Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Smallville.
Author's Note: I had fun writing about Little Clark in my last story, so I've decided to continue his little adventures. Jonathan and Martha are about to find out the hard way that their son is a wee bit different from everybody else. Thanks for reading.
After breakfast, Martha took Clark upstairs. Once she had brushed his teeth and Clark had used the bathroom, she dressed Clark in a plain red t-shirt and an old pair of tiny denim overalls that Jonathan had worn when he had been Clark's age.
"So cute," Martha smiled, ruffling her son's dark hair. "Mommy's little farmer!" Giving him a kiss, she handed him over to his father.
"Come on, son," Jonathan smiled at his boy. "Let's go out to the barn."
Walking hand in hand—Jonathan taking slow, careful steps and Clark toddling along beside him—father and son made their way out to the Kents' red barn and approached the first cow in her stall. Jonathan picked up Clark, opened the cow's stall, and sat down on a stool in front of the cow's udder, with Clark in his lap.
"I'm so excited. Clark, you're the fourth generation of the Kent family to live on this farm. If only your grandfather and your great-grandfather could see you now!" Jonathan reached for a metal pail. "Not that you have to be a farmer, Clark. You can be anything that you want to be. You control your own destiny."
Clark looked lost, as usual. He was probably wondering why Daadaa was making him sit in front of a cow.
"Clark, today we're going to milk your first cow. This was my first chore when I was little; helping my own father milk the cows. It's very easy, son. All you do is reach out and take a hold of the cow's udder-" Jonathan reached for the closest udder in front of him—"and pull it downwards towards the pail, squeezing hard." Jonathan pulled the udder, squeezing it tight. Clark watched in fascination as a steady stream of milk shot out from the cow's udder and landed in the metal pail.
"Take my hand. Let's do it together." Jonathan gently took his son's hand and wrapped it around the cow's udder. Together, father helped son squeeze the udder and milk the cow. Clark squirmed in discomfort.
Jonathan had a feeling he knew what that was about. "Don't worry, Clark. Betsy can't feel anything. Maybe a little tickle at the most, and she's happy she's being milked. She's very uncomfortable otherwise. See? She isn't hurt!"
Jonathan and Clark milked together for a few more moments, and then Jonathan finally let go of Clark's hand as it was wrapped around Betsy's udder. "I want you to do it by yourself, son. Pull!"
Clark just sat there, unmoving. Jonathan knew his son probably hadn't understood, so he grasped an invisible udder in front of him and pulled, to show Clark what he wanted him to do. Very gently Clark pulled.
"Good job, Clark! Keep milking!" Jonathan said excitedly, clapping his hands.
Clark smiled in glee and pulled Betsy's udder again. Pull. Pull.
PULL.
On Clark's fourth try, he pulled with such force that Betsy's legs fell out from under her. The cow fell to her side, and let out a giant squeal of pain. "MMMMOOOOOOOO!" Betsy shrieked.
Jonathan was frozen on the stool. Clark still had his hand clutched out in front of him, and Betsy was now lying horizontally on the barn floor, letting out moos of pain. The milking pail had been kicked to the side. Milk was leaking out of Betsy's udders, and there was a pool of blood around the top of her udders. It was as if Clark had tried to yank her udder straight off of her.
Jonathan quickly picked Clark off his lap and sat him aside—the little one was now crying—bolted off of his stool, and ran to the barn door. "Martha!" he shouted toward the house. "Martha, come out here, QUICK! WE NEED TO CALL THE VET!"
As Jonathan turned back toward Betsy's stall, he heard the back door to the house slam, and Martha running quickly to the barn.
As soon as Martha Kent reached the barn door, she turned towards the noise and took in the chaotic scene. "Jonathan, what happened?" she asked her husband frantically, but Jonathan wasn't answering.
Her husband was just staring at Clark, who was sitting on the barn floor, crying hysterically.