeee!" all the way down the road.

When the ride was over, they saw a small crowd had gathered, including the boys' fathers. The boys saw that Star was returned to her mother, who calmed down immediately. Both Bill and Troy knew there was going to be heck to pay. They saw Rancher Swift and their fathers talking. They had taken a calf out of the pasture without permission.

Rancher Swift came over to the boys. He looked at them with a frown on his face -- but there was a smile in his eyes. Rancher Swift and their fathers had already decided that Bill and Troy were going to have to be punished. They would have to work for Rancher Swift all summer helping keep his barn clean -- and they would have to take Star for a ride every day.

That summer, people from miles around came every afternoon to watch the bike-riding calf. Rancher Swift never sold Star. She stayed in Staples TX and watched my brother and Troy ride up and down the road for many years.


About the Author

John and Betsy Roof

John Roof graduated from Texas Tech in December, 1973, with a BFA in studio painting.

Bill the Calf and the Ride Down the Road

The Walk: Short Stories of a Teenage Boy in the 60's

Visit John's Website

John and his wife, Betsy, live in their home amid  the wildflowers and fruit trees in Staples, Texas, where they are accomplished artists and photographers.  They also love to build and restore antique furniture together.

He's one of the nicest and most regular guys you'll ever want to meet.

John is fond of saying, he has found his garden ...


**Thanks, John!  Hugs to you both ~CJ

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

One Morning in "The Enchanted Land"

"Jingling" in New Mexico

by John A. Roof

"Ranger! Ranger, wake up! Ranger, it's time to go!" shouted Tucker.

I heard this distant booming voice, and felt the world shake beneath me.

Overly tired from the previous late night's "boy talk," I wasn't sure what I was hearing or what I was seeing.

Slowly, my mind started to churn awake and I began to remember. I was in the Clark's Fork bunkhouse and this morning it was my first time to herd in a remuda of horses, or jingle, as the old cowboys called it. Oh, and I was deftly sure I was Ranger.

The excitement began to build. I was nineteen years old; the world as I knew it was pure, new, and full of adventure. Today was starting out with great excitement.

"Come on, Ranger! It's getting late. Grab your rigging and let's go! You ride Double S!" commanded Tucker.

Lying in my bunk which had just been shaken to near collapsing, and now wearing my glasses, I could see the back of Tommy Tucker as he walked away. I remember well the sound that he made, as we all did, when we walked in this old bunkhouse.

The floor was so worn over time that its wooden planks, which had never seen paint, were all wavy. No matter how many times a day you swept the floor, it always remained dusty and dirty-looking from all the mud tracked in over the years. When you walked, there was this hollow echo, enhanced further by the grinding of the dirt into dust. Add to that the musical metal jingle of spurs on the heavy cowboy boots we wore, and the picture was complete.

Quickly I glanced around the bunkhouse, taking note of all the nails that had been driven into the walls by previous inhabitants to hang clothes or other items. Though many of the nails were empty, more nails continued to be driven into the wooden walls, as though someday they might all join as one continuous nail.

The smell of the bunkhouse, even though it was quite airy, was a mixture of old leather, dust, and body odors laced with a light scent of aftershave lotion. The aftershave was used in place of a shower, because the showers were a half mile from the bunkhouse. There was no hot water, so the walk back produced the same body odors that the showers took away.

"Ranger! Hurry up!” barked Tucker.

I quickly walked to the grain room that was located at the end of the bunkhouse, and grabbed a feed bag. I then walked to the tack room to gather my rigging, which had been selected for me because of its weight. It was ten pounds heavier than a normal saddle, so the horse would believe a bigger. meaner person was sitting on his back.

Coming through the tack room door was like taking a step back in time. It was just before sunrise and the light had not yet reached the trees surrounding the bunkhouse. The early morning mountain air was chilled, crisp to the point of seeing your breath out in front of you.

I carefully approached Double S, my ride for this morning. I slipped the feed bag over his nose and gave him a reassuring stroke on the neck. I swung my rigging onto his back, positioning it and cinching it tight, and then I waited for Double S to finish his feed.

I looked around the corral and saw Tucker, who was checking Concho, his ride, for loose shoes. Tucker had been raised on many ranches as a child and he always knew what to do when it came to horses. Double S finished his grain. I slipped on the bridle, checked the cinch one more time for tightness, and swung into the saddle.

Now it was my turn to wait for Tucker. I was to ride as his bumper. Concho, who put on a rodeo show every morning, needed another horse and rider to ride alongside to calm him down because he had been broke as a cold back and not gentled as the new horses are today.

Sure enough, soon as Tucker's weight hit the saddle, Concho began bucking. As we finally rode out the gate together, Concho gave one last kick and we were on our way.

We rode in silence. Tucker was a man of few words so as not to disturb the serenity of the mountains and the feeling of peace that surrounded us. We rode our horses to a little knoll just above the main pasture overlooking the hay racks and we waited for the sun to rise over the mountain ridge in front of us. As the sun's rays approached, I could see the horses in the pasture below.

Suddenly, in front of me, appeared this panarama -- just like a painting -- its beauty and color so vivid that no artist could duplicate it, nor a writer ever describe it. It took my breath away. In that one moment, I knew why they called New Mexico "The Land of Enchantment."

"Sixty-one -- three are missing. Let's ride!" Tucker shouted as he snapped the bull whip in the air.

The sharpness in Tucker's voice woke me from a feeling of grace that I have only known a few times in my life. For the next hour we rode hard, gathering the renegade horses and herding them back to the corral.

Then we hit the bunk house and a welcomed cup of hot campfire coffee. The other wranglers were up and waiting. While they grained and saddled the horses for the day's work ahead, I was told to go look for the three horses that were missing.

I reined Double S back down the trail that I rode earlier that morning. For me, this was a blessing. I rode back to the knoll, dismounted and sat in blessed silence for some time. I knew I would be in trouble for being so long, but my thoughts had returned to the vision of that early morning.

I jingled many times that summer of 1968, but never again would I see or feel the experience of that first time, especially that morning, in quite the same way. The lasting impression of that one moment in time has never gone away, for it was truly an enchanted morning, in an even more enchanted land.


About The Author

John and Betsy Roof

Originally from Coshocton, Ohio, John A. Roof is an artist, furniture restorer, writer, and a published Western Memoir Author who lives in Staples,Texas with his wife, Betsy.

"As a young man, I spent my summers in Cimmarron, New Mexico, at Philmont Scout Ranch. I could walk for hours looking at the trees, sky, and mountains. Sometimes it was like the earth was put here just for me to see the true beauty." ~John A. Roof

John's Books:

Bill the Calf and the Ride Down the Road
The Walk: Short Stories of a Teenage Boy in the 60's

John's Website

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Short Story: "The Long and Short of It"

My friend, John Roof, has again graced me with one of his short stories -- another true one, too, right out of his bank of memories. May I once again present John Roof:

John and Betsy Roof

The Long and Short of It
A True Story
by John A. Roof

It was about 1:00 p.m. when Betsy, (my wife, master and boss), informed me that we had an appointment that evening to go look at some furniture someone wanted us to restore for them.

My heart fell to the floor, for it meant I would not be able to go fishing that evening.

On this day of days, the sun was in its perfect position and the moon was a new moon. The day was without doubt one of the best days of the year to go fishing - -that is, if you get to go fishing.

I returned to my workshop to finish working on a table that I had started that morning, feeling forlorn and brokenhearted. As the afternoon progressed, I reached a point on the table where I knew I was going to finish early. I made my plan as if I was going to assault an enemy-held fortress.

At 3:45, I approached my wife, making sure I looked worn out, hot and lost. I made sure I groveled before her and begged, “Please let me go fishing. I promise I'll be back in time to get cleaned up for the appointment.”

Betsy knew I loved to fish and these big Sad Brown Eyes of mine wore her down. She gave her blessing and I was off. I had made a decision to go to Amy’s landing on the San Marcos River.

When I arrived at the river, the wind was blowing out of the northwest. I further decided I would make a few casts in Lowman’s Tank on my way home. The river was a deep emerald green and so clear that you could see if a nickel was heads or tails in three feet of water.

I reached in to the back of the truck, grabbed my rod, checked my bait, put on my wading shoes, walked to the river's edge and removed all my clothes. I fish in the raw, butt naked. I believe this gives you an advantage. You’re showing the fish everything you have.

I looked up river and down river, making sure I was alone so no one would find out my secret -- how I catch so many fish - - the fact that I have two worms is better than one.

After ten minutes of the most perfect peace, I heard a noise approaching from downriver. It was two girls in a canoe counting strokes. They must be practicing for the upcoming canoe race, I thought. (Thank you, ladies, for counting so loud).

This gave me time to retrieve my shorts and not allow them to see my "shortcomings". They turned the canoe around as they reached the bend in the river and then headed back downstream. I was afraid they might return, so I moved to the other side of the log jam so I could see them if they reapproached.

Once I was on the other side of the log jam, I again removed my shorts and made a cast downstream. Just my luck, it went into the darn bait-eating tree. As I was working to remove the bait from the tree, I heard a faint noise approaching from upstream.

This time, it was a man in a small boat with an outboard motor. I made a fast decision. I ran to my shorts, leaving my fishing rod swinging from the tree, and zipped up just in time to get my hand in the air to wave. I was lucky not to get caught doing 'the naked fisherman bait caught in the tree' dance.

At this point, I took a swig of Gatorade and decide there was just too much traffic on the river today, so I had better put on my Speedos. This would allow me to expose as much skin as possible without showing the rest how the river worshipped my fishing secret.

The time was slipping by way too fast, so I gathered my equipment to head towards home. Then at the last minute, I decided I had just enough time to make a few casts at Pa’s Point at Lowman’s Tank.

I again removed all my clothes to get as much sun on my bare buns as I could, walked out onto the point and made a few casts. I was hoping that a big lunker was there and lying in wait, but there was to be no such luck this day.

I gave up and returned to the truck, afraid I would be late and get in trouble with my wife -- but the desire was too strong! I made one last cast. I swung the rod behind me and made the strongest cast I could. The sound I heard was not new. I had heard this sound way too many times and this one was the mother of backlashes! There I was, naked with a bad backlash, and hoping no one would come down the road.

At last, the reel was cleared and I began to reel it in. Oh God, now I’m hung up on the underbrush! I gave a tug and felt the live give. Hmmm, it must have been a small branch -- and then it hit. It was if someone had locked the reel!

“There she blows! ” This fish was trying to fly! Go, baby, GO! The fight was on between the lunker of the deep vs. the naked fisherman, who will win! Then I thought just for a split second, "What if someone comes along and sees me? Well, the heck with them! Let them catch their own lunker!"

After the fight of the century, the fish was in my hands. Wow! It was a big twenty inches and at least four pounds! Nice fish! I smiled as I approached the shore of the Tank to release him back to his kingdom. As I put him in the shallow water, he made a small circle and I swear, he smiled at me and mouthed these words: “Small rod.” and then he was gone.

I laughed all the way home, and I haven’t stopped laughing yet. It was a good day -- I went fishing.


About the Author

John Roof graduated from Texas Tech in December, 1973, with a BFA in studio painting.

Bill the Calf and the Ride Down the Road

The Walk: Short Stories of a Teenage Boy in the 60's

Visit John's Website

John and his wife, Betsy, live in their home amid  the wildflowers and fruit trees in Staples, Texas, where they are accomplished artists and photographers.  They also love to build and restore antique furniture together.

He's one of the nicest and most regular guys you'll ever want to meet.

John is fond of saying, he has found his garden ...

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Memoir: White Woman's Rock

White Woman's Rock, Coshocton County OH

by John A. Roof

It was the summer of 1961, in mid July.

The excitement of summer vacation had worn off and the celebration of fireworks for July 4th at the Coshocton fairgrounds had come and gone.

All there was left to look forward to was the coming of August, the dreaded Hay Fever Season, and then the start of school.

Summers back in the 50’s and early 60’s were the greatest time to be a young boy. There seemed to be adventures everywhere you looked. You could leave the house in the morning and, as long as you were home for dinner, all life was grand. But fail to show up with hands washed for dinner and the dreaded mother of "You're grounded!" would come alive.

This July day was going to be super because my best friend, John Unger, from Chestnut School, was going to spend the day with me. He showed up and brought a friend of his along, Rex. I had a couple of my friends from Sycamore School there with me, John Zing, and Barry Ackerman. This was going to be a great day.

At first, we hung around the house trying to decide on what great adventure, or trouble, we could do or get into.

"Lets go to the bulk stations and throw rocks in to the swamp."

"No. How about going to the river?"

"No. Mom will find out and we will get in trouble."

Then out of the clear blue sky, someone suggested we hike to White Woman’s Rock and have a picnic and fool around the rock climbing on it. It was not that far. White Woman’s Rock was where a white woman jumped to her death into the river with her baby, instead of allowing the Indians to capture and make them captives (or worse) of the Delaware Indian Nation. This was back in the 1770’s.

"Yeah!" We all yelled. What a great adventure!"

We all went running home to make sandwiches and grab our WW II army surplus canteens and backpacks. Every boy back then would spend hours in the army surplus store looking at and drooling over all the items left over from WW II. I remember I had saved my allowance for a whole month so I could buy an ammo belt and canteen. My Father had recently taken me to join the boy scouts so, of course, I thought of myself as the next Sir Edmund Hillary or some other great explorer. We were off, but first I told my Mother where we were going and she reminded me to be home in time for dinner.

We walked over the bridge that crossed the Tuscarawas River, and then up the road to the highway crossing that led to Lake Park. We talked all the way. John and I were the oldest. Someone always seemed to come up with a story that was supposed to make you scared, and afraid to leave your house, but it never worked.

John and I shared the dreaded Hay Fever and that's all we talked about. There were only a few more weeks before we would suffer from Hay Fever. If ever there was something bad that a young boy back then did not want, it was Hay Fever. You would sneeze forever, your eyes would swell and water and itch, and you always had to have five or six handkerchiefs with you -- and sleep was impossible. John and I were not looking forward to this yearly war, because it cut your summer vacation off by a month.

As we walked past Lake Park, we could see the people and kids swimming. The road was narrow there by the lake, so we had to be careful not to get in the road. About a half mile past the lake, we could turn off the main road. Then we would turn off at Mills Creek and head for Bouquet’s Camp. There, we could refill our canteens and rest for a while before the final few miles to White Woman’s Rock.

Coshocton County had natural water springs all over, and Bouquet’s Camp was clearly indicated with both a marker and a basin to water horses, from the old days when there were horse and buggies. Sadly, these days, most people just drive past ignoring this historical site.

Now the final assault. Two more miles and we would be there. When we arrived, we ran down the steps, dropped our packs and canteens, and raced to the top of the rock -- another ritual that all boys back then had to do -- be the first to the top of anything! We could see the Walhonding River.

I've wondered for years how the woman could have jumped that far holding her baby. Some years later, it was explained to me that the river had changed its course, due to all the floods. But I always thought, back then, that this woman was a great jumper and she could have gone to the Olympics.

We fooled around at the rock, read the sign and all the names carved into the rocks and trees, then settled down and ate our sandwiches. After a brief rest, we climbed down the back of the rock and headed to the river. Now we all knew that if our mothers knew we went to the river, there would be a week's grounding, but we were here now, and we were in charge.

There was a small island that the river had made and it was easily reached by wading across a very shallow, narrow stretch of water. Our mothers would know if we did this, because our shoes would be wet. It was decided that we would take our shoes and socks off, roll up our blue jeans, and wade across to explore the island. Maybe we would find a treasure or something of value.

We all reached the other side, sat down, and put on our shoes and socks. Then we stood and began to look for a way through the undergrowth. Suddenly, there was a loud scream from one of us. "Anaconda! Run!" We turned and looked and there was the biggest water snake we had ever seen! It must have been five, six or twenty feet long! (Well, maybe eighteen inches).

Anyway, we all ran back across the shallow stretch of water to the safety of the rock. Once we reached the other side, caught our breath, and felt sure we had put a good distance between us and that Anaconda, we looked down at our wet shoes. There was going to be hell to pay for that.

We climbed to the top of the rock, grabbed our packs, and began the long walk home. We had spent much more time at White Woman’s Rock than we had planned. Someone played a dirty trick on us and made this day way too short. Now we had gone to the river and that was a 'no-no'. We were going to be later getting home.

We headed for Bouquet’s Camp. We were all hot, tired, dirty, hungry, and our shoes were wet. We all looked at the sky and knew we were in deep trouble. We reached Bouquet’s Camp, filled our canteens, and headed down the road. Just then, I saw a car coming down the road towards us. We were saved -- it was my dad. Mom had sent him looking for us. He stopped and smiled and asked, "You boys need a ride?"

Dad took all of my friends to their houses, waved to their parents and smiled. When we reached home, I thought for sure I was in deep trouble, but nothing was said. My meal was in the oven staying warm. My Mother placed it on the table and never said a word. It was some years later that I understood what had actually happened that day.

John and I suffered though that summer of Hay Fever and we began the seventh grade that fall. I remember all the times we had back then. Those were great adventures and my friends were the best. Now I cherish those memories of times long ago.


About the Author

John and Betsy Roof

John Roof graduated from Texas Tech in December, 1973, with a BFA in studio painting.

Bill the Calf and the Ride Down the Road

The Walk: Short Stories of a Teenage Boy in the 60's

Visit John's Website

John and his wife, Betsy, live in their home amid  the wildflowers and fruit trees in Staples, Texas, where they are accomplished artists and photographers.  They also love to build and restore antique furniture together.

He's one of the nicest and most regular guys you'll ever want to meet.

John is fond of saying, he has found his garden ...

"Writers soon learn that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck