The Angus Whisperer
Daddy
When I was about four years old, my dearest grandfather (Paw-paw to me) was gradually becoming chairbound by the same "dickens" that has leveled me: rheumatoid arthritis. He was thin and scrappy, while I'm.... not (lol), but I now know how much he struggled with his mind's battles against a crippling disease. We had literally never heard of depression, plus he had a pretty strong family of 4 plus a sister...
However, he struggled. He had a walker, and he wrangled himself onto a Massey-Ferguson, small tractor or a little Model A International. From there he surveyed his farm, his life, his beloved Angus herd. He knew the cows by name, but their names were the brass numbers on the chains (necklaces in my fairy tale book) these old bossies wore on their necks. "Number 19! Hay on! Number 9, whoa! stop that!" Remarkable thing--- they also seemed to know their names!
Through the years of Paw-paw's decline, he was able to do less and less, and my daddy, who actually hung the moon that illuminates our night skies today, did the tending of our Angus herd.
(I'm getting to the point. Trust me.) One morning while we were helping my grandmother, Daddy wheeled in with the awful news that Number 11, an old particular favorite who had twice delivered twin calves in her lifetime, was "down" in the pond. When an old cow gets down, it's close to "curtains." The mud just sucks them in, and they give up.
For the next few hours my dad, our elderly veterinarian, and our neighbor Leroy Teter worked and scooped mud, pulling on that old cow, splashing around and yelling at each other, the mud, the cow, the horse they rode in on...
My grandfather just sat inside the house with his head resting, face first, on his five, tired, old fingers... He couldn't be distracted, and he wouldn't be bothered to put on a front about just how pitiful that morning's events had made him feel.
Suddenly, my dad burst in the back door to Gramma's pink kitchen. "We need Emmanuel!"
The younger men had been successful. The cow was out... she was just lying by the pond covered in mud. Her eyes said, "Kill me now!" The younger men asked Paw-paw to go out by the pond and talk her into getting up and giving another go to life. My dad had thought of the one thing necessary to help heal both cow and father-in-law... My dad was king of that talent!
I can still remember the fire sparking from Paw-paw's bright blue eyes after his words were able to sweet talk that muddy old cow!... I can almost taste that vegetable soup celebration Gramma served our family, Doc Bussett the Vet, and Leroy. What a good day on the farm.
I won't have to say more than just to tell you that the reason this all came to mind stems from my trial run at a transfer from my recliner to my power chair. Old Number 13 needed the Angus whisperer for sure. My Physical Therapist did a mighty fine, kind job... I think I have more mud to go, but... we shall have to see!
Enjoy your week. This weather is perfect!
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