More Mud Wrestling

My adventures earlier this week with mud wrestling, as Mentok so lasciviously put it, stirred a long buried memory from my mind.

It was my oldest brother's high school graduation. The whole household was buzzing with activity as my brother was shouting at my sister to hurry up, as they were heading into town - he to pick up flowers for his escort, she to get her hair done, as she was attending as an escort for one of my brother's friends. My mother, in addition to the usual womenly tasks necessary to prepare for a notable occasion, was putting together a huge batch of coleslaw. As the mother of an eleventh grader (my sister), she was acting as one of the caterers for the graduation banquet. My father was out on the farm, doing what farm fathers do.

No one was paying any attention to me.

In the vacuum of my three-year-old space, I decided to go for a walk. Besides, the vinegary-mustard smell of the coleslaw dressing cooking in the kitchen was making me feel sick. I headed to the pasture to play with my four-legged bovine friends.

The calves knew me well. I had played with them often. Always under my father's watchful eye, though. The mothers seemed to trust me; I was small and familiar and unthreatening.

We played quite well, until I decided to test my new rubber boots. How high could the water of the slough come up without running in, soaking my feet. Hasn't everyone played that game at least once?

The rubber boots worked well. No water touched my toes. Before long, however, I was firmly stuck.

I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. No one knew where I was. And who knew how long it would be before they even realized I was gone? Mom thought I was with Dad. Dad thought I was with Mom.

And we had just bought the boots the day before. There was absolutely no way I could simply take them off and leave them so I could escape.

As you can imagine, it wasn't long before I was crying. I was helpless and hopeless. Who would rescue me?

Funnily enough, it was some unlikely heroes (or should I say heroines) who saved the day.

As I stood there stuck and crying, the cows began to approach me. I'm not sure if it was curiosity or concern at first (after all, they were mothers), but soon, their interest was far more basic. Tears equal salt; salt equals licking - for cows, anyway. Soon, I had a huge herd of them crowding around, trying to lick away my tears.

As frightening as that was, it was the event I needed, as my father soon became curious as to why the cattle were clumping up in such an unusual place. They had never shown much interest in the vast grassless space of the slough, and they were generally smart enough to stay out of the mud (!), where they could get stuck.

Upon approaching to investigate, my father discovered me and rescued me. I don't really remember if his reaction was one of anger or relief, but I suspect it was a bit of both.

My brother's graduation day turned out to be a fairly memorable one for all of us.