The city slickers among us might think the greatest innovation in agriculture is the move from a four-pronged pitchfork to the clearly superior three-pronged version.
Tug, scream, shine the flashlight, throw the pitchfork toward the barn.
His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov.
Brandishing the pitchfork with renewed courage, she boldly strode to Brutus.
She stabbed the pitchfork into the dirt floor.
Once inside the barn, she grabbed the pitchfork and a flashlight and then darted out the barn door, screaming at the top of her lungs.
She forked some hay to Princes and leaned the pitchfork against the wall near the door.