Four country boys

There we were, four country boys walking through the dusty outskirts of town, kicking cans as we went. No mailbox remained standing in our wake, and several birds and varmints lay still in the dirt behind us. Boredom was written over our faces, especially mine. Tipping cows had lost its fun. We miscreants were onto bigger and better things.

A contest had began amongst us; what were you willing to do? Definitely "don't try this at home" kind of stuff. It was like truth or dare, only without the dare; more like dare or double dare. It was all risk, with little reward. After all, stealing the chip's big-boy statue out front had no reward. We couldn't tell a soul, or they would find it. Somehow, they found it anyway.

Today we were walking in an open field, with tall yellowing grass, rolling hills, and stock ponds. Out here in Texas, bales of hay are rolled round and are very large, like everything else in Texas. To keep them from falling apart, round metal cages are placed around the bales. When laying flat, the cages are four feet tall and more than seven feet across. They're made of four big metal rings with bars between them to hold them together.

And here, at the top of a hill, we found one of those cages standing on end. In other words, it was four big metal rings, standing straight up, big enough to walk in. Here it was, on a forty foot high hill; at the bottom of the hill was a large pond surrounded by drinking cows.

One of my friends, David, who I considered a little crazy, didn't take care for his own life (let alone mine if I got involved). David reminds me of Grizzly Adams; you know, that character in that eighty's show where a large man adopts a grizzly bear and they live together in the woods? David wasn't as big as Grizzly Adams; he was as big as the bear and twice as strong.

Anyway, there I found myself in the cage with David, pushing our butts together and holding on with our arms and legs at the top and bottom of the massive cage. I remembered getting inside a big tire when I was a kid. I rolled down the hill, got out and spun around for a bit, felt a little dizzy, but everything was okay in the end. I don't know why that was fun, but here I was, ready to do it again. It was like that tire ride, upscaled and worthy of our shenanigans. If you can roll one in a tire, you can roll two in a bale cage. There was even a pond for us to land it. We had it made. What could go wrong?

Standing together in the cage, all we needed was a push. Neither of my two other friends were reluctant to push get us going either. Slowly, over and over we went, bracing against each other. As my feet went up into the air, it was no big deal. Then, I was turning upside-down, and my knuckles were headed straight for a rock. Ouch!

Something cracked where my other hand was, and David and I both frantically looked up; or was it down? Just a stick, not my finger, no biggie. Glad that was over; right side up again. Glad that was over. Were we speeding up? Yup. Ouch, I hit another rock and almost lost hold. Next time around, my knuckles squished into a cow patty, still warm. I gagged, almost choking on my lunch. David laughed. What an ass.

We hadn't traveled very far by that point. I bet there was another hundred feet of hill left. Before I could imagine how many more revolutions were left to torture us with, there was no time. Around and around again, spinning faster and faster, we went. I wasn't going to let go for any reason, and I knew crazy David wouldn't either. Rocks, sticks, and worse, smashed and scratched up our hands, but they had long grown numb. Who cares when you can't feel it, right? Besides, we were about to hit water.

So the thing about this pond is there was a favorite drinking spot for the cows, a spot that is particularly muddy. The cows stomp around and shit all over the place. Their hooves mix everything together as they trample. This mud is always black as night and smelly as, well, shit. From the top of the hill, the muddy spot looked really small, but it seemed to have grown longer as we approached. We cringed together, closing our eyes and mouths for what we knew was going to come; we would have closed our noses if we could.

I remember my knuckles hitting that mud. So cool and soft, it felt so good. But rather than continuing to spin, the cage slowed rapidly, sinking into the mud. Just like quicksand, we went deep. Our motion stopped abruptly, the cage squishing to a halt in less than half of a turn. No one could hang on at those forces.

Flying we went, both of us landing in the stinky mud. It was better than the hard, dry dirt, but it wasn't water. We were covered in shit, but there were no broken bones. Scrambling to our feet, we slogged our way to the water and jumped in. Success!

Laughing and joking, throwing muddy hand-fulls of stuff at each other, off we went. And as great as the memories were, I hoped I would not be part of the next stunt.

That day was the day that I learned: It's better in life to come up with the ideas and get someone else to do them; if it's a good idea, somebody has to do it.