The month was July, the temperature hot. There were no trees at the drilling location for shade. It was the height of the 80s-drilling boom, everyman on the drilling rig a weevil (translation – a person having no earthly idea what they are doing). Anne, Ray, and I were not worried. We had our chicken fries to look forward to three times a day.
Returning to the rig after breakfast on the second day of drilling, a State trooper, directing traffic and pulling selected cars to the side of the road, halted us.
“Where you folks headed? He asked.
“We’re drilling a well about a mile from here. What’s going on, Officer?”
“Someone cut up a cow out there last night,” he said, pointing to the adjacent field. “Cut its udder smack-dab off. Not a drop of blood anywhere.”
Anne glanced at me, and I looked at Ray. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“A coven,” he said. “Last night was a full moon.”
– to be continued –