It was one of those images that stay with you even though it was only in your view for seconds. Driving the interstate back from North Carolina, to my right, in a field where there the terrain was hilly. There were cattle at the bottom of the hill grazing. There were cattle at the top of the hill moving slowly as if to make the trek to the base. The whole scene for seconds had a tranquil taste to it. And then there was the calf. Black with white markings on his neck and feet, he was running around the group at the top of the hill, he was running down the hill, he was running back up part way and running back down again.
I thought to myself, what a wonderful children’s book displayed before this fearless traveler’s eyes. “The Calf That Ran Everywhere He Went” would be a suitable title as I explored the plot that revealed a happy but anxious calf that came to learn the essence of grazing and slowing down to absorb life. “Ferdinand the Bull”, was quite the opposite of this frocking lad, and had learned there were treasures missed if one moved too quickly through the day. This little guy had a rush, rush to him that would have created motion sickness to Ferdinand.
Of course, my thoughts drifted off to other things as the hum of the highway counted down the miles to home. Thoughts of not slowing to enjoy life. Thoughts of wondering what’s next. Thoughts of I have to, I have to…do, do, do…this, this, this. Only to arrive home and see the lonely tractor that sits unmoved for almost a year now in the back field. There’s a children’s story, in that scene, too. “Nobody’s Tractor” reminds me of opposite of what I am striving for. Turned out to pasture, no longer needed, no longer looked after, just a silent reminder that one is useful for only so long.
I know it’s easy to think, geez, girl…you went from frolicking to abandoned…and this has slowing become depressing. Well, that’s where you’re wrong…enters Daisy. God has allowed Daisy to interrupt those deep thoughts…with events such as rolling in wildlife dung and getting sprayed by a skunk in less than a 12 hour period. Yes, when she came in the back door with her head hung, and globs of the most god awfully smelling feces dangling from her ears like a new set of earrings, it was just before I had to leave for work. So an emergency bath took place…only to come home at 2 AM, let her out and her whole face get sprayed by a smaller in size “Pepe Le Pew.” So then the title, “The Dog Who Likes to Get Sh**faced” changes my writing genre and shakes any depressing thoughts. Somehow, cleaning poo off of my Daisy gives me purpose…I’m not for sure what that says about me. In any case, it makes me smile.