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July 13, 2001 - Stampede!
Welcome to Funny Friday, to start your weekend off with a chuckle!
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"If you're not allowed to laugh in heaven, I don't want to go there." - Martin Luther
"Stampede!"
by Deborah Dee Simmons
Living just a mile outside the city limits and across the street from friendly neighbors whose small herd of cows resides in the pasture directly opposite our front yard, our family enjoys the best of both worlds. The cows spend their days gazing and grazing, occasionally lining up at the fence to stare with chocolate brown eyes at passersby.
Once in a while, they'll surprise us with a newborn calf, a miniature version of themselves with startlingly white patches of hide that pasture grime has not yet faded. Fresh and frisky, they delight us with their youthful exuberance, running circles around their normally slow, lumbering elders. All in all, the scene is one of peaceful coexistence--humans on one side of the fence, cows on the other.
Of course, that all changed with the stampede.
It began early one hot and humid evening when my husband rose from the couch and glancing out the living room window, mentioned that Matt had a cow out. A closer look also verified that it had grown to twice the size it appeared to be when corralled. Puttin on his shoes, John sauntered, shirtless, across the street to report this turn of events to Matt.
On his way over, he noticed that three other cows were also wandering around the yard and through Matt's newly planted garden, munching on tender corn shoots. Wolf, their German shepherd, tethered to his doghouse and outraged that the lowly livestock was free to wander
about the yard while he was restrained, began to raise a ruckus, running in circles, and barking up a storm.
This alerted our golden retriever, Sandy, who has trouble tolerating a jet occupying airspace above our home, so the knowledge that four huge and normally fenced-in, but now free-as-a-bird cows were heading in her direction was simply more than she could handle. With Sandy
lunging at the front window, threatening to crash through to freedom, our daughter, Darice, and I wrestled her to the living room floor and dragged her to the windowless bathroom. (Sandy has a tendency to forget immediately that which she cannot see and we have saved many a salesman by carting her off to her private oblivion.)
Meanwhile, John had reached Matt's house and notified him of the imminent stampede. Another neighbor, Randy (also shirtless), joined him in the yard. The four cows, edgy from the stereo dog barking and the appearance of strange, partially clothed men, began to separate
in four different directions. None of them, of course, wandered in the direction of the open barn door or back through the gap in the fence.
Instead, the big one eyed our front yard, while the other three headed straight for the center of the road. By that time, passing cars were beginning to notice there were large brown and white obstructions where none usually existed. Squealing to a halt, the surprised onlookers added to the general confusion by sitting motionless in the middle of the road--gaping and pointing.
Matt, in his jogging pants (and no shirt, of course), was outside by now and joining his frantic dog, barked orders to his crew of half-naked cowboys. Randy had thought to bring along a sturdy piece of wood to brandish, while John decided to rely on his wits and wave his arms.
The cows seemed unimpressed by either method.
Sheila, Matt's wife, (the only fully-clothed one in the bunch), joined them at that moment. Now Sheila had just returned from a hospital stay and herding cattle in her front yard was probably contrary to her doctor's orders. Nevertheless, there she was, dragging a furious Wolf to the back door, stuffing him inside the house and returning to help by stationing herself beside the open barn door. Matt, frantic that his garden was being alternately eaten and stomped to pieces by the happy-go-lucky bovines, continued hollering--at John, at Randy, and at Sheila.
Now John and Randy, being men and understanding how men can get in sticky situations like this, basically ignored him, preferring instead to continue waving their arms, brandishing their piece of wood, and dancing around to avoid being trampled by four tons of cattle.
Sheila, on the other hand, being a woman and his wife to boot, chose to respond. It went something like this.
"Sheila, just keep quiet and herd 'em in there! Can't you do that? Just shut up and get 'em in there!" Matt bellowed, waving his arms and shooing the cows in four separate directions. (Translation: "Honey, you shouldn't be out here doing this. Get back inside the house where you belong.")
Sheila responded: "I would get 'em in there if you'd chase 'em in this direction. You just shut up and send 'em over here. I can't get 'em in the barn if you don't send 'em this way. Just do your job." (Translation: "Thanks for your concern, hon, but I'll be fine. Just let me help and we'll be done that much sooner.")
I briefly toyed with the idea of joining the fray, but chose instead to stand guard at the gate of my herb garden in case the big one decided she wanted some fresh chives. From my vantage point, I was witness to a traffic jam, two barking, house-bound dogs, one bellowing husband, one shrieking wife, two dancing half-naked cowboys, and four mooing, rampaging cows. There goes the neighborhood.
Meanwhile, John discovered--to his chagrin--that one of the four escapees, a carefree, light-on-his-feet bull, had a penchant for a bush growing on John's side of the garden. Dashing through the corn and beans toward John, the behemoth would munch away for a moment,
kick up his heels, run back through the garden, wheel around, paw the ground, and start all over again. I had no idea John could dance so well.
By now, the men had lost their yen to herd these monsters anywhere at all, and contented themselves with merely staying out of their way. For a while, it was difficult to tell just who were the "herders" and who were the "herdees." It was a sad sight.
Eventually, probably out of sheer boredom more than anything else, the four renegades lumbered into the barn, slapped on the rump by a satisfied Sheila. John and Randy congratulated each other on a job well done, the highway crowd dispersed and Matt and Sheila returned to their house. And at supper that evening, John reached for a second helping of spaghetti while softly singing, "I'm an old cowhand..."
All in all, it was an interesting stampede--as stampedes go--and I wish I could say it all ended there. And for a while, I thought it had. Things seemed to be back to normal--quiet and peaceful, with us on our side of the fence and them on theirs.
But then I began to notice that the men seemed to walk around the neighborhood with a little extra swagger in their step and there's been a lot of tipping of imaginary hats and "Howdy, ma'am" and "Evening', ma'am" going on. John insisted on calling the dog "Ol' Paint" and just the other day, I caught him roping the cats. He can't seem to get enough beef jerky and beans and there's a lasso hanging from the garage rafters that I've never seen before. Frankly, it began to worry me.
But life goes on and last week I noticed the newest addition to the herd--a small, frisky, brown and white calf--"new blood," so to speak, in the corral. I found the little guy to be absolutely
delightful and commented on his adorable brown eyes and the cute little way he has of pawing the ground and charging anything that moves.
John, on the other hand, called him "shifty-eyed" and exchanged glares with the little fellow, muttering something about "juicy steaks and branding irons." He got a disgusted snort and a faceful of dust in return.
I was starting to worry that this whole stampede experience may have had far greater repercussions than I had first thought. My fears were confirmed when I overheard him on the phone to Randy one night.
"Hey, pardner," he drawled, "grab yer wood, take off yer shirt, and meet me at the corral. I see there's a stranger in town."
Deborah Simmons copyright 2001
dsimmons@remc8.k12.mi.us
Deborah Simmons and her trusty cowpoke, John, make their home where the buffalo roam in mid-Michigan. Deb enjoys writing her newspaper column and stories for the best site on the Internet--"2theHeart." Deb is working on a compilation book of her humor stories. This is one editor who can see her as the next Erma Bombeck!
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"I have had enough experience in all my years, and have read enough of the past, to know that advice to grandchildren is usually wasted." - Harry S Truman
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The Letter Box:
Dear FUNNY FRIDAY,
I loved your story called My Intruder! I laughed until my belly hurt : ) A few years ago when I was in my early teens, I was home alone while the rest of my family went Christmas shopping. I usually don't mind staying alone, but this particular night seemed darker and colder than normal, and I was a little jittery. Sitting in the living room trying to interest myself in a book, I heard the bulk head door outside the kitchen window begin to rattle! It freaked me out, and I
began to think that any minute now, a big bad robber would barge through the inside basement door that is right next to the living room! I made myself stay there on the couch, determined to not run upstairs, and finally decided to be brave and comfort myself in the fact that it must have just been a sheet of snow falling from the roof...
Cya later... Sarah =)
dreamhorses@juno.com
Dear Funny Friday,
"My Intruder" was a hilarious story! It reminded me of the time my husband went out of town for two nights and all I had for protection was a kitten. In the middle of the night I heard a scratching noise near the back door and my heart pounding, I hid under the bed, getting my "generous" sized bum caught because there just wasn't enough room. I laid there until the scratching stopped, but then I couldn't get out. After a while I drifted off and woke up to the
kitten licking my face. I finally wiggled out from under the bed, and with scrapes and bruises head to toe, climbed into bed, exhausted. Then I heard it again... scratch, scratch - by the back door. I was so mad I just walked right into the kitchen, flipped on the light in time to see my frightened kitten using the litter box! I don't know which of us was more scared, but I know I was definitely more embarrassed!
~Karen Young
Dear Funny Friday,
Loved "My Intruder"! All your stories are so funny - it really is a great way to start off my weekend.
Thanks,
Jay Leeds
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