If you missed last week’s column,
jumping in here is like walking into a darkened
theater an hour after the movie started, so I’ll get
you up to speed. As a mixed-animal practitioner
whose clinic is located four blocks from the center
of downtown Laurel, my biggest fear is the escape of
a mad cow. Granted, the chances of being eaten by a
large ruminant are relatively low, but a cloven-hoof
stomping can be painful nonetheless. Over my 26
years in downtown Laurel, we have had four memorable
breakouts. Here was the first:
In the 1990s, we were frequented by an old cattle
trader named Leonard. Early one Saturday morning, he
dropped off an old prolapsed cow, stuck his head in
the clinic and hollered at Teresa, “I left an old
prolapse for Doc to fix. Call me at the Owl when you
are done.” The Owl Café was a couple blocks down and
it doubled as Leonard’s makeshift office. Saturday
mornings can be hectic and amidst the chaos Teresa
glanced across Main Street to the Laurel Ford
parking lot and spotted the prolapsed cow wandering
through the new car inventory as if she was studying
the window stickers. Leonard had neglected to shut
the gate at the bottom of the loading chute and the
old girl simply wandered up and jumped off the ramp.
She was recovered without incident, but we began
padlocking all our gates to avoid similar errors.
Last Wednesday’s escape, our latest and last, was
most traumatic because the cow was insane. She was
intolerant to any opinion different than her own, so
I figured she leaned progressive. After she knocked
me across the parking lot and disappeared down the
dark alley, I remembered a similar incident in
Billings where the rampaging critter was eventually
halted by a well-placed bullet. Jail time for
discharging a firearm in city limits could be
considered a vacation compared to calving season in
Montana, so this option remained near the top of my
list. As I searched, my worries worsened as the
entire downtown district seemed filled with parents
pushing strollers, or senior citizens gingerly
navigating winter sidewalks. By the grace of God,
the cow harmlessly sprinted the mile through town
and hid in a Russian olive patch in an empty lot
west of West Elementary. With the cranky black cow
concealed by darkness, we abandoned pursuit and
notified area landowners an extra black cow might
appear on their feed ground at daybreak.
The cow dropped a live calf during the night, but
still wasn’t happy. She plowed over Steve, her
owner, as he tried to load her into his stock
trailer around mid-day Friday. Steve’s hearty frame
was protected by several layers of insulated Carhart
apparel, which is the only reason to calve in
winter. Had he been freight-trained while sporting a
tank top, Bermuda shorts and flip-flops, the impact
would have left permanent marks. It took a
half-dozen attempts over the course of the week,
before the old gal gave up and loaded in the
trailer. Last week’s point was the key to my long
happy marriage is curiosity and suspense; the trophy
wife never knows what is coming next and you are
welcome to this trick if it keeps your family
intact. This brings me to this week’s point.
The American family is the mechanism by which we
pass the values we cherish to the next generation.
Faith, family, freedom, rights, responsibility and
work ethic are traits traded across the family
dinner table. However, progressives purposely
destroy fathers and family so as to enslave the
unwashed in dependency. In 1965, the illegitimacy
rate in the inner city was 7 percent, but it
skyrocketed to 73 percent after 50 years of
President Johnson’s Great Society programs. Today,
we see leftists trumpeting President Obama’s
programs of pre-K government education and Medicaid
Expansion as being gifts for the poor, but both
further destroy the fragile remnant of our American
family. Elected officials should honor their
grandchildren, children, parents and grandparents by
rejecting government bondage.
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