Tag Archives: horse

Bovine

Bovine: (adj) of, relating to, or affecting cattle.

I suppose I would feel differently if I grew up on a ranch, but during my travels, I was invited Dictionary Bby a gentleman and his wife to come and stay a couple of days on their farm.

Normally on these kinds of excursions, I try to express an interest by offering the extent of what I know about their occupation or lifestyle. I don’t do this to be a know-it-all, but just to get the conversation started, so they can ramble on a bit and be my instructors.

I feel it’s the least I can do for some good meat loaf and clean sheets.

But when it came to the realm of farming and the animals that inhabit the location, I was lost. Matter of fact, when my friend took me out to his barn, I walked in and felt as if I had just landed on a really bad-smelling planet.

Yes–barns do not sniff of hay. They permeate of shit.

But I endured.

First we walked by some horses. Honest to God, I would swear that those creatures stared at me as if to say, “What in the hell are you doing in here?”

Then we arrived at the cows. The bovines.

  • I was surprised at how large they were.
  • I was stunned by how indifferent they seemed to my presence.
  • And I was extraordinarily overwhelmed by the size of their teats.

I kind of felt like a little boy who suddenly discovered a Playboy Magazine–farm version.

I became completely befuddled when the farmer wanted me to reach down and pull on the protrusions to acquire milk. I can’t even describe the levels of squeamish that trickled down my spine. It was a combination of girly-girl “g-r-r-r-oss” and feeling like I was cheating some calf out of breakfast.

I will never forget the experience, because it is so typical of me as a person.

After all, it is much easier to discuss a cow in theory than have a face-to-face.

 

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Bounce

Bounce: (v) to move quickly up, back, or away from a surface after hitting it; to rebound

Junior high football had just finished. I was trying to figure out if I should try out for the basketball team.Dictionary B

I looked horrible stuffed into shorts.

But I loved basketball–at least, I thought I did.

Being very accomplished at playing the classic games, PIG and HORSE, I was pretty sure I could be stunning on the court and score many points, granting my team victory and acquiring the attention of all the cheerleaders.

So I took the leap (although I have to tell you that leaping has little to do with it.)

I found that basketball has a lot to do with bouncing.

  • First, bouncing the ball, which is referred to as dribbling–because it really doesn’t matter how well you shoot at the basket if you can’t bounce the ball to the location where shooting is practical.
  • Then there’s the running–back and forth, with little rest in between.
  • The shooting, now being accomplished with lungs only half-full of air.
  • Then there’s jumping to get the ball back and rebound it on those numerous occasions when the goal is missed.
  • Finally, running again–or is it bouncing?

Well, in basketball you can’t do one without the other.

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Bedding

Bedding: (n) coverings for a bed, such as sheets and blankets.Dictionary B

Scratchy or warm?

I remember that was my choice when I was a little kid in dealing with my bedding.

My parents had these old blankets that were off-white with colored stripes, which reflecting, I would swear were probably removed from the backs of horses and brought into the house and thrown on our beds.

They were woolen, itchy and sometimes smelly–though I’m sure that odor was attributed to them due to my dissatisfaction.

But since I grew up in a frigid environment (which certainly has a double meaning) I would eschew my horse blanket for half the night, and then, due to shivers and quakes, grab it and tolerate its coarse texture to eliminate freezing.

This, of course, makes the emphasis on “bedding” which we see in today’s society ever-so-much more humorous to my experience.

Unbelievable as it may seem, I have even sat in patience around a table, listening to a lengthy conversation of people discussing the “thread count” of their sheets. Ignorantly innocent, in one of these initial pow-wows I even asked what they meant by thread count.

Thirty minutes later–dazed, bewildered and sleepy–the explanation finally mercifully ceased.

I wonder what the thread count was in my horsey bed-throw? I’m sure no one in my family would have known nor cared.

The attitude in my household on the issue of bedding was similar to the approach to every matter of personal comfort:

“Shut up and be glad you have it.”

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