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nny watched from the porch, the weight of the heavy slop cauldron slowly turned the big windmill and as the arm adorned by the kettle rotated downward, the cast-iron pot slipped off and fell to the hard-packed ground with a booming clang.
"Well, for the luvva Pete," Johnny said in amazement. "Hey, Barney, time to eat. C'mon in."
Barney trudged across the yard and limped into the kitchen to wash. They sat down to the table. "Now just what have you two been up to," Johnny demanded as they attacked the food-laden dishes.
Between mouthfuls, the two older people gave him a rundown on the morning's mishaps. The more Johnny heard, the wilder it sounded. Johnny had been a part of the Circle T since he was ten years old. That was the year Hetty jerked him out of the hands of a Carson City policeman who had been in the process of hauling the ragged and dirty youngster to the station house for swiping a box of cookies from a grocery store. Johnny's mother was dead and his father, once the town's bes
This is a silly story based on silly science, and it was intentionally written that way. It's written well enough, given the intentions. A decent read, but don't get your hopes too high.
Cows and chickens on a farm near the Nevada nuclear test area start giving odd milk and eggs--they are very energetic. Attempts to duplicate the conditions only create new weirdness.
An old fashioned humorous sci-fi story where the science is explained by "scientists don't understand it." The reader really has to suspend his or her disbelief. There is one woman, the farm owner.