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 –

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