It was the cows. That was the excuse that Ohio State University students gave their professors recently for skipping class.
The excitement began when two cows escaped as their owner was ushering them into the university’s vet center to have their hooves trimmed. Apparently deciding they weren’t up for getting their nails done, the two turned tail and, well, hoofed it in the other direction.
Sensing an impending rodeo and a break from the monotonous, interested scholars sprang from the woodwork and assembled at the soccer field where the two had fled.
Sure enough. A mini rodeo broke out. As students cheered and shouted, “Ole,” one of the runaways was lassoed and subdued. The second cow, not wanting to go so easily into that good night, trotted through traffic, over a bridge, and into a grove of trees. It took a crack shot, a Columbus Zoo veterinarian with a tranq gun, to bring it down and end the roundup.
For me, it was the pigs. That’s right. It was the pigs that nearly got me my own write-up in the paper a few years back.
I was returning home from a harrowing trip to Wal-Mart with a four-year-old and a baby. It was the day Mr. 4T disappeared while we were shopping, initiating a frightening sequence of events that included a Code Adam, a search of the store by employees, and a frantic mother.
My nerves were already shot when I crested a hill on CR 38 to find the three little pigs trotting along in my lane. With some quick brake action, I was able to stop in time, just barely keeping their sausage, ham, and bacon off of my grill.
Honestly. Bad things can happen when animals leave the farm. That’s why I’m issuing this public call to Farmer Brown to, “Mend those fences, sir. Mend those fences!” And lock the barn doors while you’re at it.
Turning now to other news, Hershey recently announced that earnings are up with first-quarter profits nearly doubling.
They can thank the Schrocks for that. Well, my men and the grandmas.
If the chocolate industry overall isn’t up after the recent Easter season, I shall resign from any further economic forecasting and will immediately retire to my pillow-top mattress for a long, long nap.
I’m not kidding. This spring, it’s been an all-out chocolate bonanza over here. There was jubilation in the ranks when Mr. Schrock gifted his four sons with their own one-pound chocolate rabbits. Being a rabid chocolate fan in his own right, he gifted himself as well.
Then the grandmas started in. One of them dropped off more bunnies to go with bags of chocolate and the heart-shaped cookies. The other one sent still more to go with the Peeps and the juice boxes. Just in case they were getting low, Grandpa stopped by, bearing yet more varieties of the family favorite.
This crowd deserves the Golden Bunny award for single-handedly putting Hershey in the black. If it were up to me, the chocolate industry would post stunning losses, and the entire Hershey management team would be looking for jobs. Farmer Brown, I hear, is looking for help.
This next news item is particularly distressing. In recent Congressional hearings, Sen. Carl Levin displayed an appalling lack of class and dignity by flinging a four-letter word around 11 times.
Forget about Mr. Smith going to Washington. I say it’s time to bring in the heavy hitters. That’s why I’m sending my mom. If anyone can clean up D.C., she can.
I’m serious. Put my mother in the front row of those hearings, and the full-time bleeper C-SPAN employs when Sen. Levin’s in town will go comatose from lack of action. With her highly effective ear lobe twist, her patented Look of Death, and the bar of soap she carries in her purse, the airways will once again be safe for the nation’s children.
After that, she’ll be flying to the Ukraine to restore order in their parliament. Apparently, they elect their politicians from local preschools, judging by the embarrassing display of brawling, smoke bombs, and egg throwing that took place during a recent debate about a treaty and a lease involving Russia. This, too, was nationally televised and was duly reported by the AP.
Mom could whip them into shape in short order. By afternoon, she’d have those cranky pols napping before their snack time with the homemade bread and jam that she’s famous for in Reno County. By the time she catches her transatlantic flight to come back home, there would be peace and love flowing throughout the Ukrainian parliament.
You can see, can’t you, why I love reading the paper? In no time at all, I’m feeling good and counting my blessings. After all, my cows aren’t out, the pigs are all accounted for, we’re keeping the Hershey execs employed, and my mother is ready for Washington. All of that, I might add, for a mere fifty cents.