The psychologists call it “sibling rivalry.” I call it brothers and/or sisters hassling, and country kids seem to have abundant aggravation resources.

My brother and I, as I recall, argued about most everything, but especially the important stuff like which bait would work best when we were fishing or whose turn it was to milk the cow. One day he snuck around and changed the length of only one stirrup on my saddle.

I admit I gave as good as I got, though. Once I hid the BBs to his new BB gun for a couple of days. As for our arguments I now realize my motto those days was “never admit you’re wrong.” 

But if anyone else so much as threatened either of us the other lunged to the rescue. I was two years older, so I was the rescuer most often, although he was good at it, too.

He always wore his cowboy hat, even to school, as all ranch kids did. One day several boys ganged up on him on the playground, took away his hat and stomped on it. The fact we were outnumbered didn’t mean a thing. I charged in, screaming and kicking and got slugged in the stomach for my trouble. We got out of that one without too much damage because the ruckus got a teacher’s attention.

Evidently, brother/sister hassles are alive and well in today’s generation, also. I know a couple of kids who partake to the fullest. They never miss a chance to annoy each other, but of course outsiders better not try it.

Some days they drive their mother nuts. A few days ago they were told to do the chores — in a hurry — because it was late and their mother had work to do after supper. Forty-five minutes later supper was ready and waiting, but the kids had not returned from the barn.

Mom went to investigate. The kids wear pull-on rubber boots to the barn at chore time to save their regular boots or shoes from the mud, manure, etc. The boy, 11, was hobbling around wearing only one boot. When Mom asked what happened he didn’t really answer. His older sister, however, had a great deal to say about the situation.

Apparently, there’s no way a brother or sister can bear to do a specific chore if it isn’t his or her turn, so an argument over whose turn it was to feed the horse, whose turn to check the water, who needed to open another bale of hay escalated into name-calling, throwing things, screaming, crying and kicking.

Somehow, during the kicking (which never was fully explained) one of his boots landed on the barn’s roof.

Mom, already not happy with the kids, did a bit of screaming of her own. A ladder had to be set up and leaned against the high, steep barn roof to retrieve the rubber boot.

Both kids went to bed really early that night. A couple of days later it was funny.

Glenda Price has been a contributing editor to New Mexico Stockman magazine since 1982. Contact her at:

glendaprice00@comcast.net