ode to the great beast

There's been a lot of buffalo in my life recently. And that's not a metaphor. I'm talking bison, the modern day progeny of those wild fuzzy big-headed beasts that used to roam the prairies of North America before we killed them all.

When I was a child, I saw a painting of a herd of buffalo running off the edge of a cliff. So intent were they at getting away from the hunters, they would stampede and willingly fall, line after line, to their doom. When I looked at it, I felt panicked. I wanted to warn the buffalo, but I feel now it wouldn't have done much good. 

A friend made on vacation.

I drove to Colorado this past week with Asif and Little Gen. A road trip that was supposed to take eight hours, took us twelve because we accidentally took the wrong route. And when I say we, I mean I. But because we were on the scenic route, we saw buffalo roaming freely across the grassland. And when we stopped the car, two adults and one baby buffalo came right to the fence and looked at us before turning to graze in another direction. I would imagine we were as much an oddity to them, Little Gen jumping out of the car with her camera and running across the road, as they were to us. But it still felt like stepping back into a wilder time.

Brushing Sam

Close to the farm where I work is a pen with about eight buffalo and a couple long-horn steer enclosed. When I walk Sam the horse back a trail along the gully, he stops suddenly, ears pricked forward, head held up. He sees something strange. He sees the buffalo. From the road, you wouldn't even know they were there. They see us, too. We just look at one another, as if trying to fit a new piece into the puzzle of our experience. I guess these buffalo have never even seen a cliff, but I wonder if somewhere, deep in their DNA, they remember prairies and pioneers and Indians riding bareback.

Sam won't let me ride him at all on the trail. As soon as we reach the iron gate that marks the start of the dirt path, he decides to go home, with or without my consent. I fight him until I think he's going to accidentally back over the edge of the gully and dump both of us in the ditch. A former championship jumper, Sam grew up in an arena. Buffalo were not involved. So we walk the trail together.

Whenever I see buffalo, I am suddenly filled with an unfamiliar awe, like I'm witnessing something special; something that shouldn't exist or doesn't really, like a dinosaur. It's nothing like looking at a cow, which seems weak and mass produced, with the wild selectively bred out of it. A buffalo seems closer to the divine design; even its eyes are deep and secretive. I kind of want to ride one. I'd just hold on to his woolly mane.

On the wall of a Thai restaurant.

Why do buffalo excite me? I'm not sure, but I seem to have a particular liking for other large mammals. I feel equally impressed by elephants and their complex emotional range. And yes, I'd like to ride one.
 
I still remember the first time I led a horse by a rope, it's hooves clicking rhythmically on the pavement; this huge animal that could easily trample me, was completely in my control. I felt powerful. 

American buffalo have endured for centuries without extinction. They make me feel strong.

OneArmGirl 

ferb goes to the farm

You may remember your introduction to Ferb, so named by popular demand from my Disney Channel sources. I also think the name fits him.

I led you to believe that Ferb was in training as my inseparable sidekick and regular OneArmGirl installment. I am loathe to admit, however, that since his blog debut, my grandma's beloved, if somewhat creepy, hook-armed rabbit has spent much of his time sitting atop my bedroom bookshelf, half concealed by a door.

I admit I've never been much of a stuffed animal girl [that's cuddly toys to some of you]. Oh, I had plenty of them growing up, but when it comes to sleeping, they just seem to crowd the bed, inevitably landing on the floor by morning.

I must shamefully admit my only interaction with Ferb, since I inherited him, has been to remove him from his perch for dusting and room arranging. It should be noted that my room re-arranging mostly involves moving my bookshelf to a different wall, only to decide it doesn't fit there, and moving it back; then returning Ferb to his spot, from which he looks at me with deep disappointment in his button eyes. If he could shake his head, he would, I'm sure.

I was getting into bed every night feeling like a hypocrite, so Monday afternoon, I grabbed Ferb off the shelf, tucked him under my arm, and headed out the door to the farm. I set him on the sink counter in the tack room while I poked around the barn, putting things in order. He didn't seem to mind since he doesn't have legs. I was feeling tired and unmotivated, which only pointed to one thing....Dr. Pepper, a temptation I have little power to resist. Plus, Ferb looked thirsty.

I let Ferb have the first drink; it was the least I could do to make up for my wrongful neglect. [I swear he's cradling that can with an evil smile.]

But enough procrastinating; it was time to groom Sam, whom I fetched from the pasture. Sam has never been a big fan of brushing, especially on his underside. At best, he tolerates it.

Ferb was no help with grooming at all, having his arm full with a Dr. Pepper and his prosthetic, as always, full with a carrot. He insists on taking that damn carrot everywhere and never eating it.

So, I set Ferb on Sam's back where he wouldn't be underfoot. Well, actually, I put him on Sam's butt because it was the only surface flat enough. Both he and Sam seemed to tolerate this, though Ferb was looking a little stiff. He seemed nervous.





I explained that plenty of people without arms or legs learn to ride a horse. I'd seen this first hand at the Paralympic equestrian events, I said, he had nothing to be afraid of.










Then Ferb fell off.

And he did not appreciate that I went running for my camera instead of rescuing him off the ground.

He reminded me that those legless paralympians had special saddles and he had been riding bareback. I reminded him that he wasn't riding at all, but standing while I groomed Sam. We didn't speak for some time after that.




But Ferb got back in the saddle later for lesson time. Little did he know, I was using him to get my riders to use their seat for balance instead of their arms. At least he felt a little more secure this time. And I'm happy to report no one fell off.












In all, I think Ferb preferred the love he got on the ground. Just look at the smile on his face. It was certainly more attention than he'd gotten in some time. I'm hoping it tides him over.







Unfortunately I can't end the day on a high note. In a disturbing insult to injury, Ferb has suffered an serious wound to his left arm, which is coming apart at the shoulder, white stuffing pushing out of his over-stuffed insides. He is certain this happened with his fall, but I suspect otherwise. When the injury was discovered, Kristy secreted him away to the house, for which, I'm sure Ferb was eternally grateful. When I went to collect him before heading home, she promised to sew him back together, to which I agreed surprisingly easily and left him in her care.

I think Grandma would be pleased, though I'm now wondering where Kristy's going to get a needle.

OneArmGirl