Tag: politics

My neighbor’s cattle were acting mighty strange.  I’ve never claimed to be proficient in bovine mannerisms, but something’s wasn’t right.

It was a couple of months before the county fair and like every other farmer, a cow needed to be selected for the “Best Bull” competition.

Earlier, the herd’s numbers were as high as sixteen.  If memory serves correctly, fifteen were steers and one was a heifer.  At yesterday’s sunrise, those numbers were down to eleven, including the heifer.  I’m guessing the missing five were cut in the selection process.

If you’re not from a farm, I’d rather not discuss what this means.

One of them, the one with far more hair than the others, started bellowing loud enough to make an apprentice farmer like me tremble.  He never was part of the team, and amassed a tower of hay trumping anything around.  As he horned in to get the front-runner vote, the others complained…as well as cows can.

Up until that time, I’ve never seen a cow shrug…amazing.

A second steer who didn’t seem to play well with the others fought mostly with the furry one.  For some reason he kneeled a lot.  I think he was the one to lead a milk production shut-down earlier in the week with another herd, and because of the work stoppage, you could not milk them here nor there, you could not milk them anywhere.

Even with the shut-down, the cows still ate, they just didn’t do their job.

Another wasn’t originally from the group…his parents were imported from an Amish herd south of the river.  Since he was a new steer, the others didn’t give him much “cow cred”.  Not trying to confuse species, but he seemed to be the dark horse among them all.

All of the cattle were Holsteins, except for one.  He was a Jersey.  Smartest one of the bunch, yet very quiet, and closed his eyes a lot.  If brains wins the blue ribbon, this one would be delegated to the front.  (Non-cattle folk will have to look that one up.)

By the end of the day, two more were gone.  I’m sensing a selection process trend.

The farmer moved the herd to the big pasture.  Like locust in a field of green vegetables, they decimated that pasture, taking everything they could just to be elected as the county fair candidate.  There’s a smaller field on the property’s east side.  I’m guessing by next week that land will look the same.

It’s well known the rancher down road has only two choices for the fair: a really loud heifer or an old grey bull.  Little love is found between my neighbor and this rancher, so if my neighbor picks the right cow, he’s got a great chance of bringing home the winnings.

My friend must have his winner, and I can’t survive several more months of these cows baying at the moon.  So here’s an idea.  Tomorrow night’s a full moon…ever heard of cow tippin’?

Last man, or should I say, last cow standing?

Next to eating apple pie at Mom’s on a Sunday afternoon following church, there’s nothing more American than washing the Ford in the homestead driveway.

It’s a ritual that has few equals, save the occasional fish fry at the Catholic church or the summer 4H fair parade…but next to that, any red-blooded American agrees the smiles derived from making the wheels shine is something to behold.

This past summer, I counted seven honks, three waves, two “hey you missed a spot!” (Remember when YOU were in high school?…ah, high school humor), and one “I’m next” while giving the family mini-van her weekly bath.

There’s something about bathing a Buick that ties a neighborhood together.

I’m here to tell you today, our neighborhoods; nay, our cities and towns; wait, our nation…that’s right, our nation, is under attack.

Yet we will persevere!

While spraying off the last round of suds, some talk-show host on the radio starting spouting off about how the rinse cycle I was currently applying is killing our nations’ waterways.  Something about the runoff from my car traveling down my driveway, onto the street, into the storm drains, and ending up in the local river.   He was saying how some politicians in the eastern states are outlawing driveway washings altogether…all in the name of clean water.

First…the dirt being washed off the car CAME FROM THE ROAD…I’m simply returning it to its’ rightful owner.  Second, that day the thermometer hit 98 degrees…the water evaporated nearly before it hit the ground.  Third, the water I rinse from my car is at least 23 times cleaner than our beloved river.  I’m the one trying to clean things up!

Hey…just call me a great American, I don’t mind.

So why now is this tinge of guilt running through my thoughts as I shampoo the Chevy?

“Are those people that honked at me pointing out publicly I’m some type of environmental terrorist?”

“Were the waves at me?  Or were they trying to wave down a police officer to arrest me for muddying our streams?”

“Am I…you know…inherently evil?”

The thoughts keep running through my mind.

Which begs the question…what’s next?  I can’t spray Windex on the outside windows?  Sweeping the sidewalk – punishable by community service?  Pulling weeds from the flowers equals six months in the pen?

“So what ‘cha in for?”

“Yankin’ a thistle”

“Oh man, my armed robbery is nothin’ compared to you…your bad news,” I can hear it now.

I’m a bit nervous…I just mowed my lawn one-half inch lower than the manufacturer recommended three-inch height.

I think I hear the black helicopters coming.

We’ve got an election for President around the corner…here is what I want to hear from the sixty-seven candidates…laundering the Lincoln would not be a crime.  Make that tops in your campaign promises and you’ve got this radical’s vote!

Cleansing the family Cadillac, on the family driveway, using family time should be protected by some type of constitutional amendment…this is important!

Keep it from becoming illegal.

If the minority wins, if logic looses, and polishing the Pontiac is a felony, then pick me up, throw me in the brig, and toss the key…I’m guilty.

I’m keeping my right to a clean car.