Fat Finger Detour: The Cattle Prod

My brother Jack and I frequently assisted my father on his veterinary farm calls. We were well trained - Jack would hold the cow or horse, and I would hand Dad instruments or be a gofer and run to his wagon to get medical supplies. My first experience with the magic stick was when Jack and I accompanied Dad on a farm call to examine a gravely ill cow. The cow was easy to find. She was in the field next to the red barn, beneath the impatient, circling vultures. Sadly, when we arrived to the Holstein cow in the field, the only signs of life were the little barn kittens bouncing around and exploring the near-lifeless Gulliver of a cow.

I was always amazed at what a sight it was to see a cow lying on its side. I knew that a cow had four stomachs. I didn’t know much about them except that one was for fruits, and one was for vegetables, and one was for barbed wire. It seemed as though each stomach was pushing out the side that wasn’t on the ground. The side of the cow was a mountain for the little kittens, and they were enjoying roughhousing on the slope.

I was no stranger to large animals lying lifeless on the ground, and I felt the farmer’s pain. I had a small garden in a tiny plot of land I had previously used in an attempt to dig to China. That is where my father matter-of-factly said I would end up when he saw me digging the hole.

At the time I was digging a hole because I had found a shovel lying on the ground. When one is quite young and has homework to do, sometimes that is all the motivation that is needed. For me, it was also an attempt to exploit something that I was strong enough to exploit. For a 40-pound weakling like myself, life proved to be quite frustrating, as I had the desire to do a great many things but had the physical strength to do just a few. Nothing was more frustrating than not being strong enough to cock Jack’s BB gun, or tall enough to drive the bumper cars at the amusement park. Digging a hole because “it wasn’t there” was all the motivation I needed. While digging the hole to China was not my original intention, the suggestion that it could take me somewhere renewed my drive. Having just studied gravity in the third grade, I had some curiosity about what might happen if I jumped down a hole that exited in China....

I wasn’t sure if I would have enough momentum to make it to China, or if I would fall back and get stuck in the middle. Ending up in China presented a number of new challenges - I did not know anyone there, and I was well aware of the language barrier. That was a bridge I would cross when I got the hole done.

Like most of my projects, this one turned out a bit grander than I had anticipated and was abandoned after about two weeks. Still, with some help from Jack, our hole had become about four feet deep. We were not sure what to do with a four-foot hole, but none of our friends had one, so it seemed like a cool thing to keep. Jack and I decided that we would try to catch something big, like a bear, so we carefully covered it with hay and checked it every day.

After several days, having no luck catching anything but a toad, we concluded that all of the bears must be busy.

Our plans to maintain a large hole in the ground, and a couple of feet from the tractor path, were admittedly ill-conceived.....and doomed as soon as Dad realized that our hole was now four feet deep. He felt that the disappointment of losing our four-foot hole would be offset by being given the newly filled hole to grow a garden. Mom and Dad bought me lima beans, peas, and cucumber seeds. I liked the cucumber plants because they were easy to pick, but the peas and lima beans were tedious and boring to pick. On top of that, Dad was the only one who even liked lima beans.

After picking a bag of lima beans for him, I stopped by the barnyard to see our horse Spring. He was a tall chestnut, and while he was too strong for me to ride, he was my favorite because he was so friendly. If I ducked under his head and put my arms around his neck, he would lean over my shoulder and grab the waistband of my jeans, pick me up, and walk around.

It provided endless amusement for both of us. He seemed interested in the lima beans, so I gave him a couple of pods for his trouble. What I was unprepared for was his decision to lie down immediately after eating the beans. Then he topped it off by putting his head down and shutting his eyes.

In the two years we had owned him, I had never ever seen him lie down. I immediately considered that lima beans might be poisonous to horses. I was near panic. Was there time for Dad to save him? Maybe it was one of those horse facts everyone knew but me. Had I not been listening when Dad had said “Margaux, you must never give a horse a lima bean; he will have a long painful death"? I ran to the house and told Dad that Spring had eaten too many lima beans and was near death. Dad gave me a strange look and asked how many lima beans he had eaten. I said two. He asked “Two plants?” I replied, “No, two pods.” Dad then got a bemused look on his face and said he would come out and have a look. When Dad arrived in the barn yard, it appeared as though Spring was still near death. Dad leaned over and felt Spring’s chest and then rubbed his temple for a few seconds. The healing hands must have worked because Spring stood up and began sniffing me for more lima beans.

As for the cow with the four stomachs, its chips were clearly down. All signs of life, including a detectable pulse, had vanished. Dad shook his head and said that things did not look very promising. We all watched as he knelt beside the cow and took a long stick out of a cardboard tube from his medical bag. It reminded me of a policeman’s billy club, except it was white. He applied it to the cow’s rear and pushed the button on the end.

What followed was astounding. In a split second, the cow’s tail fluttered and became still. When Dad pushed the button again, the tail fluttered and became still again - the bovine equivalent to a car engine turning over. The third time Dad pressed the button, the cow’s eyes blinked, she made a long bellow, exploded to her feet, and bolted off like a bat out of hell. That was the last we saw of her.

I glanced over to Jack, hoping he had not noticed, but his jaw was dropped, and he clearly had. The farmer shrugged and said, “Well, I guess you fixed her.” Dad suggested that the farmer call him when she returned to the barn.

I asked Dad what that magic stick was and he said a “cattle prod.” I asked him what was in the stick and he said “electricity,” but I think he meant lightning. I suspect that the lightning stick was made possible by the research Ben Franklin conducted flying kites in electrical storms, and some other scientist had figured out a way to bottle it into a stick. As an adult, I can reflect on Ben Franklin’s stunt and can’t help but wonder what role it played in inspiring the stars of Jack Ass. Had he been born one hundred years later, Franklin would have gotten a Darwin award “honorable mention.”

I am not sure who coined the name “cattle prod,” but it certainly seemed to sell itself short. It was a name that more likely came out of the Texas Cattle Barons than Madison Avenue, and it definitely gave new meaning to my previous understanding of the word “prod.”

As the three of us drove off to the next farm call, Dad explained that this farmer didn’t appreciate the value Jack and I brought to the farm examination, so we would need to stay in the car. The good news was that he was only going to be doing a "few TB tests," so it shouldn’t take long. As he gathered up his syringes, I noticed that he was not taking the bag with the lightning stick in it. I subtly glanced at Jack to see if he noticed this oversight, and judging by the elated look on his face, he most definitely had. I shouted, “Dad, the cattle prod, you forgot it.” He said “No, Margaux, I didn’t. You don’t need it for TB tests.” I shouted, “You never know, you should take it just in case....” Dad replied in a stern voice that it would not be necessary and turned and walked toward the barn.

As soon as he rounded the corner out of sight, Jack and I dove for the cattle prod, but the result was a foregone conclusion. Even if I had gotten to it first, which I did, I wouldn’t have the time to activate it before being over powered by my older brother. As one might guess, we spent the next 15 minutes playing "veterinarian and ailing cow." I did not land the much coveted role of the veterinarian.