I want to take a moment to recount tonight’s events. I realize that at the time of publishing this post, it isn’t night time, but know that as I write this, it is night and I am sitting here waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in and recalling the trauma of tonight’s events.
It all started out with a greenhouse. A greenhouse that was supposed to be my project and has turned into our project and has taken over our lives and might possibly be our marriage's undoing. More on that later. We had spent all day, and I mean ALL day, moving railroad ties and pounding two feet stakes through two tiers of railroad ties and into the ground. It was brutal. I had blisters and bruises and aches in all the places. I was thoroughly spent. It was getting close to evening, and I was so happy to be almost done with the project. My husband had mentioned earlier in the day that he wanted to take the kids to ride in the arena and tip the horns on his two new bulldogging steers and maybe try to break them in tonight. I thought, surely he has given up on that idea by now, but I was wrong. Even still, I thought, well he can take the kids to the arena while I go home and make supper. But pretty soon as I was just finishing up cleaning up all our supplies, him and the kids pull up with the steers and horses loaded in the trailer and tell me to get in. Every ounce of me did not want to do this, but considering that he had just spent the entire day helping me with my project, it was the least I could do. If I knew then what I know now, this would have been the part of the story I would have said no. This is the moment I would have suggested that we do this another time. Hindsight is always 20/20.
We start with our four year old son running into some barbed wire and getting a small scratch on his face and ear. Of course it bled, and to his four year old mind, that must mean that he had nearly decapitated himself. He wailed. And I mean wailed. This went on for a bit while I tried to comfort him and my husband saddled the horses. Then, because we are cowboy type parents, we put our wailing child on his horse and tell him to get the steers in the alley. Another mistake in this series of events.
His wails turned into anger as he made his way down the arena yelling that he was never riding again. The drama. So I end up getting the steers in. My husband tips their horns, and then……
You would think at this point, exhausted, one child having a complete meltdown over a small scratch, we would have given it up. But no, my husband is determined to break these steers in. I am trying to comfort my extremely overtired children, and my husband tells me to come over to the chute. My job is going to be to hold the tail of the steer while he gets a hold of the head and bulldogs them. Wait. WHAT? I am certain I am not the person for this job. But again, he had spent all day on MY greenhouse, wouldn’t it be the nice thing for me to help him? Wrong. Reflecting back on this story, this would have been another great time for me to stand my ground and abort this ridiculous mission. But I didn’t. I also want to take a second to mention here that these steers had been on green grass and were FRESH. So we let the steer go. I hold on to the tail for approximately 1.7 seconds before this extremely determined steer leaps out of the chute. My husband does get ahold of him, and they go end over end for awhile, all along him screaming at me to grab the tail. So I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get ahold of the tail. Before I get to it, the steer gets loose from my husbands hold. This is when my husband lets out a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush. My two year old daughter begins to repeat in the most calm and monotone voice, “No cussing, Dad. Just calm down, Dad. Just calm down, Dad.” Meanwhile, my distraught son is screaming all over again because of what he just witnessed. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
At this point, it has become clear to my husband that I really am not the right person for this job. You would think this would be where the story ends, but it isn’t. We have to do the second steer. I hang on to this tail an even shorter amount of time, my husband doesn’t get a good hold, and this steer gets away fairly easy. Thank God, we are done. My husband marches down the arena in a fit of rage, all while my son is still screaming and my daughter is repeating, “No cussing, Dad. Just calm down, Dad. Just calm down, Dad.” Wrong again. Here he comes up the alley way yelling at me to open the gate. These steers are NOT getting away with this.
Once again, the white tailed steer gets away fairly quickly. But the black tailed steer isn’t so lucky this time. My husband gets ahold of him and throws him down. He then tells me to come hold him down. Ummmm, okay. I do as I’m told. He tells me that he is going to let the steer up, then I need to pull the back end of the steer around behind him using the tail. Here we go. The steer gets up. I take the tail and do my best to run behind my husband with it. Somehow the steer and my husband end up spinning the exact opposite direction that I am headed, but I am hanging on to that tail with all the strength I can muster, so I end up getting catapulted in the other direction. Great, I can add whiplash to my list of ailments. I finally get to my feet again. The entire time my husband is screaming directions at me. So, I try again. This time, I’m able to help him somewhat, but let’s be honest, he did most of the actual work. This time, he wants me to just hang on to the tail and let the steer drag me. Ummm, do you actually hear what you are saying to me??! I try and fail, again. My husband lets the steer go, and while trying extremely hard to control his rage says that we are done. I send up a small prayer.
So there we are. Driving the quarter of a mile back to the house in complete silence. All severely traumatized, exhausted, covered in bruises (well me a little and my husband a lot). There is no moral to this story. There is no good lesson. I hope that in a day or two when I have recovered from the trauma, I am able to laugh. I hope that you are able to laugh at our expense, because I’m sure if this would have been someone else, I would think it was hilarious.
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