A Post Series That Contains Tails And Tales
If you would like some context as to what I am rambling about, start here.
Manure. I smelled a lot of manure. It was the morning following my resort escape and instead of subtle lavender spritzing sprays and gourmet cuisine, I was inhaling the scent of bovine excrement. My daughter shows cattle, and as she secured her moo in the trailer next to her friend's steer, I marveled at how much my life likes to have a good twist in it.
We were to be heading to the Kootenai County Fairgrounds for the Gem State Livestock Show. The actual showing of the steers wasn't to happen until Sunday, but my girl and her friend are show serious, and they wanted to get there a whole day in advance. To prepare. Or Something.
Of course, that meant I got to spend the night at the fairgrounds as chaperone. My daughter's friend's mom had chaperoned the girls at the previous moo show a couple of weeks earlier, so it was my turn. Of course it was cold and raining, because why not?
Once we arrived at the fairgrounds there were things to be done like setting up the grooming stanchions, washing the moos, blow drying the moos, freaking out about their hair, clipping the moos, etc... I stayed out of that bit of pageantry and instead busied myself with making the campsite at home. By campsite I mean tent in the middle of the parking field next to the horse trailer.
On the way to the fairgrounds I had stopped at a local grocery mart and stocked up on drinks and vittles. You can bet ten Porterhouse steaks that I know what is important when one is stuck at a fairgrounds chaperoning a couple steer obsessed teenagers: snacks! The first day passed slowly, with me hopping into my car and blasting the heater on occasion to warm my frozen digits. So cold was it that I was jokingly referring to myself as Kat the Red Nosed Show Mom. Let's not mention the fact that the rain had turned my hair into a Hermione Granger-esque frizz fluff. I know I looked styling.
After an exhausting and freezing day, we decided that we should go get something warm to eat. The steers were tucked into a bed of sawdust, given their fancy feed, and we took the girls down to a burger joint. It was we were finishing our fries that we witnessed a flintlock chewing of cow patty proportions.
The manager of said establishment had apparently had enough of her crew's insolence and proceeded to start yelling and cussing at her herd of high school kid employees. Now, as someone who works with the public and teens, I knew those poor heathens had checked out after the first sentence. Public humiliation usually isn't the way to go in management land, and I might have let that sentiment slip, loudly. My daughter, not to be outdone, blurted this little gem.
"No wonder they have a help wanted sign. Who would want to work here?"
Bellowing Bertha continued to increase in volume. It was one of those situations where you just didn't quite know what to do. That and we were all barely conscious after a sixteen hour day of steer things. I kept hoping the employees would mutiny, and I still think I am going to give the owner of the burger joint a call and let him know just how his manager disciplines the employees. I think I would want to know about that. Training time!
Anyway, back to the fairgrounds we went, the other mom went home, and I discovered the pathetic sleeping bag that my daughter's friend had brought to sleep in. We are talking thin layer of nylon, the kind you bring to your first sleepover kind. Lest I remind you all that it was freezing! Our family is pretty serious about outdoor gear, and we each have full combat grade military sleeping systems. It can be twenty below and we'll still feel like we are in Bermuda inside our little sleep systems. So, I did the only honorable thing, I gave the exhausted girl my sleep system and spent the night in the car with my fleece blanket.
Hence the 180. In twenty-four hours I went from sleeping in a suite to perched and somewhat sleeping in my car seat.
The irony of the situation was not lost on me.
It could have been worse though. Once again I found myself thankful for my diminutive stature, as I fit in my car seat rather well, and in fact could curl up into a cat-like ball. It wasn't so bad.
The girls, being devoted to their craft, woke up at five AM. They walked up to the car and whispered:
"Is she alive?"
I responded by raising my hand into the air, all Walking Dead zombie style and grunting. Alive might have been the wrong term.
The day flew by in a whirlwind fashion. Before nine around sixty steers and their handlers showed up, and all you could hear was the sounds of mooing and blow-drying. If you haven't ever attended a livestock show, I totally recommend giving one a chance. Besides the steers there were goats and sheep being paraded around, and let me tell ya, the goats will give you a show. My favorite goat moment was when one of the Boer market goats jumped up on the wheel well of a trailer. I looked at my dad and said,
"He's going to send it."
Dad looked at me, eyebrow raised, when that primped and pampered show goat rolled off the wheel well and landed right on its back in a pile of poo. That and many other reasons is why I no longer own goats, amusing as they are.
The girls both did well at the show. They each had a showmanship class and a prospect steer class. I was really impressed with my daughter's steer. It was his first show ever and he ambled around the ring like he had done it a million times. It was my daughter's second ever show, and even competing against professionals, they both got fifth place. I guess hard work and dedication pays off.
After a long day of showing, cleaning, packing, and moooving, we finally made it home. Once Frisky Red Whisky was put into his stall in the barn, I meandered towards the house. My brother had a bunch of his dirt bike friends over for a day of trying not to yardsale themselves. I think I said hi, I am not really sure, for after a whirlwind three days of Princess Life and Steer Show Life, I was done.
Even a week later I am a touch out of it still, and guess what! Tomorrow morning I leave on another adventure. My husband and I are hopping on a plane, flying to Phoenix, driving to Las Cruces, New Mexico, and picking up our truck Rufus! We then get to drive the truck and our trailer home. Now, after the whole engine dying fiasco, I am a touch nervy about the whole operation. However, I am far more nervous about the fact that I am leaving my children and farm under the care of my Dad, Rambling Ron. My dad and the kids are over the moon excited about the next week. That is what I am afraid of. I told the kids they were babysitting Papa, and I told my dad that I had streaming TV. For some reason I feel like I will have no shortage of tales to plunk out after next week, no shortage at all...
And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's still tacky from cow slime iPhone.