|Mad Cow Disease|
|I'm recuperating from a bout
of "Mad Cow Disease," just not the contagious kind. It is all Lucille's fault that I got
exposed to this "mad cow". For
a number of years she has been
my number one cow hand, but
she quit on me. Due to health
problems (she says) she quit
helping me round up the cattle, separate them and load them for market. Now,
I don't blame
her for that.
This last time when we were trying to cull the herd, she could have been there watching from a safe distance, out of harm's way.
And, she could have shouted at me (as only she can), "Get out of there! Let those younger men, George Bingham and Derwin Isham, take care of that! That's what they came here to do!"But no, she wasn't there as she should have been and this angry (Mad) Cow turned on me.
This (Mad) cow:
But here is where the blame falls, instead of calling 911 and losing the time to get an ambulance out (and that added expense of some 18 miles round trip), why didn't one of them grab the front of me and the other the rear end, load me into my stock trailer, which was already backed up to the loading chute, empty of cattle (I still think they had all run over me), and hauled me to town. They said the stock trailer would have been too rough a ride for me. Why should I care? I was completely "out of it."
Now I just may be hallucinating here, but I vaguely remember stopping by the funeral home on the way to the hospital where my good friend Pete Boutross, after a cursory examination, pronounced I was not quite ready for his services. If that is true, I'm glad they didn't get a second opinion, but took me on to the local hospital. At the hospital, thanks to some very efficient nurses who performed a fine "clean up" job and Dr. Eisenrich, who after all the extraneous material had been removed, patched me up and sent me home to Lucille's "tender loving care."
I can still hear her, "I've told you and told you that you were going to get yourself hurt or maybe kilt."Lucille, you know I'm joking. You have been very loving and patient with me. But, there is one side effect that the expert care our local medics failed to detect. In addition to the obvious physical disabilities inflicted, my "gentle Angus cow" also "addled my pate." Oh, I still do my usual thinking, but more incoherently then normal.
Printed in The Comanche Chief newspaper, Thursday, April 12, 2001