GOD BLESS COWGIRLS

Not too long ago, I visited my nephew, Rick, and his two daughters, Evelyn, age 7, and Mary, age 2, on their cattle ranch.

During calving season, Rick keeps the expectant cows near the house, where they can be seen from the yard.

As we prepared for an outing, Rick spied a baby calf. Promptly, he straddled a 4-wheeler, put Mary on behind him and off they went into the herd.

From the yard, Evelyn and I watched.

Rick captured the calf, hoisted it onto a set of scales mounted behind the vehicle and recorded its weight and its mother's ear-tag number. Then, he tagged the calf's ear with its own number.

(The tags and record keeping process details the breeding line of the calf's mother, its sire and is followed by the calf's developmental history.)

Afterward, the four of us piled into Rick's truck and headed out. While driving, Rick put on a Garth Brook's CD, That Girl is a Cowboy, and Mary and Evelyn sang along. They particularly punched home the phrase, "Sometimes the best cowboys aren't cowboys at all."

On our return to the ranch, Rick spied another new calf. From the back seat, Mary piped up about needing to tag the calf. Then, she started talking about "balls."

I was puzzled.

Then, Rick said, "Mary, what do we do with rubber bands?"

Mary promptly replied, "Put them around the calf's balls."

I was stunned and delighted.

(Rick later explained that the calf's testicles would fall off in about 10 days, changing the critter from a bull to a steer.)

Everyone dismounted the truck, and Mary and Rick rode off to weigh and tag the calf. However, on another 4-wheeler, Evelyn and I followed in hot pursuit.

You haven't lived until you have ridden behind a 7-year-old driver. She knew no fear. I was looking for something to hold on to, but Evelyn insisted that I hold on to her, because it made her feel better.

Soon, Evelyn discovered that I didn't like driving over cow piles, so she delighted in hitting every wet one. Finally, Evelyn rolled the machine to a stop, turned around and looked at me and said, "You have something on your cheek." She immediately flicked it off with her hand and matter-of-factly said, "cow manure."

At this juncture, Evelyn demonstrated, for my edification, the proper etiquette of spitting. She leaned out over the machine and spit on the ground.

Then, Evelyn proceeded to show me how to blow my nose. Resuming her same posture for spitting, she held one nostril with her finger and honked out through the other. Then, she reversed sides.

I was appropriately impressed.

Evelyn then revved up the engine and took off at high speed to find more, fresh, cow piles.

Rick later told me that Evelyn has ridden horses for years and, in the local 4-H Club, she practiced barrel racing and tying goats, which I suspect is a prelude to calf roping.

To say the least, Evelyn and Mary are cowgirls to be reckoned with, and woe be to any cowboy who attempts to stand in their way.

RESTRAINT OF TONGUE AND PEN

Over the years, I have learned everything I think does not require my expression. If I do not practice restraint of tongue and pen, I will have to apologize for my ill-tempered words. I certainly had a close call last week.

Earlier in the year, I had seen a depressed, young man and received many phone calls from his distraught mother. Her son kept two therapy appointments. As we approached his issues, he became a phantom patient. He missed his three subsequent visits and followed none of my recommendations. Occasionally, he would call for an appointment. When I returned his call, he did not answer and his message machine was full.

I had not seen him for six months. Last week, he called, left a message and urgently requested/demanded that I write a letter on his behalf and fax it to his attorney. First, I always see the patient immediately prior to preparing a letter for the court. Second, I'm like a Missouri mule. A patient can politely ask me for a favor, and I will usually accommodate them. However, I refuse to respond to a demand.

Weary of being treated like a free Psychiatric 7-11, I promptly returned the call. To my surprise, I could leave a message. I reminded him that he had missed several appointments, and I was not a get-out-of-jail-free card. Yes, I was a little over the top, but he was the end of a long line of entitled young men, who have paraded through my office and mistook me for their mother.

A few hours later, after a long day of seeing patients, I received a voice message from the young man's mother. She was irate and unkind. As it often happens, the young "adults," problems stem from overly indulgent caregivers.

I was exhausted, infuriated and hurt. I wanted to call her back and tell her what I thought, but I refrained. I knew I needed to sleep on the situation.

The following morning, I composed a rational, professional letter for the mother and itemized the series of events that led up to previous day. I was grateful that I used restraint of tongue and pen, because I did not want to apologize to her or her recalcitrant offspring.

MIDDLE CHILD

My daughter,
Navajo woman,
Finished high school,
Works hard,
Then goes home to her Hispanic husband,
Wonderful parents,
To their four children,
Who are bright and beautiful,
With black hair,
Black-brown eyes,
Bilingual,
Full of life,
Next generation's blossoms

MY ELDEST

A son,
Not speaking to me - again.
Have seen his two children once, in five years,
I'm being punished for writing about my childhood and "his grandparents."
Says it couldn't have happened, and
I'm the crazy one.
How would he know?
He wasn't there,
In those dark corridors of my life.
Says his grandparents were there when I wasn't.
Where was I?
Getting my brains out of hock

Such is life.
He lives in a bubble.
May it never burst.
But, if it does,
I'll be there,
Still loving him.

A BEAUTIFUL EVENING

My youngest son,
Handsome,
Gay,
Has fun playing drag queen,
Went to gay bar,
First time to see him perform,
Along with other lovelies,
Participated in the fun,
Tipped the dancers,
Introduced as Nicole's mother,
By my son's drag-queen mother,
Preparing to leave,
My son was obviously pleased by my presence.
Many others, with unfamiliar faces, hugged me.
The club owner, with tears in his eyes, thanked me for coming.
Then, I knew I had mothered and approved of them all.