When entering the calf pen, do not wear flip flops, even if you imagine only a brief sojourn therein. Five calves will assume you are the bearer of everything good, and will come thundering happily over and proceed to trample your delicate little tootsies in search of their bottles. And skin will be lost and pain will be felt– yes, even though the little ones dancing on you are only 50-pound babies. Also, their feet will be dirty. And your husband will come in and chuckle at his city-girl wife, and he will tell you that James Herriot would be laughing even more. And then you will go inside and wash your scuffed-up feet. And your lesson will be learned.
Good thing they’re cute.