By Dr. Bo Brock
The mind of a child
We have three daughters (ages 8, 11, 13), and I am always amazed at what goes through the mind of a child. They see things in their world and store those thoughts to be brought up at the strangest times. We had an episode occur a few weeks ago that made me re-evaluate what kids are really thinking.
A few Fridays ago, the phone rang at about 11 p.m. It was Dr. Marty Ivey from Ruidoso, N.M., with a horse suffering from colic that appeared to need surgery. Translation: the critter would get to Lamesa around 3 a.m.
I told him to send it on, and we would be glad to try to make that horse happy again.
The carrier arrived at the expected time and unloaded a very sick racehorse. We got the horse in the stocks, and sure enough, the exam revealed a twisted gut.
This is not a good thing if you are a horse. Surgery is about the only option and sometimes it offers little hope.
After an extensive examination, I told the horse carrier that surgery was going to be the only option.
“This is a very special horse,” he muttered from road-weary lips. “I sure hope you can fix it.”
Every horse is a really special horse in the eyes of someone. I understand it, and when I hear it, I move on.
“This horse belongs to Toby Keith.” The carrier slurred the words from exhaustion, but the message was sharp enough. I started feeling pressure.
I could just visualize the video starring me, with a stupid look on my face, plastered all over Country Music Television. Mr. Keith told the interviewer: “Yeah, that’s him. He’s that vet from Lamesa, Texas, that killed my prize racehorse.” Worse yet, I might be the brunt of some country song that Willie Nelson and Toby wrote about “the redneck vet from West Texas.” What if it became a hit and lived on for generations?
The crew gathered, and we did the surgery just as we have on hundreds of other horses. The surgery went well, and I was feeling fairly optimistic about the horse’s condition when we left that Saturday evening.
When I arrived home, I gathered the three Brock girls together to tell them the news. You see, they love Toby Keith and have all his CDs. I just knew they would have a few “wows” for the story.
Much to my surprise, this is not what I got from my 8-year-old Kimmi.
“I knew that was going to happen,” she said in a matter-of-a-fact tone. It almost sounds like she had been expecting it for some time. What in the world would elicit this reaction from an 8-year-old? How could she ever even suppose that Toby Keith’s horse would wind up in Lamesa? She heard about many colic surgeries but never one on a celebrity’s horse. My wife, Kerri, and I sat there for a moment with wondering looks on our faces, when she broke the silence with her reasoning.
“Yeah, I knew that was going to happen; you’re not supposed to give beer to horses.”
For those of you who have not heard the song, it goes: “Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses.” I have never been sure what it means, but Kimmi heard it and figured it was just a matter of time before that horse developed gut problems and would be headed to Lamesa to see her daddy.
The older sisters, Emili and Abbi, immediately chimed in: “He didn’t really give beer to his horse; that is just a song.”
“No it’s not. Why would he say it if he didn’t do it?” Kimmi fired back.
The puzzled looks on our faces were replaced with wide-mouthed, eye-squinting laughter.
There you have it; the mind of a child. I love it.
The horse did well and went back home to Toby. We never actually heard from him, but as far as Kimmi was concerned, I should have called him and informed him that whiskey for the men might be okay, but he better stay away from beer for the horses.
Merry Christmas. Crowded in the Middle of Nowhere is the book. Amazon.com It will make somebody smile!
