Dad soon realized a way to expand our rationing coupons for gas and tires and such.  He found and bought a Buick as a second car.  I think it was a Buick.  It was old and tired and rusted.   Nevertheless it doubled our gas and tire quotas.  Its ration stamps could be applied to the car he commuted in to work. 

Generally the old  car sat in front of the house.  Mom occasionally drove it to town to shop, but that was about the sum of its usefulness.

One day a letter (we had no phone) came from Aunt Carol, another of Mom’s sisters.  It said that if we wanted it, she had a calf that had just been weaned.  We could raise and butcher it.  The meat would go in the frozen food locker we rented in Walnut Creek.  But time was of the essence.  If we didn’t come and get the calf, it would go to someone else.  Dad was at work.  Mom left Bill (my little brother) with a neighbor to babysit and immediately we set off for Vallejo.

I was enormously excited.  Going to Aunt Carol’s meant going on the ferry to Benicia.  We’d drive to Martinez and wait in line at the terminal.  Soon we’d be on the way.

I’d watch as Mom paid the toll.  She leaned out of the window and give the man the money.

We were on the way!  We were on the water!

On the trip over I sat in front with Mom.  Once we got to their place I realized Aunt Carol was coming back with us.  That meant the back seat for me.  It meant I would share the back seat with the calf.

Mom and Aunt Carol were very nervous.  If the toll taker saw the calf, they probably would not let us  go on the boat.  Instead we’d have to drive to the bridge many miles to the west of the ferry.  Since the calf was very small they planned to put a blanket over its head.  I was to hold the blanket in place.  We’d sneak it onto the boat.

Wrapping my short arms around its neck, I did the best I could.  As we drove, the calf became increasingly restive.  It snorted and bucked.  The blanket came off his head.  Aunt Carol had to kneel on the front seat and help me hold it.  It bucked and fought until she managed to get the blanket back in place.  But by this time I and the calf had moved from behind where Mom sat driving the car to the other side.  The passenger side posed its own problem.  The floor of the car on that side had rusted out leaving a hole eight or ten inches across.  As we drove I could see, from where I usually stood behind Mom, the pavement rush by.  That’s why I was strictly told to stand behind her.

The calf remained quiet.  Mom paid the toll.  The man did not notice the calf.  We got on the boat.  We left on the return trip.

Perhaps it was the vibration of the engines.  Perhaps it was simple fatigue.  Perhaps it was getting over the fear of the new situation.  Whatever the reason, I suddenly realized the calf was peeing.  Mom and Aunt Carol turned to look, expressions of horror their faces.

Loudly the pee splashed.  But not in the car.  The pee went directly through the hole rusted in the floor.  Aunt Carol turned and looked outside the car.  A yellow river snaked its way down the deck toward what looked like a drain.  Except it appeared to be plugged.  Gradually a yellow pool spread between the cars ahead of us.

Mom and Aunt Carol sank down in the seat.  I heard wild and panicked giggling.

No one got out of any of the other cars.  No one noticed.  We docked.  As it departed the car in front of us splashed through the pool.  Yellow splattered our windshield.   We bounced up the ramp. Suddenly Aunt Carol said in a shaky voice that she thought we had splattered pee on the car behind us.

Panicked silence.  At last we turned off on the road to Walnut Creek and the car behind us continued on the road to Martinez.

The calf stayed quiet for the rest of the trip.