When I was a kid my brothers and I would walk down to a creek behind my grandparents' house that had a little bit of water in it. We had to sneak down there because there was a mean ol' Guernsey that enjoyed trying to chase down small boys and trample them into the ground. It was the ultimate game of hide and seek, sneaking through the mesquite trees in the pasture, searching for the cow, hoping to make the creek where you could play in the shallow water, skip a few rocks, and dare your brothers to do stupid stuff.
Once my brother dared me to run to an oak tree and back, naked. Now for a six year old kid that is pretty daring but I didn't want to look like a coward to my older brother so off came my t-shirt, cut-offs, and slipping my trackshoes back on, I took off for the oak tree. Once I made it, I turned to come back when I realized the Guernsey was now between me and the creek. What to do, what to do. Standing out in the pasture naked, I could have easily run to the house but then you have this long explanation to your grandmom on why you were running naked through the brush and considering she would be hunting a switch the whole time you were frantically explaining the situation, you quickly ruled out that option.
That really only left one option. Try to out manuever the Guernsey, make the creek, grab my clothes, and then beat it back to the house in one piece. I didn't realize that cows could read minds but I swear she knew my every move, anticipated them even. It didn't matter, that cow was watching and moving with me, getting a little closer every time I switched directions. My option was starting to look a little like a suicide decision and taking the switching from my grandmom seemed to be the only guarantee of survival... that is if I survived her switching.
In the distance I could hear my brother whooping and laughing at my predictiment, standing on a large rock where he could easily gain access into an oak tree if the Guernsey decided to turn on him. The whooping and hollering was enough to seal the deal and I was determined to make the creek, grab my clothes, even if it meant there was going to be Guernsey tracks all over my little body.
My moves became more erratic and unpredictable. I would start to the left, swirl to the right, sprint a few feet, stop, shift, sprint some more, and then come to a complete stop. The Guernsey had a determined look on her face and I'm pretty sure was licking her lips with anticipation of stomping a small bothersome boy into the dust. About my fourth sprint, she outsmarted me and cut the distance to a mere twenty yards and I could feel my naked skin crawling with fear. What a way to go. Ground into the dirt by a cow, totally naked, and all within sight of the one brother who could really get my goat. Preparing to meet my end, I decided a straight run towards the creek would at least give me a half a chance to be further away from the house so my grandmom would have to search longer for whatever shreds of flesh were left, and maybe she would work up a little sympathy before she started to switch whatever life was left in my body.
About the time I kicked into high gear, I heard the horn on my granddad's old Apache 10 blaring off to the right and the Guernsey turned towards it with interest as a honking horn signaled afternoon snacking for the cows as my granddad worked his way to the feeding troughs where cattle cake would be dispensed. I took my chances and sped to the left of her turned head and was past her before she could turn back from looking for the pickup and by the time she came around to start into a run, I was halfway to the creek.
Now there is nothing quite invigorating as running through the brush naked. Mesquite limbs slapping at your pristine white body, thorns scraping at your flesh, and the ever present fear of tripping and falling into a prickly pear patch running rampant in your mind. I didn't notice the scratches or even blinked when I leapt over a small cactus that would have guaranteed my never having children should I have fallen into it. No, I ran like a deer, a totally naked but scared deer, to the creek where I snatched up my clothes with one hand and scrambled up the creek bank with the other. I soon found safety in a grove of oak trees where I slipped my clothes on quickly before heading out the back of the grove to try to outflank the Guernsey. I didn't have to worry, the call of the cattle cake was too strong and she had forgotten the thrill of making a naked stupid little boy into mush.
There are times these days when I feel like I am that small boy, running naked through the brush, trying to gain the safety of the creek while avoiding getting squashed by my own metaphorical Guernseys. The thrill of the running naked is still there but the fears are much larger now and the it seems there are a host of older brothers jeering and cheering my demise. I'm okay with that because quite frankly, running naked through the brush sure beats staying within the confines of being safe because of a sure thing. It is the running naked through the brush in life that invigorates, stimulates, and brings us to create in order to survive. I raise a glass to all of the Guernseys in my life. Long may you seek to stomp me... for by doing so, you only make me stronger.
