Day Writing by Heather Hamilton-Maude: You Can’t Make This Stuff Up
It’s been a productive and busy few weeks for us. Along the way we’ve had a few eyebrow raising moments.
We trailed our cows to summer pasture a couple days back. Checked some fence, turned on the water; all was well. Until my sister-in-law called that night to tell us she could see water squirting out of our above-ground pipeline.
The next morning a neighbor came to do that cool thing with black poly pipe where you cut out the part that is leaking, then melt and fuse it back together. When I showed up with lunch, I was presented with a 10-inch chunk of black poly pipe with….beaver teeth marks on it. At least, that is everyone’s best guess. Apparently, the local beaver wanted a fountain next to his creekside residence, and set out to accomplish just that. With our pipeline.
I can’t help but wonder if he is a distant cousin to the mouse who made a nest in the clutch housing of our pickup earlier this spring. Our clutch would slip, then work fine, then not. We took it into the mechanic, who couldn’t get it to do anything out of the ordinary. Until, an employee was driving it across town, and it completely locked up going through some of Rapid City’s current road construction. With a couple semi’s right on his tail.
Fortunately, no one ran him over, his girlfriend apologized if we find a brown spot on the driver’s seat, and the next morning everyone was really scratching their heads when another guy fired it up and drove it into the shop.
Some mouse had decided to put up long-term residence in the clutch housing, complete with pieces of corn and all manner of other stuff. I kid you not.
Then there was the day the kids and I went to Cabelas. We swung by the knife department, couldn’t find what I needed, and finally tracked down an elderly man who worked in that area. I asked him if he knew if they had any 60A razor blades in stock. We made our way to the aisle I had just left, and upon looking things over, he told me that no, they apparently did not have any.
“It’s calving season,” He said matter-of-factly.
Being June, I wasn’t following what he was implying, and began mulling over possibilities in my head while simultaneously removing fascinating and colorful knives from my children’s hands as I replied, “What?”
Then, this elderly, hunched over man leaned in a little, dropped his voice, and uncomfortably told me, “There are some men, and, well, they use those blades to cut the….scrotum’s off male calves. It’s calving season, and those blades are very popular. That’s why we’re out.”
I just looked back at him, rather dumbfounded and humored, and replied, “Yeah, that’s why I want them.”
And you know what, I do not think he believed me. Not for a second. He simply mumbled something about being sorry they were out, and left my side as post-haste as he was capable of doing.
So, for all you men who cut scrotums off baby calves during your June calving season, I have a mouse and a beaver I would like you to meet.
There are some things you couldn’t make up, even if you tried.
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