Greetings Readers
Yes.
“Fuck”
The F word. I have to admit that is one word that I do not say in front of my Mother. I have said the words son of a bitch. I have had said the word shit, Perhaps I have had said bullshit. But not the word Fuck in the presence of my mother.
Up until April 3, 2009.
Since I was there on the Ranch and we just had 12 calfes in one month, it was time for my parents to make good use of me when I was there. After all it does take more than two people to give shots, spray or brand cattle (and calfes).
I do not look forward to this, but deep down inside of me I do. After all, this has to been by us since we cannot ask anyone else to help. Nor would I even think about having someone help us with our cattle.
My parents rounded up the Cattle while I got ready to help. To be honest I was still in bed enjoying my so-called vacation. The morning was great and to think I knew my fellow friends in Colorado were in the midst of snow and cold weather. Whereas I was enjoying wind and 60 degree weather.
The cattle got corralled and that the time that we has to get organized. Divide the cows and steers from the calfes. Sort of hard to separate, but has to been done.
The calfes were too young to be branded so we left that for another time. However, the male calfes were in for a rude awakening. Rubber bands around their balls. Yes Readers, we do not raise bulls – only steers. Which means that we have to castrate or put a rubber band around their balls.
We did not ear tag the newborn calfes, but we did ear mark the calfes. We also gave a couple of shots to the calfes.
We were almost done when the f word in front my mother happened.
The calf was too big for the calfing table, but too small for the cattle chute. So, we have to use the cattle chute with a metal bar to hold to the calf in place in the cattle chute for shots and branding if necessary.
We got the calf in place and then I slid the metal bar in place and put pressure on the metal to hold the calf in place. I was doing good, doing my part. Then, the calf moved in the chute and caught me off guard. (Napping) Well, the metal bar came loose for less than a second, which is all it takes, and the calf moved in the opposite direction and my left hand was pinned.
The metal bar pinned my hand between the chute and metal bar tightly due to the calf moving.
“Fuck!” I yelled.
The pain was incredible for those few seconds. In those seconds I reacted. My Right hand pushed the metal bar, or I so believed, and then my right hand got caught for less than a second within the metal bar and cattle chute and then I somehow was able to free both hands.
Yet, not without yelling, “Fuck!”
Man oh man it hurt. Fucking hurt.
I am sure that my mother understood what had happened, but with me saying the F word was probably something she never heard uttered / yelled from my mouth in front of her.
I feel bad about saying Fuck in front of my Mother. I proud myself on not saying that word in front of her, even though we are bombarded by that word via people, TV and radio. I will say the occasional shit, but never fuck.
Anyway Readers, my hand was bruised for over a week and as of today the hand still hurts, but not as much and the bruising has disappeared. I am even thinking of going in for x-rays since I am starting to worry about a fracture. Nothing broken mind you, but perhaps a fracture.
And I have to add that I was able to finish working on the calfes, in addition the steers and cows and the bull for the annual shots and tagging. In my book I was a bad ass on that day.
I just hope that I do not ever say “fuck’ in front of my Mother again. I do feel ashamed. I know that I cuss on the blog, but cussing like that in front of my parents, well my Mother, is different. I was not raised to curse in front of my immediate family. Taboo in a way.
Until the next time
Daryl Charley
The Fallen Athlete
Yes.
“Fuck”
The F word. I have to admit that is one word that I do not say in front of my Mother. I have said the words son of a bitch. I have had said the word shit, Perhaps I have had said bullshit. But not the word Fuck in the presence of my mother.
Up until April 3, 2009.
Since I was there on the Ranch and we just had 12 calfes in one month, it was time for my parents to make good use of me when I was there. After all it does take more than two people to give shots, spray or brand cattle (and calfes).
I do not look forward to this, but deep down inside of me I do. After all, this has to been by us since we cannot ask anyone else to help. Nor would I even think about having someone help us with our cattle.
My parents rounded up the Cattle while I got ready to help. To be honest I was still in bed enjoying my so-called vacation. The morning was great and to think I knew my fellow friends in Colorado were in the midst of snow and cold weather. Whereas I was enjoying wind and 60 degree weather.
The cattle got corralled and that the time that we has to get organized. Divide the cows and steers from the calfes. Sort of hard to separate, but has to been done.
The calfes were too young to be branded so we left that for another time. However, the male calfes were in for a rude awakening. Rubber bands around their balls. Yes Readers, we do not raise bulls – only steers. Which means that we have to castrate or put a rubber band around their balls.
We did not ear tag the newborn calfes, but we did ear mark the calfes. We also gave a couple of shots to the calfes.
We were almost done when the f word in front my mother happened.
The calf was too big for the calfing table, but too small for the cattle chute. So, we have to use the cattle chute with a metal bar to hold to the calf in place in the cattle chute for shots and branding if necessary.
We got the calf in place and then I slid the metal bar in place and put pressure on the metal to hold the calf in place. I was doing good, doing my part. Then, the calf moved in the chute and caught me off guard. (Napping) Well, the metal bar came loose for less than a second, which is all it takes, and the calf moved in the opposite direction and my left hand was pinned.
The metal bar pinned my hand between the chute and metal bar tightly due to the calf moving.
“Fuck!” I yelled.
The pain was incredible for those few seconds. In those seconds I reacted. My Right hand pushed the metal bar, or I so believed, and then my right hand got caught for less than a second within the metal bar and cattle chute and then I somehow was able to free both hands.
Yet, not without yelling, “Fuck!”
Man oh man it hurt. Fucking hurt.
I am sure that my mother understood what had happened, but with me saying the F word was probably something she never heard uttered / yelled from my mouth in front of her.
I feel bad about saying Fuck in front of my Mother. I proud myself on not saying that word in front of her, even though we are bombarded by that word via people, TV and radio. I will say the occasional shit, but never fuck.
Anyway Readers, my hand was bruised for over a week and as of today the hand still hurts, but not as much and the bruising has disappeared. I am even thinking of going in for x-rays since I am starting to worry about a fracture. Nothing broken mind you, but perhaps a fracture.
And I have to add that I was able to finish working on the calfes, in addition the steers and cows and the bull for the annual shots and tagging. In my book I was a bad ass on that day.
I just hope that I do not ever say “fuck’ in front of my Mother again. I do feel ashamed. I know that I cuss on the blog, but cussing like that in front of my parents, well my Mother, is different. I was not raised to curse in front of my immediate family. Taboo in a way.
Until the next time
Daryl Charley
The Fallen Athlete
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