Here's a piece I wrote a few years back when BSE was still strangling us -
Changing Perspective
As calving season creeps upon us again, I am reminded of how aging changes things. No more races with hormone-charged momma cows, since I’ve become clumsier, slower and it seems I’m out of shape. Although my wife reassured me that I’m not, since round is a shape. But an incident in the calving pasture the other spring showed just how far this regression has progressed.
The new-born calf lay right next to the woodlot. I pulled it under the fence, away from its momma, and trussed it up with a piggin’ string to make the tagging job easier. But a sloppy tying job allowed it to kick free and it headed back to Bossie. I hauled it back and tied it up right this time, before retrieving the doctor bucket from the four-wheeler in the pasture. However, by now momma was getting upset with the commotion. She was my biggest cow, and although a gentle giant, the protective side was beginning to show. I'm backing away toward the four-wheeler to grab the bucket with her following me with quiet intensity.
That year we started out really dry but 3" of rain in the first week of May plus heat makes for really tall, thick, grass.
Back to the cow. Not to worry, I thought, she won't hurt me. That's when my feet tangled in a grassy tussock, tipping me over onto my back with the cow’s face completely blocking my view of the sky. I suddenly understood author James Herriot's phrase about an involuntary evacuation of the bowels. From 12" away her breath is hot in my face when I start to roll toward the fence a few yards away. My wife’s words now made sense since my shape was suddenly to my advantage - something round rolls easier than something flat! I made it under the wire and the cow didn’t.
But when I stood up I realized that my glasses were gone. I'm lost without my specs. So, all the long grass and dandelions made it plain to see that I was still in trouble. Guessing at where I lost them, I slowly started feeling hand over hand through the grass for glasses. Never before knew that every dandelion stem resembles the arm of my glasses. The puzzled momma just watched, not really sure of what she was seeing either.
Hey, here they are! So with shaking hands I pull them out of the grass and try them on. Man, the world looks blurry. There’s cow poop on them. They don't fit anymore. They have a strange, cow-hoof shape to them. Could start a new fad, I thought - weird shaped glasses for that perfect, twisted outlook on life!
I bend them back into a wearable shape, try them on again and it's still blurry. So another look shows that one lens is missing. That would half explain the blurry. Oh man, that's bad news! These specs cost me more than a calf was worth when I bought them a couple of years ago. But the lens was lost in the long grass. One could clearly see that looking for it was a tough job for someone who had good vision let alone someone half-blind.
The calf got processed, returned to momma and I watched them amble out of sight. Resembling Colonel Klink from Hogan’s Heroes, I headed for the house at half throttle and found an old, usable pair of glasses. And until my new ones came in, I learned to take another look at things - like how at my age, tangling with a cross momma cow is a bigger challenge than I need. Have you seen any younger guys out there who want this job?
Changing Perspective
As calving season creeps upon us again, I am reminded of how aging changes things. No more races with hormone-charged momma cows, since I’ve become clumsier, slower and it seems I’m out of shape. Although my wife reassured me that I’m not, since round is a shape. But an incident in the calving pasture the other spring showed just how far this regression has progressed.
The new-born calf lay right next to the woodlot. I pulled it under the fence, away from its momma, and trussed it up with a piggin’ string to make the tagging job easier. But a sloppy tying job allowed it to kick free and it headed back to Bossie. I hauled it back and tied it up right this time, before retrieving the doctor bucket from the four-wheeler in the pasture. However, by now momma was getting upset with the commotion. She was my biggest cow, and although a gentle giant, the protective side was beginning to show. I'm backing away toward the four-wheeler to grab the bucket with her following me with quiet intensity.
That year we started out really dry but 3" of rain in the first week of May plus heat makes for really tall, thick, grass.
Back to the cow. Not to worry, I thought, she won't hurt me. That's when my feet tangled in a grassy tussock, tipping me over onto my back with the cow’s face completely blocking my view of the sky. I suddenly understood author James Herriot's phrase about an involuntary evacuation of the bowels. From 12" away her breath is hot in my face when I start to roll toward the fence a few yards away. My wife’s words now made sense since my shape was suddenly to my advantage - something round rolls easier than something flat! I made it under the wire and the cow didn’t.
But when I stood up I realized that my glasses were gone. I'm lost without my specs. So, all the long grass and dandelions made it plain to see that I was still in trouble. Guessing at where I lost them, I slowly started feeling hand over hand through the grass for glasses. Never before knew that every dandelion stem resembles the arm of my glasses. The puzzled momma just watched, not really sure of what she was seeing either.
Hey, here they are! So with shaking hands I pull them out of the grass and try them on. Man, the world looks blurry. There’s cow poop on them. They don't fit anymore. They have a strange, cow-hoof shape to them. Could start a new fad, I thought - weird shaped glasses for that perfect, twisted outlook on life!
I bend them back into a wearable shape, try them on again and it's still blurry. So another look shows that one lens is missing. That would half explain the blurry. Oh man, that's bad news! These specs cost me more than a calf was worth when I bought them a couple of years ago. But the lens was lost in the long grass. One could clearly see that looking for it was a tough job for someone who had good vision let alone someone half-blind.
The calf got processed, returned to momma and I watched them amble out of sight. Resembling Colonel Klink from Hogan’s Heroes, I headed for the house at half throttle and found an old, usable pair of glasses. And until my new ones came in, I learned to take another look at things - like how at my age, tangling with a cross momma cow is a bigger challenge than I need. Have you seen any younger guys out there who want this job?
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