Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor


Marital Secrets—Part Four

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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