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Mr. Williams found he could only lift 3 milk bottles at a time, not 4 like Betty. The 3 felt like lead hamsters, but they weren't. He knew the difference, after that experience with the dairy farm. He had only been a lad, but the 25¢/hr job had enabled him to buy 3 hamsters and start the breeding process. He'd made little lead models of them when they accidentally perished in a freak July snowstorm. He liked the twisted little bodies frozen in poses of ecstatic, unrestrained rodenthood, even in death. Their kneecaps were showing like those little clear glass globes people buy in souvenir shops. His customers liked them too; they were his best selling item, even more than the real old fashioned milk-in-bottles. Soon, he was able to lift 4 milk bottles and figured he was ready to compete nationally. Betty had won state nine times and he knew he had a better costume and straighter teeth.
