The Pig Zombie and My Land Speed Record

My family and most other rural families view their children at least in part, as slave labor. It only makes sense. You give them a roof, food, education, a free taxi service, protection, and all of the sound wisdom and advise they may need in order to grow up to be fine upstanding Christian citizens; it's only fair that they do a little work around the place to lighten the load. I remember once as a kid, probably around ten, I was sitting in front of the television watching my favorite cartoon when my dad came in and told me that I had to go out and change the water pump in the car. I didn't know what a water pump was. I was under the impression that cars ran on gas. My dad brought me out to the garage, pointed out the device in the engine, pointed out all the tools I would need and told me that if I had any questions to come find him. Scarcely a week later the water pump was replaced and with only one part left over that proved to be a mystery to all regarding its proper place and function. Memories like this one fill my head. My dad would come in and tell me,

"You need to go out and ____ the _____." Read: fix; build; find; make and car; barn; cattle etc. respectfully. This almost always occurred when I was, in my mind, doing something immeasurably more enjoyable like taking a nap or twiddling my thumbs. I'm sure that it all "built character" but at the time the blueprints were a bit hard to read and I've yet to see the finished product.

During my summers as a kid my family would be in Kansas helping with harvest. Because I was small and not strong enough to do anything requiring any kind of strength, I was frequently tasked with chores that were near fatal in their tedium. One of my main chores was driving a pick-up around the farm hauling odds and ends to and fro. At first this was fantastic! I was still in my single digit years and was allowed to drive a real honest to goodness truck! What I discovered, though, was that because of my short stature, I would have to get down on the floor and slowly let out the clutch until the vehicle would start to roll and then climb up on the seat to steer. What this meant was I never traveled over idling speed and if I had to stop in a hurry I was to simply shut off the engine since I could not reach the pedals. At first it was great, but after a week or so of plodding along over the same little trail over the same half mile, back and forth all day, it got pretty boring. I could literally get out and run along side of the truck and get to where I was going before the truck did. I only tried this once though. The parental advice that was bestowed on me because of this experiment reverberated around the farm for at least an hour and effectively removed any temptation I might have had to ever try out running the truck again. I was stuck with the tedium.

One day, however, a miracle was laid upon me and one of the pigs died. I know that sounds odd, but every little boy loves to poke a dead thing, and I was lucky enough to get to bury a dead thing! I was told that once the work for the day was done, the dead pig would be loaded up in the back of the truck and I was to take a shovel out to the field and give the pig his final spot of reprieve. I was so excited about this, that the day drug on even longer than normal, so much so, that I began to wonder if God, for no other reason than to spite me, had frozen the sun in it's place in the sky and I would never get to do a grown up's chore let alone one that was so fascinating to my young insensibilities. The day did end, though, and my dad and my grandfather loaded the dead pig wrapped in a tarp onto the truck and I was off.

It was long since dark at this point and from the visual prospective of the field I had driven to, there was no light save for the tiny glow from the kitchen of our farm house on the horizon. I was all by myself, young and impressionable, in the darkest of worlds imaginable, alone with a dead bloated pig that had sat out in the sun all day. My nine year old imagination began to rev up.

I exited the truck and as quickly as I could, located the big flashlight that was always kept there for spotting cattle or for, in my mind at least, spotting enemy bombers in the sky. The thing was huge and I was confidant that its far reaching flood of light would keep any would be phantoms of my imagination and any other demon of the night at bay. As I flipped the switch on, my sigh of relief was frozen midway. The light didn't come on. I flicked the switch back and forth a few times but to no avail. I was in the dark. Had I known I could, I would have flipped on the headlights to the truck, but someone had told me that if you do that, the battery would die and you can't start the vehicle with a dead battery. Whoever told me this failed to mention that the battery would not die immediately. So, there I was in real true darkness with not even stars out to light the prairie. My imagination began to crawl forward.

As I began digging the grave I started hearing things in the dark. I would snap my head around to locate the source and finding nothing would assume that whatever made the sound had seen me looking for it and not wanting to be discovered retreated into the darkness. I would hear another sound, whip my head around, and it would be gone. I was imagining all kinds of horrible things and all sorts of evil people were lurking out in the dark hiding and waiting for just the right opportunity to jump out and attack. Pretty soon I was digging at a whirring, adrenaline induced pace and my head was snapping back and forth over my shoulders like the small hanging punching bag that boxers use. My imagination was in full gear and approaching overdrive.

Once the hole was deep enough to contain a pig I shakily unfolded part of the tarp so that I could pull and dump the dead beast off of the truck and into the hole. The pig, having spent several hours in the sun earlier, had filled with gas and was bloated so that it's skin was taunt and was emitting an oder that would make a rat gag. None of this was good for my imagination. I heaved and pulled with all the might that could be generated by my nine year old body and the pig stiffly rolled off the truck. As soon as it hit the hole, all of the gas that had built up inside of it, released itself through the throat of the pig which had the effect of creating the most hideous, blood chilling, death rattle of a squeal that was ever uttered by a pig. Well, that did it. My imagination red lined and the throttle stuck open. My inner perception screamed, "Good, sweet Almighty! It's ALIVE!! RRRUUUUUNNN!!"

Having not waited for the completion of that message my feet had, at that point, already dug two six inch deep ruts in the ground in an all out effort to propel the rest of me to top speed. Leaving the truck, the shovel, the pig, and all else behind, my arms and legs were blurs as I screeched across the dark countryside while fully convinced that the zombie pig was inches off of my heels and gaining.

Before I knew it, I arrived at the tiny speck of light from the kitchen and burst through the screen door while still gaining speed. This was of some surprise to the current occupants or so I surmised by the fact that every member of my family had suddenly and simultaneously learned the art of levitation. My grandmother showed particular adeptness as she was able to dart about from wall to wall at her newly gained altitude. Before any of them had returned to the ground I had begun to regale them with the recent events as quickly as I could.

"Son, son!" my dad said as he climbed off of the grandfather clock, "slow down and take a breath! What in the world is wrong?"

My parents, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents all stood transfixed with mouths agape as I urgently informed them of the sequence of events that had just transpired and the danger that was probably mere moments from the door. After I had finished, smiles began to creep around the room and then an uproarious laughter. It was obvious to me that they had all been struck with insanity and since they were my protectors, we were all doomed.

The next morning, it was actually nice to return to the tedium of my slavery. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the zombie and were working as though it were any other day. It is truly embarrassing to so obviously admit your fear when there is not anything to actually be afraid of. I was glad everyone was back to the routine and it was all behind me. I was content for a long time to not have any grown up chores.

Kayaking the Little Icy.

There was a time in my life that if something had to do with climbing rocks, climbing mountains, hiking, camping, backpacking, kayaking, spelunking (which is the scientific term for exploring caves by the way), canoeing, or just the outdoors in general, I was all over it. Sometimes it was all over me. Sometimes having it all over me hurt. The Stinging Nettles in Iowa, for example, were particularly unpleasant to have all over me especially if I had just fallen off the rock I was climbing in order to get them all over me. It's truly insult to injury to have to check and make sure all your body parts are present and functioning after a fall and then pull little thorns out of all the parts that hadn't gone AWOL. When I wasn't broken or insulted by something outdoorsy, I had a lot of fun teaching other people how to get the outdoors all over them.

It was while teaching a group of people from church how to rappel off of rocks people shouldn't be on, that I injured my back. I had gotten tangled up in my rope and wrenched my spine severely enough to incur a lot of doctor's bills and force me to make a lot of visits to a master of torture who claimed to be providing physical therapy. It was a good time to escape and take a mountain retreat. Fortunately for me, the same church group I had been with when I hurt myself was going on a singles retreat up in the Colorado Rockies and there would be little hiking trails to provide me with my outdoorsy fix without over exerting my back. One of the people that was coming on the trip was my friend Chris.

Chris is not a "morning person" and always looks at me like I've taken leave of my senses when I tell him that seven o'clock indeed comes twice a day. Because of this affinity for nocturnal prolongation, Chris missed the morning meeting at the retreat center when they warned us all that the retreat's pond, although not frozen, was pretty darn close to frozen and it would behoove all of us not to take a swim; this warning came as though some of us were tempted by the possibility of freezing off various parts of our bodies. The absence of this information was probably what removed any hesitation in Chris' mind about taking a kayak out on the pond.

I was just returning from a short hike and was, therefore, not present for the decision making process and hence cannot say for certain what possessed him, but I returned to find Chris in the absolute middle of the pond in a kayak that the retreat used for the elementary kids summer camp. This is significant because Chris is a little shorter than me and a lot heavier. It looked as though an orange was riding a dill pickle out to sea. His life preserver was used by the same little kids and had the appearance of a really puffy choker necklace and not that of an actual life saving device.

A guy named Steve, who had been on the hike with me, began to throw snowballs at Chris in his kayak and Chris, being Chris, was hamming it up by flinging his head to follow the snowballs as they soared by. It was all pretty funny until Chris hammed a little too far to the side and launched himself into the icy water. I think that probably his eyes surfaced prior to the rest of him because they had grown so huge from the shock of the cold water. He had his mouth open and I'm pretty sure he'd have been hollering if the water had not frozen the air in his lungs. Leaving the kayak to its own devices, Chris began swimming for shore with the little life preserver pressing his cheeks up and his winter clothing pulling the rest of him down and when he got about half way to shore he stopped. The growing crowd on the pond's shore started screaming at him to swim because all were in fear of him being too cold to continue and one of them having to get into the water, that was far too chilly to enjoy, and tow him to shore. Myself and one other person were already in the water up to our knees and coaxing him in. Chris did make it to shore and tottered up to his feet. He had a blank stare and had lost his humor.

The crowd, I guess, figured Chris was out of the woods now or maybe they just really didn't want to miss the next meeting, because everyone but Steve and myself left. I told Steve to go start a warm shower and I began to push Chris in the same direction. I was terrified that Chris would stop walking, or worse, lie down and with the way my back was now screaming at me I would not be able to get him moving again. I leaned into his back and kicked him in the calves, left then right over and over, in order to keep him moving and we eventually met Steve in our cabin. Steve took over and half helped and half shoved Chris into the shower. I had already laid down on the floor to rest my back and did not notice the massive amount of steam that had filled the little cabin. Chris noticed.

"Aaaaaauuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!" he said as the steamy water hit his skin. The poor guy was hypothermic and Steve, thinking that he needed to get Chris warm again as quickly as he could, had cranked the temperature up. Cold water would have felt warm to Chris and he was thrust into one hundred degree water. In a short amount of time, however, Chris was singing in the shower and making up songs about being a fish.

Sometimes when the outdoors gets all over you it doesn't end so well, but it does make for pretty good stories. It's a lot of fun and good exercise too.

Really? You Called Me for This? I Mean...Really?

Over this last week my patience with my patients was stretched pretty thin. I thought about writing a social commentary about how the character of our society has slipped into near oblivion and I thought about blasting the stupidity of the general populace but then I remembered that the people I see are a poor representation of our public. I only see either those that are in real trouble (rarely) or those that are either stupid, lazy, or dishonest. It was decided that rather than bemoan the losers, I would make people laugh at them. Those that are not mentally disabled, physically disabled or otherwise not to blame for their moronic behavior do deserve to be laughed at and so with that in mind, here is a short list of some of Colorado Springs top losers. Remember, these are people who deemed it necessary to call 911 in order receive emergency care via ambulance. I have changed the names because it would be illegal for me to give their real names, but the stories are real.

We'll start with Jane. See Jane's toe? See Jane's toenail? Around the edges, Jane's toenail is kind of red. Jane was out on the basketball court at her apartment complex and was showing off her skills of ball dribbling when Jane accidentally bounced the basketball on her toe.

"Well, golly, that stings," Jane thought, "I shall go back to my apartment and drink a whole lot of vodka so that my toe no longer stings." And Jane went back to her apartment and drank and drank and drank. Then Jane looked at her toe. "My toe is red! I should call 911." So Jane called 911 and the ambulance came. The medics were not happy and said so.

Next is Tim. Tim was trying on his friend's ring and to his dismay found that the ring was too small for his finger. It would not come off! Tim tried soap, and grease, and cold water, but nothing worked. It was time to call 911 so Tim called and while he waited for the ambulance he leaned against his car and enjoyed the sun.

"What do you want us to do for you?" the medics asked with just a little bit of perplexed irritation.

"I want you to get the ring off my finger!"

"Have you tried lubing it up with something?"

"Yes, but it didn't work."

"We can cut it off."

"No!" Tim said, "It's my friends ring and I don't want to ruin it."

The medics tugged on the ring and suggested that Tim soak his hand in cold water. "I already tried that", Tim whined.

"Well, the only way we can get it off is to cut the ring."

"I don't want you to cut the ring."

The medics looked at each other. "Well, there's not much we can do for you then."

"How am I going to get the ring off? I need to give it back to my friend!"

At some point, breath is just waisted. Tim, you are dumb.

"We don't know, Tim, but we need to go. We're pretty sure someone somewhere is having a problem for which they will need an ambulance and we want to be there. Not here. Don't put on any more rings, Tim."

In Colorado there is a law stating that if someone wants to go the hospital via ambulance, the ambulance has to take them; it does not matter what the reason is. This brings us to Shanikwa. We were called to one of the 7-11's in town because Shanikwa told the 911 operator that she stepped off the curb and turned her ankle. Upon arrival at the 7-11 we found our patient walking across the parking lot as though she were enjoying a day of shopping in her high heels. She did not even say hello, she just strolled over to the back of the ambulance, opened the door herself and climbed in. My partner snickered because it was my turn to be in the back with the patient.

"It's not nice to laugh at people's miseries," I told him.

"She doesn't look miserable to me." he said.

"I wasn't talking about her, I was talking about me" and I climbed in back with our miserable patient. "Lady, why did you call us?"

"My family is driving me crazy and I want to get away from them for a while."

"So, you want to incur an ambulance bill and a hospital bill because your family is annoying you?"

"I have Medicaid." Says it all, don't it?

Now, for the winner! Heeeeeeeere's Lucy! We found 19 year old Lucy lying on her bed in a fetal position and moaning softly.

"Lucy, what's the matter? Where do you hurt?"

"My stomach hurts." My partner began asking all of the standard questions meant to determine which of the possible reasons for abdominal pain we were dealing with. My eye caught something on the bed and I interrupted.

"Lucy? Did you eat this candy?" I had picked up off of the bed the wrapper of a Sam's Club family size package of M&M's.

"Yeah."

"Lucy, did you eat all of this candy?"

After a long silence, "Lucy?"

"What?"

"Did you eat all of this candy?"

"Yeah."

"OK, Lucy, don't eat any more candy. You'll be fine. Have a nice day."

The list of stupid people that I've provided "medical care" to is longer than my memory can possibly retain but these were some that popped to mind as I sit here. I've even been called for the hiccups for Pete's sake. The guy that called us because he had a door knob stuck in his butt also popped to mind but this is a family blog and you'll have to give me your e-mail if you want that story (It's not immoral, just weird). In the mean time, laugh often and...don't call me for...um...stupid things.