SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE WESTERNER

Don’t drink the blue stuff

By Julie Carter

In this season of winter I find myself giving some thought to things I am thankful for while the wind howls and thermometer drops.

At the top of my thankful list is how thankful I am that there are no heifers to calve to this winter.

Making a mental note of the advantages of calving heifers when nights hit the single digits on the thermometer makes for a mighty short list. Frozen hands covered in afterbirth goo and wallowing a wet calf to the barn with a mad momma intent on snorting you out of the pen seem to not make the list.

Birthing anything, calves or children, never seems to come at a convenient time. I have no end of recall to situations where the birth of a child aggravatingly interfered with hunting season, an important roping or happy hour at the local cantina.

Why even as recent as last week, a local basketball coach had to miss the first game of a tournament because his wife thought she needed to have the baby at the hospital. She turned down the offer of the school’s hospitality room, even though she was assured of a cleared table and at least an hour of privacy.

Having given birth myself has given me the sense that I have one notch more empathy for a heifer birthing a calf than any male counterpart could ever muster.

When those calving chains are hooked to a come-a-long to pull that unwilling calf on out, I give audible praise to God that the cowboy standing next to me hadn’t delivered his own child.

Cowboys, for all that they are, there is a list of things they are not. Two of the “nots” are empathetic and patient when it comes to the details of womanhood.

Mentioning that the cold is making your skin dry and flaky will return a cynical comment about the hot oil treatment you had only a week ago. And they truly think getting showered in hot hydraulic fluid when the line broke on the tractor while you were in close proximity should have fixed that dry skin problem.

In today’s world many ranch wives have town jobs and that sometimes leaves the cowboy boot clad Rambo of the outfit in charge of feeding, dressing and monitoring small children.

“What do you mean tortillas and M&M’s aren’t a complete meal? Besides, today we finished off the bag of those candy bars with the with the nutritional cookie centers.”

Then he will defend the day’s recreational activities. “But the kids wanted to watch Baywatch. It’s got some great lifesaving water safety tips.”

Revenge is often unintended but just as sweet. Let’s say the cowboy of the house is a kool-aid drinker along with the kids. The gallon pitcher on the counter invites him to pour a big glass full and down it quickly to sooth his quenched parched thirst.

When he finds out that blue stuff was not a blueberry punch but in fact a newly mixed batch of Miracle Grow intended for the house plants, all hell breaks loose. By his decree, any beverage with a blue tint is forever forbidden to exist on the ranch.

The real downside to the event for the cowboy is he will have to endure years of ribbing from his buddies on just what could possibly happen after drinking a full 12 ounces of Miracle Grow.

Julie can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.net

Copyright Julie Carter 2005


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