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Recent News... Just for Pope Gregory... |
2003-03-27 - 5:09 p.m. A Mad Cow and a man named Peanut. I don�t want to talk about the war. I don�t want to talk about work. So, let me tell you a story about a mad cow and a man named Peanut. My mother's family are farmers. They settled in the Appalachian Mountains long ago, in a time before American was a country. My grandmother began her married life in a shanty smaller than my kitchen, built in the orchard of her husband's new farmland. My mother and father leveled a hayfield, and built my childhood home in the midst of the farm. In between their regular jobs, they raised two children, a small herd of cattle, twenty some chickens (started from my sixth grade incubate-an-egg class project when I won the draw to take them home), seven cats, nine dogs, three turkeys (which my brother tormented endless practicing his turkey call until they had a nervous collapse or died of excitement from him leading them on. I have no idea what he said to those turkeys, but they were excited), two ducks who wandered in from somewhere north and just stayed, and a goat which dad bought mom to keep the weeds nibbled down, but who insisted on eating the sapling trees instead. Never buy you wife a goat for her birthday. No matter how good her sense of humor, it's not what she really wants. Many things have changed since my childhood on Ornery Holler. After my grandmother passed on, my mother and father sold off the last of their small herd, leased the pastureland and sold the yearly hay crop. The orchard is now bare since lighting took the last apple tree a decade ago. My brother finally tore down my grandmother's shanty before it completely collapsed. My parents have divorced, and I've moved far away to the big city. The more things change, the more they stay the same. My brother is destined to be the part-time farmer of our generation. A couple years ago, he and my mom set upon reviving the farm. Hours of clearing brush and repairing fenceline later, my brother has a herd of cattle again. He had to start from scratch, buying brood cattle and paying for stud services, but he has a couple years start now and things are going pretty well. Buying cattle is always fun because you get to name them really silly things. Like Bessy or Champ or1976 which was my name for the first calf born in the bicentiannal year. To my brother's exasperation, my mother continued her former habit and named most of the new herd, and just to really irritate him, the names got stuck in his head and he started using them. His favorite is named Cocoa. Everyone got a name except "the Mad Cow" (capital emphasis). She was one bitch of a heifer, a real fence-buster, and was nothing but trouble and meaness from the day she arrived. Now let me tell you about Jenny, my childhood best friend. Jenny and I had the same teacher in second grade and were inseparable from that moment until graduation. She lived a quarter of mile below my grandmother's place in town. Her Aunt Mary's home was in the next holler over from my Mom's farm, along the same road as Jenny's cousins, Carol and Peanut, about fifteen minutes away on horseback. In the way of small towns, her cousin Carol was my dental hygenist and Carol's husband, Peanut, works with my brother. Peanut is a nurse and my brother is an EMT. Peanut looks like Willie Nelson if you cut the braids, added eyeglasses and packed him with muscle, a six-five giant of a man with a deep drawl and a white straw stetson. In the evenings, Peanut often helps out around the farm, though since no one can ever remembers Peanut's real name, including his boss at the hospital, it's a bit of a pain to make out his paycheck.
(Draw a chart if you�re confused.) One fine Sunday morning about a year ago the Mad Cow decided to take the time to meet her monthly fence busting quota. She picked that golden hour just before church but after you've already dressed in your Sunday best - because nothing makes a cow happier than to watch people in pantyhose and field boots chase them around the pasture. So here's mom in pearls, dress suit, and muddy boots chasing the Mad Cow back off the main road and into the pasture when Peanut and Carol happen along. They (also dressed in their Sunday best) stop to help and now the Mad Cow is truly entertained - three human in funny clothes to scurry after her. They get her back in the pasture, but she is not content to have the fun end and decides to mow Carol down. Most cows are cowards, especially heifers, and all it takes is a shadow jumping near their face to make them shy away. But not the Mad Cow. She is one focused animal and she charges Carol like a rodeo maverick chasing an escaping cowboy. Carol runs for the fence, trips on a groundhog hole and is down for the count. Peanut scares off the Mad Cow, but the damage is done - a broken ankle and weeks on crutches for Carol. The Mad Cow laughs, having won the battle. But she has not won the war. Last spring, I call my Mom one Sunday afternoon only to find her house full of people enjoying pot roast with all the fixings. "Who knew the Mad Cow would cooks up so tender for a such a tough old b****?" "Mother!" I stammer, because I may swear like a sailor, but southern belles like my mom are not allowed to use that kind of language. It seems that Saturday, my brother ran out of patience with the Mad Cow. Saturday is cattle market day, and my brother decides it is time for the Mad Cow to move on to a new home in the grocery store meat counter. It'll get the Mad Cow out of his pasture and provide cash flow for some repairs. At least that was the plan. He and Peanut back Peanut's dualie up to the barnyard loading chute and try to get the Mad Cow into the truck. Round and round they circle, until the tables turn and the Mad Cown trees them on top of the tractor. Picture this. My 5'11" brother, built like a fireplug, standing on the seat of a bright red tractor with Peanut balancing his six foot five, 275 lbs frame on the 2 foot wide hood, trying to stay upright while the Mad Cow rams against the side of the machine, doing her best to tip it over. Two strong men defeated by a 2000 lb cow, dancing on top of farm equipment and yelling "Git!" My brother is done, but he is *not* defeated. He leans down and starts the tractor, Peanut kneeling on the hood, clinging for dear life, and manages to drive to the fence. The Mad Cow can't get between the tractor and the fence to stop him, so he clambers across the wheel, over the fence and down to the ground and freedom on the other side. It's reassuring to know my brother can't be outwitted by a cow. He storms into the house, grabs the portable phone and calls the meat processing plant at the other end of town. "Hey. What time do y'all close?"
He opens the kitchen drawer and begins loading the revolver. My mom stops chopping food to stare. "5 o'clock? No problem." Glances at the clock. "It's 4 now, I'll have the a delivery for you before closing." He storms back out of the house and finally, six shots later, wins the war with the Mad Cow. But the Mad Cow has not claimed her last victim. Instead of the meat market, they are now bound for the meat processing plant. My brother and Peanut load the now unprotesting Mad Cow into Peanut's truck. They roll the Mad Cow unwieldy into the bed where she ends up flat on her back, all four hooves sticking straight up in the air like a package with the 'this end up' sign on the wrong side. Profile shot. The fastest way from my mom's house to the meat processing house is to hop on interstate 81, drive past the "Hungry Mother State Park" exit and hop off one exit later, taking the ramp by the first Pepsi plant to ever produce Mountain Dew. And I thought my brother driving a coffin through the McDonald's drive thru had an impact. Oh no. Mini-vans and cars swerve in panic as the dualie speeds past them on interstate and the tourists are startled by the four upright hooves. They hit the exit, and take a fast left onto Highway 11, heading west to the meat processing plant. Unfortunately, Peanut's wife Carol, by some impossibly strange coincidence, is heading east. All she sees is her husband's dualie flash by, four hooves in the air, and she swerves straight into the ditch. My brother and Peanut, men on a mission, fly past, leaving her stranded. The Mad Cow had claimed her final victim. Carol and Peanut got first pick of the steaks. � � � 
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