A Shocking Story

I spent most of this morning moving cattle in the rain and that involved hooking and unhooking electric fences that we use a lot in our pasture management program. Reminded me of a famous story about me that the kids like to hear.

It was the spring of '92. Actually I don't remember what spring it was but it seems like a lot of good stories start out that way so we'll go with '92. It was a rainy, muddy day and we'd been moving cows with new baby calves all day to different pastures. With a steady drizzle and mud everywhere, it was impossible to stay dry. You just had to gut it out and hope for the end of the day. Towards dark I had to check one more pen of heifers. I took off on our three wheeler after asking my son, "Did you turn off the electric fence?" To which he replied, "Yes, I did". But apparently he didn't and there's still a lot of controversy how the exchange of dialog went but he swears it was just a misunderstanding. Anyway, imagine me rolling along on the three wheeler, coming to the electric fence that holds the cattle in their pasture. Common practice was to bend over, lift the wire above you and cruise right into the pasture. And it was a good idea to slow down at this spot anyway because there was a huge puddle right below the fence(now you're getting excited about this story, right?). Anyway, when I grabbed the fence, as you will already have guessed, it was pulsating out about 7000 volts and I was pinned under the wire on the three wheeler getting the dickens shocked out of me. The only escape was to roll off the three wheeler onto the ground and as you remember, that allowed me to drop into a huge mud puddle.

I lay there for a while, trying to regain my senses, trying to remember what it is was I was wanting to do, then stood up and just caught the tip of my ear on the fence. Anyway, people who know me, hear me tell this story and then nod knowingly as if to say this incident might explain a lot of my day to day behavior.

Facebook

People who are wiser than me, and I'm always alarmed to notice how many of these people there are, advise me that using a "social media tool" such as Facebook would be a good way to win friends and influence people and okay I admit it, maybe sell more of my books and try to make money.

But learning to use this electronic tool is somewhat difficult for those people in my age group (over 12). I've noticed that many of the younger people are doing bizarre things on Facebook, tagging, writing on walls, referring to other's blogs, responding that they like things, the list goes on. People ask if they can be my friend and I always say yes. I'm scared to death to ask the many people that are suggested as "possible" friends to be my friend. Even though my kids assure me that you will never know if you've been rejected, still the possibility exists and why take the chance.

So anyway, thanks to all the kind souls who've responded to my Facebook page and if I've failed to do anything that may be considered proper social etiquette on this site , please forgive me. You have to remember that it was just a few years ago that I learned how to use a fax machine and listened in horror as it made those strange noises fax machine transmissions do and was just sure that somehow I'd shorted out some phone circuits somewhere and electrocuted at least three telephone operators.

See Us in the Movies!

Got your attention with the title for this blog, didn't I? Well maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit but a movie was filmed in our town, Lenox, a little over a year ago called "The Crazies" and starred Timothy Oliphant. It's been on the big screen and by now you can purchase DVD's, etc. I don't remember it receiving any film academy awards or being listed as a "box office smash" but it was kind of fun to see our small town almost double in size with "Hollywood types", bright lights and film crews. Many of our citizens served as extras in the movie, however I was not asked to participate even though I've been known to do many Oscar- winning acting presentations while trying to get our banker to renew our operating loan each year, but that's a different story.

If you do see the movie, and I must warn you that it is a horror film, try to spot a sign on main street that says Ag Connect. That's the non-profit I've worked with for years to try and help young farmers. We're in the process of moving out of that building after being there for over 14 years. Our work will go on but in a smaller fashion and with all volunteer labor. For more information visit our website, theiowafarmer.com and click on the "helping young farmers tab".

Anyway, if you need an autograph . . .

The Hospital Gown

This is probably my last segment in "General Hospital" mode. Many of you will issue a sigh of relief and that's okay because I can't hear you over the internet. This is the last in a dynamic three part series of blogs discussing my recent hospital event. Today's topic is " hospital gowns".

Here's the situation. You've just entered a medical facility because you are extremely sick, injured or in need of some corrective surgery. You feel discouraged and extremely vulnerable, sometimes alone and yes, sometimes, just plain scared. To counteract these distressing emotions, the great minds in medical practice got together and said, "What can we do to ease the stress of our patients, make them feel more at ease, calmer, more encouraged?"

The answer they came up with is: "Let's ask them to strip all their clothes off, become buck naked, and then we'll give them a piece of clothing to put on that covers almost 33% of their bodies. Folks, I've seen women on the front of Sport's Illustrated's Swimsuit edition that have more on than what I was asked to wear! I mean come on, who wants to walk around with your you- know- what sticking out the back of their gown. And it get's worse. They tell you it's okay if you wear your socks and shoes with your gown as you walk down the hall to whatever room they intend to start the "procedures" in. Boy, if you weren't humiliated enough before, try walking in front of your wife dressed like that! You may not have felt bad when you came in, but you get to feeling worse by the minute.

The Last Word

Possibly you are an individual who gets great joy out of arguing. Not my cup of tea, but there are those who enjoy a robust exchange of words sometimes leading to a heated debate. Many times, satisfaction only comes with "getting in the last word". If you fall under this category, I've got the perfect job for you, an anesthesiologist.

It my recent surgical event, I had a short pleasant chat with a lady who held this position just before I "went under". She tried to make pleasant conversation, asking about my occupation etc. She immediately inquired as to what breed of cattle we raised. To this, I replied they were mostly Angus.

Keeping a sharp eye on her watch and whatever was dripping in my veins, she announced that Angus were okay but Herefords were clearly a superior breed of cattle. Even though I had other things on my mind, I felt the need to correct her, even offer up the rationale that a cross between the two breeds might be best for all. But of course, I lapsed into unconsciousness before I could correct her. And I know, she knew, this would be the case. When I finally came to, I was in a strange room looking at a new set of people and had no chance to correct her. She probably starts arguments like this all day, year round and wins every one of them. And to top if off, she wears a mask so you can't even identify her later. So if you're a "get the last word in person", consider a career in the anesthesiology.

Therapy

I want to apologize to the thousands of people, alright, apologize to both of you, who religiously follow this blog. I had back surgery a month ago and I've just been in a bad mood and haven't felt like writing. But with improvement every day, it's time to get back to blogging. Especially given all the subjects (hospitals, hospital gowns, doctors, medication, etc.) lend to good stories.

Today I will discuss therapy.

On my last trip to see the doctor he prescribed therapy and being the good patient I am, I made an appointment even though I had some doubts that it would do any good. Folks, let me tell you, therapists get right at it. Let me describe my first treatment. I was asked to lay on my back on an examination table and spread by legs out horizontally as far as I could. Imagine a giant upside down "Y" with me laying there, my legs sticking out into mid-air. I didn't think that was too bad, a little uncomfortable, but like they say, no pain, no gain. Then came the surprise. Two therapists, stationed about thirty feet away, came sprinting toward me yelling war- like screams. Simultaneously they both leapt into the air, at least eight feet, and came crashing down on each leg. They say they could hear my screams fourteen blocks away, people stopping whatever they were doing and wondering, "Was this really the end of the world"? I imagine they performed several other tactical body adjustments while I was unconscious, I can't really say. I did feel a lot looser when I left their establishment, although I could only walk backwards and I'm hoping to overcome that in future treatments.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit, the people were really quite patient, competent and professional. But boy was it embarrassing to find out how much strength I'd lost. Better keep working.

Dress for the Occasion

Let me set up the background for this story. We live in a pretty sparsely populated area. There are a lot of days when maybe one car will drive by. We love the quiet privacy and peaceful existence that we enjoy but it would be nice to have a few neighbors.

Anyway, early this morning while drinking my coffee, I suddenly had an urge to drive down to our bottom pasture and check the cows. There is a crew working on a new bridge down there but I figured with last night's rains, nobody would be around. So in the interest of comfort and ease, alright, laziness, I just slipped on my son's mud boots and left wearing a pair of baggy gym-shorts that I sleep in. And I should mention that our son's boots are pretty big, actually you can walk right out onto the pond or a river and float on top of the water while wearing them, so I probably looked pretty much clown-like, but, as I say, nobody else is around and the cows don't seem to care what I look like.

Out of the pickup I was walking down the road towards the cow pasture when seemingly out of nowhere, four young men in hard hats, two of them smoking cigarettes, appeared from behind a large crane setting by the bridge repair. I was caught in an awkward position, if I went ahead, I looked like some idiot dressed the way I was. If I turned and walked the other way it would look like I was guilty of something. So, I buried my pride and waddled by them trying to make small talk as they stared. I would almost have felt better if one of them had made a wisecrack or someone had laughed out loud. No such luck. Just complete silence.

On the bright side, I suppose I did add some interesting conversation to their day and can only wonder what my new nickname is. Anyway, the moral of the story is, "always dress for the occasion".