A Rough Job

A Rough Job

Yesterday afternoon I tried taking my kids fishing. “It will be relaxing” my wife had said about the excursion. After an hour and a half of constant “un-snagging” of lines, with non-stop whining about the heat, and the wind, and the boredom of no nibbles, we finally decided to call it quits and head for home.

I was excited to go back to work this morning, to get a little relaxation, from the “relaxation” of spending time with my kids.
Yet somehow the morning didn’t turn out quite like I’d planned.

After preg-checking nearly a hundred cows at the first stop of the day, an emergency C-section was added to the list that covered my arms and chest in blood, and put me behind schedule.

At the next stop there were more cows to preg-check, and also some sick cows to examine. I think nearly every farm I’ve ever been on has one muddy corner that never seems to dry up, no matter how hot it gets. Such is the case at this farm, and one of these sick cows had chosen to go down in this mud hole. In the process of getting this cow out of the mud hole, examining her, and treating her. I’d managed to get my jeans covered in the accumulated muck of this mud hole.

Driving down the road, I’d decided I stank (I think I probably always stink, but when I can smell myself I know it’s bad). So I made a detour for home for an emergency shower, and a change of clothes.

At home I’d decided to strip in the garage, to not take any chances of dripping anything from my clothes onto my wife’s clean floors. I’d dart across the three foot breeze way and into the mud room of the house to deposit these clothes directly in the washer. This meant that I’d be standing outside naked for a few seconds. But the breeze way is pretty concealed, and the only place anyone could see me from, is if one of the neighbors is standing outside in a certain corner of their yard. But I never see these neighbors outside, and at this time of the day no one should be home next door anyways.

So I dart to the back door, punch in the code to our electric locks, only to discover that the battery on our electric lock had died. So I duck back into the garage, tip toe through the maze of Fedex boxes that have been piling up (my in-laws are moving closer to us, and are already having things shipped to our house in preparation). Work my way back to the truck, and grab my keys from the truck. Now I tip toe back through the boxes, out the garage door, and to the back door of the house. But given that I rarely use a key on this door, I stand there at the back door fumbling with my keys trying to figure out which one is the right one. Finally I get the right key into the lock, and turn the key. As I open the door I happen to turn my head to see the lady Fedex delivery driver standing there with another package, mouth agape, staring at the naked bloody guy breaking into this house.

So the next time I start thinking I’ve got a rough job, at least I can be thankful I’m not a Fedex delivery driver bringing packages to my house.