Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor

Trophy Case

Decades back, I borrowed my buddy’s hydraulic, pull-behind, post pounder to build a post and pole yard fence. My plan was to have the trophy wife drive the tractor while I pounded the posts. Because I needed to give her driving directions to line up the posts, I knew things could get tense. As such, I immunized myself against the anticipated marital friction by having a dozen roses delivered to her office a couple days in advance of the project. No card or explanation, just flowers. Roses are leaps and bounds above the Covid jabs in terms of being safe and effective plus repeated boosters will never cause strokes, cardiac arrest, anaphylaxis or diarrhea. We planted every post in one weekend.

Several years later, we were trailing cattle up the Little Horn Canyon. Earlier in the week, one of the guest horses pulled up lame from a nasty sole abscess. We moved the guest to a fresh horse and placed the lame critter on injured reserve. I dug the abscess out hoping the horse would heal by the time we sent the cook string up the canyon. Hours before daylight on the morning in question, I threw Druann’s saddle on the recovering horse and told the trophy wife she should stuff her running shoes into her saddlebag in case her pony’s left front tire went flat in the canyon. At sunrise, Druann and two other cooks rode out of camp leading the three mules of the kitchen string. In terms of preemptive thoughtfulness, I placed my running shoes suggestion on par with my fencing roses. Druann, not so much, but she made it to the next camp without an incident.

This is timely thanks to the first blast of winter. The ranch received a twelve-inch blanketing of snow, so grandson Henry hopped in their skid steer to plow a little snow before trekking to school. He is ten years old and a decent dozer. Time restraints prevented him from completely clearing the driveway, so he gave his mother, Jill, a quick lesson in Bobcat hydraulics. Because I knew one tire on the skid steer had a slow leak, I texted Jill a reminder to top it off before beginning her aroma therapy session of blowing snow mixed with diesel exhaust. Spinning a tire off its rim is an hours-long repair which can be prevented by five minutes at the air compressor before the job begins. Reminding Tyler’s trophy wife, Jill, to air up a skid steer tire is fitting and proper and this brings me to my point. You will have to read between the lines to see it, but Proverbs 31 places roses, running shoes and inflated tires on par with rubies and a “household clothed with scarlet.” Read it, it’s in there and thanks be to God for your trophy wife.