Cousin Ollie snugged another bale of hay into place. Our pirate ship of timothy and clover was almost complete.

“We should call these Hayos,” he said. “You know, like Legos, only bigger.”

“I don’t think it’ll catch on,” I said.

“Sure it will,” he said. “Hay bales are Legos for farm kids. Maybe we should call them Bale-os. What do you think about Silageos?”

“Hay isn’t silage.”

“But it’s a cool name.”

I sighed. “Ollie, city parents aren’t going to buy kids a bunch of hay bales. Too big for the living room. They’d need a hay mow like this one.”

Ollie scratched his ear. “Mow. That’s a funny word. It’s pronounced ‘mow’ like ‘cow’ but spelled the same way as ‘mow’ like ‘toe.'”

“You better not mow your toe when mowing the hay to bale for the hay mow or you’ll say ow.”

“I’ve seen your toes,” Ollie said. “You should mow them. You have hairy hobbit toes.”

“Shut up.”

Ollie hefted another 60-pound hay bale into place. “There, our pirate ship is done.”

“It looks more like a dog house that threw up.”

“Use your imagination.”

I squinted at the blocks of hay. No pirate ship appeared. “I’d rather imagine us snagging some cookies.”

“Why do they call them that?” Ollie said. “Your mom doesn’t cook cookies. She bakes them. They should be called bakies.”

I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“What about pancakes? They’re flat and round like cookies, and my dad does his on a griddle. Shouldn’t they be called griddle cookies? But no, we call them pancakes, hotcakes or flapjacks.”

“I call them yuck,” I said.

“Words are weird,” Ollie said. “What did the teacher call those words spelled the same but pronounced differently, like mow-cow and mow-toe?”

“Homographs. I remember because it sounded like phonographs.”

“A what?”

“A phonograph is an old-fashioned record player. Musicians record records,” I instructed. “But a homograph is a word with different meanings and sometimes different sounds for the same spelling.”

Ollie’s brow furrowed. Thinking wasn’t one of my cousin’s strong points. “Oh, you mean like I took a bow after shooting the arrow with my bow?”

I nodded. “The comic book drawer kept his artist pencils in a drawer.”

“I’m coming to you live from where I live, in the house that houses my bakies.”

I groaned. “You’re pushing it. How about I fished for the bass that played bass on the tuba.”

“Oh, I know that one,” Ollie said. “You can tune a piano but you can’t tuna fish.”

“That’s awful.”

“And a bass playing bass isn’t?”

“I object to being the object of your childishness.”

“You’re the one who wanted to build a boat out of hay bales.”

“Out of Silageos, thank you very much.”

“If you don’t row away in that thing, toe and all, we’re going to have a real row and you’ll say ow.”

Ollie wound down before getting further wounded by my sharp wit.

“Would you cry tears if we tear down this pirate ship, wind up our leg springs to run like the wind, and  go get some bakies instead?”

“Only if they’re not griddle cookies. Get the lead out and lead the way.”

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