I didn’t realize what a tenderfoot I’d become until today. You see—I’ve been living in town for the last few months and the grind of city-life has been gradually wearing away at my countrified veneer, but I didn’t know it.
I still had a Country-Girl heart—yearning to plant a garden—even if it were within city limits! With that in mind, I left early on my way to work, today, and drove out of town toward a new client’s home—while looking for some good garden soil along the way.
I decided to swing into a friend’s farm to see if she had a few shovelfuls of cow manure to bolster the dirt in my new garden. It would only take a couple of minutes, or so I thought—and I would soon be on my way to work again.
My friend, Jen, was just leaving on an errand as I pulled up to her farmhouse, but she was happy to share her cow poop with me. “Just be careful of the Bull!” she said. “He’s fairly docile, but you never know about a bull!”
I waved her words aside and said. “Say no more! I’m a country girl, you know!”
I soon found the shovel and some feed-bags and went into the cow pen with a frisky pup trailing at my heels. The day was gloriously warm and I felt like a million dollars. This is how life should be! Sunshine and country breezes and cow manure everywhere! Life simply doesn’t get any better than this—-!
The grass beneath my feet had suddenly given way. My white, leather work-shoes disappeared into a sodden marsh of manure. Faster than you can say: JackBeNimble, I was stuck in poop up to my ankles.
I yelled and leaped aside, leaving one of my shoes behind in the muck. Unfortunately, I now had the attention of the entire herd of cows and they headed toward me at a trot—including the bull. They’d seen me floundering about, waving the feed-bags in my hand, and it had sent them into a frenzy. A moment later, I was surrounded by milling heifers with the bull not far behind.
How in heck do I get into such predicaments?
Reaching for my shoes, I pulled them out of the manure and tossed them aside. The pup, tagging at my heels, immediately seized hold of one shoe and trotted off with it. I ran after him screaming which only increased his pleasure. He thought we were playing a game and he ran faster.
It was then that a truck full of hay pulled up outside the fence. Jen’s father-in-law was delivering dinner to the hungry herd. Fortunately for me, the dog dropped my shoe and the cattle turned their attention from me to the farmer. I felt a surge of relief, but my relief was short-lived. I realized, belatedly, that my car was parked directly in front of the gate, blocking the farmer’s access.
Embarrassed, I hurried to rectify the problem, but by now the once “docile” bull had become indignant that his dinner was being delayed. He bellowed and pounded the ground with a huge hoof, tossing his head menacingly. Lowering his head, he rammed his horns against the gate, his bellows echoing across the hills.
Cautiously, I worked my way to the other side of the fence. Using the gate as a barrier, I somehow—through sheer determination and madness—began driving the herd back from the fence. I hollered and waved my arms, creating mayhem for a several minutes, but at last the entire herd yielded—even the bull.
Panting and sweating, I moved my car out of the way and the farmer’s truck was able to pull inside the gate. He delivered his load of hay, and then drove away waving.
Exhausted, I sank into back into my seat. It was too ridiculous what had just happened to me. My work clothes were spattered by muck. My white shoes were smeared with poop. I was stinky and sweaty… Speckled and freckled in the worst kind of way. It had all happened so fast.
This was one of those Adventures-in-the-Making. I knew I simply couldn’t waste all of this misery.
Grabbing my laptop, I began typing feverishly. I was half-way into my Adventure, sitting there on the side of the country road, when a big white pick-up truck pulled up beside me. The driver was a refined gentleman who looked at me with more than a hint of suspicion.
And no wonder! Here sat a bare-footed, red-faced, muck-spattered Stranger parked by a lonely farmhouse with suspicious white bags of “loot”! It did look awful, especially since the occupants of the farm were obviously not at home.
I groaned inwardly, but tried to look cheerful and sane. I didn’t give him a chance to say a word.
“I know this looks crazy,” I said. “But I was on my way to work, you know, and I came to my friend’s house to get poop for my garden and the cows started chasing me and I lost my work-shoes in the poop…and then the dog took off with my shoe, and the bull was after me, too…and if you don’t believe that these kind of things happen to me, you can look it up on VickiOneal.com and see for yourself. I’m a writer you see, and things like this.…”
“Whoa….whoa….whoa!” he said. “That’s too wild of a story to make up at the spur of the moment!” He shook his head and eased his truck into gear. “You must be telling me the truth. I believe you!…I believe you!”
Still shaking his head, he drove off in a cloud of dust, leaving me to my writing.
And that’s how it happened, folks. At least you know me well enough to believe that it’s true! See what happens when you become too sophisticated and citified for your own good?
And now….I somehow have to get my filthy shoes scrubbed and my clothes cleaned off, and wash the specks of manure off my face. In about a half hour, I’m due to arrive at my new client’s home looking respectable and refined and I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’ve got to try!
Time’s a wasting….!
Have a great day, folks, and stay out of the cow poop!