"Never wrestle with pigs, you both get dirty and the pig likes it."
-George Bernard Shaw
-George Bernard Shaw
I love telling this story to my then unborn son, who is now nearly 14, and my sleeping angel in the car seat, who is now 17.
How could I resist?
Two members of the Equine species beckoned to me from across a field. The day was cold, and dampness hung in the
air. The last days of November were upon
us, but I was warm. Being pregnant in
the winter certainly had it’s advantages, and as I never got used to the damp,
Irish, cold, the warmer body temperature that came with pregnancy made up for
the heaviness of being 7 months along.
I stepped back towards the car, and checked my son, who was
fast asleep in his car seat, then waved to
my husband, who was looking to buy hay for our own horses from the farmer with whom
we were visiting. I shouted down to them
that I was going to walk over to see the horses which were standing at the fence line and nodding their heads.
“Grand!” Joe Morrisey shouted up to me, as he waved his hand
in a salute.
I asked Joe if the electric fence was on, and he assured me
that it wasn't. The electric tape was
low enough to the ground, which allowed me in my pregnant state, to balance
myself against a fence post with one hand, and swing my legs over the tape as I
pushed it down with my other hand. The horses were several yards away, behind a sheep wire
fence, and at this time of the year, the grass was scarce in their field. Their pacing and head nodding told me they
were probably expecting me to bring them something. It was late afternoon, and almost dusk. Defiantly feeding time. I was glad I was wearing my Wellingtons,
because being the horse lover I am, I just had to get a closer look at these
heavy Cobs even if it meant taking a walk through the mud. I turned and took another look at my young
son in the car before I trekked out. He
drew in a deep breath and sighed in his sleep.
Chances were he wouldn't wake until we got back home. I looked back towards the two Cobs, who
resembled hairy, muddy, Teddy bears. The
ground looked solid, or so I thought, until I took two steps past the fence
line. To my shock and horror that second
step sucked me into the ground like quicksand. Within seconds, I was chest deep in loose, warm, mud. I had never seen anything like it
before. My whole body seemed paralyzed,
apart from my arms, which were thankfully free for waving like a lunatic while
shouting down to Patrick and Joe Morrissey.
“She’s after going into the slurry!” I heard Mrs. Morrissey exclaim.
Patrick came running up the road with Mrs. Morrissey, a
stout woman in her 60’s, trotting behind him in a panic, while Mr. Morrissey ran into the shed to retrieve a large piece of lumber. When they
arrived, they found me laughing, half out of panic, and half from thinking what
this scene must look like. A 7 month
pregnant woman, chest deep in ancient slurry, all because her obsession with
horses led her there.
The plank of timber landed next to me in a heavy splat, and as Mr.
Morrissey stood on the one end, Patrick crawled halfway out and stretched out
his hand for me to take. I couldn't help
but think of an old jungle film where the heroine finds herself in quicksand, and the likes of Spencer Tracy or Humphrey Bogart
throws in a vine to save her. The
difference was, the heroines of these types of films were so glamorous compared to me
in my pregnant state. I felt like an
elephant in this scenario.
With a few tugs,
I was pulled out of the slurry into a heap on top of the timber. Graceful it was not. I managed to get onto my hands and knees and
crawl back to solid ground, while one of my Wellington boots remained behind. Mrs. Morrissey grabbed my arms and helped me
to stand, while my husband fished for my other boot with a stick.
“I told ya ta put a feckin' warnin' sign up der ages
ago!” Scolded Mrs. Morrissey, red faced
and wagging her finger at her husband.
As I stood there dripping in muddy gunk, I began to feel the
cold, and I knew I could not possibly sit into the car in such a state. The embarrassed woman told me to come into the
house with her, and she would find me something to wear home. Minutes later, I was dressed in an old housecoat
and Mrs. Morrissey’s Wellies. I still,
to this day, shudder at the image.
Walking to the car, I spied the two horses still standing at the fence
with their ears perked. They’d probably
have never been so entertained in their whole lives. I climbed into the warmth of the car, and I
couldn’t wait to get home and shower.
Behind me, my little son stretched and yawned, completely unaware of the
drama that unfolded just outside the car.
Catherine Hughes Teahan
