Animals Don't Blush

by David R Gross

  “Please hold her by the halter and move her away from the foal while I put some sulfa boluses into her uterus.... Thanks. Now we’re done. OK, folks, let’s leave her alone and see if she can get this foal up.”

  Joe unhooked the lead rope from her halter, and the mare went to the foal, licking and nudging him until he got himself into a sitting position, his front legs splayed out. He stayed in that position for almost two minutes, wobbling from side to side. Finally, he steadied himself and, with a heave, got his back legs under and stood, all four legs splayed. A couple of minutes later, he found his balance and took a few hesitant steps. All the while, the mare had been nuzzling and encouraging him with soft, guttural noises. She moved away and then turned to look at him, calling softly. He took one step, then another, then a little prance, and he was at her side, his nose buried in her flank, searching for a teat.

  I smiled at Rosalie, and she smiled back. I washed up again, using one of Sally’s clean towels to dry off, and then put my shirt back on.

  “Come on up to the house,” Dr. Joe ordered. “I’ve got a bottle of 1948 Cabernet that will be perfect to celebrate this event.” He grabbed his wife around the waist and propelled her towards the house. Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, “Come on, you two, or we’ll polish it off ourselves.”

  I took hold of Rosalie’s arm. “Being able to do this sort of thing is really important to me. Can you understand that?”

  Her eyes were shining—with tears of pride, I hoped. She nodded and lifted her head to kiss me, standing on her toes. “I understand, and I love you. Wouldn’t you like a glass of wine? I would.”

  “Yeah, you go ahead. I’ll put everything back in the truck and be there in a minute.”

  Part II: Fall 1960

  Chapter 8: The Labor Day Barbeque

  It was early in September, a Friday evening, only seven forty-five, and I had already showered. We were eating a new recipe Rosalie was trying out, chicken tetrazzini. She had also baked me an apple pie, my favorite. Before digging into the pie, I loosened my belt a notch.

  “Are you aware that the Simpsons and John are famous all over western North Dakota and eastern Montana for their barbeques?” Rosalie inquired.

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Did you know they are putting one on for Labor Day at Ted’s ranch?”

  “Yeah, I heard about that too. Did you want to go?”

  “Well, I happen to know they start preparing the night before, and we’ve been invited to join them tomorrow evening. My understanding is that very few people are ever invited to help with the preparation.”

  “Really?... Well, we better go then.”

  ***

  The previous Wednesday, Dick had said Mrs. Schultz wanted me to come to their home to pick up my check. Previously, she had left it with Dick at the hospital.

  When I arrived and rang the doorbell, Mrs. Schultz opened the door and instructed me to follow her to her office. She took me to the first room on the left off the large entry hall. The old Victorian house could have served as the set for a horror movie, but it was extensively refurbished and updated. Dr. Schultz complained to me about the cost. It was huge, six bedrooms and four bathrooms—too big and too expensive he told me—but his wife insisted they buy it, and they spent a fortune on it.

  I sat across from her at a large oak dining room table that served as her desk. She got straight to the point.

  “I have no idea why Marcus made the deal you and he have, but I told Dick to keep track of the time you are actually working. Your accounting appears to match his, so you are honest, but you are averaging over sixty-five hours a week and then getting 40 percent of what you bill after you work two hundred hours each month. That is exorbitant!”

  “It’s what Dr. Schultz agreed to. I’ve been working every weekend since I got here. Dr. Schultz said he needed some rest, and I can understand why. It’s a very busy practice.”

  “I see you have also doubled his fee schedule, so you are earning even more than anticipated.”

  “That’s true, and the fee adjustment was overdue. We’re both charging the new fees so the practice is grossing significantly more than before I arrived, and we haven’t lost any clients that I am aware of.”

  The edges of her mouth turned down. I was fascinated. I didn’t think it possible for anyone to have that intense a frown.

  “Well, I have instructed Marcus to alternate weekends with you from now on. You don’t need that much extra time. In any case, 40 percent is too much. We need to renegotiate.”

  “I don’t think so,” I answered. “If the practice is not netting 60 percent of the gross, it is not being managed efficiently. I’m not prepared to renegotiate, and I have had no indication from Dr. Schultz that he wants to. In fact he seems quite pleased with the job I am doing.”

  “We’ll see about that. Here’s your check.”

  I took the time and examined the amount. “Thank you; it’s the same total I calculated.”

  I left as quickly as possible.

  ***

  The next morning, I left the house at five thirty, getting an early start on an assortment of routine calls. Dr. Schultz was on call for all emergencies until Monday morning.

  Don and I finished the farm calls a little after two in the afternoon; then I performed an ovariohistorectomy on a dog brought in while we were out. Don helped me clean up and restocked my truck. I went home after telling Dick that Rosalie and I would be at Ted Simpson’s ranch if he needed me.

  “You got invited for the prelims?” He sounded envious.

  “I don’t know about me, but Rosalie did. She’s become quite friendly with Kathy Jones and Linda and Sue Simpson.”

  At home, after I showered and changed clothes, Rosalie and I loaded Mister into the practice truck just in case Dr. Schultz was occupied with an emergency and someone else called. We set out for Ted and Sue Simpson’s ranch and arrived about eight in the evening. John Jones showed us the barbeque pit.

  “It’s four feet wide, ten feet long, and six feet deep. Yesterday, we hauled black walnut logs from a dead tree in that grove over yonder. This morning, early, we started the fire, and we’ve been adding logs all day. We added the last batch of wood a coupla hours ago; now we just wait until the fire’s burnt down to coals.”

  Ted and Ed came out of the house and joined us. They shook hands with me and gave Rosalie a hug.

  Stacked on the ground next to the pit were two large grates, each six feet square.

  “They weigh close to two hundred pounds each,” Ed commented.

  I helped them place six large cement blocks on end on either side of the pit. Each of us lifted a corner, and we placed the grates side by side on the blocks, leaving the grates positioned sixteen inches above ground level. The fire in the pit was so hot that within minutes the steel grates were red.

  “Sterilizes ’em,” John remarked.

  I noticed two wood picnic tables, end-to-end on the lawn, about twenty-five feet from the pit. Each table was covered with an oilcloth and, on top of that, half a steer carcass.

  “Ed and I have a little feedlot just outside of Sidney,” Ted explained. “Our sister, Natalie, lives there and takes care of things for us. We cut out the best of our steers, feed them out to prime, and custom slaughter. We hang the halves and age them for at least four weeks. George, who owns the Stockyards Café, buys some hindquarters for his restaurant, and we have other customers in town. After they’re aged, we wrap the halves we’re going to use for barbeques in plastic and keep them in the freezer.”

  “He neglected to tell you they are half-owners of the meat locker,” John contributed, smiling.

  John reached under one of the picnic tables into an ice chest and pulled out four cans of Coors, throwing one to each of us. We all caught them in the air, one-handed. He held up a beer and raised his eyebrows at Rosalie. “Miss Rosalie?” he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No thanks, John; I think I’ll pass. Where
are the ladies?”

  “Up in the house,” said Ed. “They’re working on potato salad.”

  “Well, I’ll go see if I can help. You boys have fun.”

  At that moment, Ferdie came running around the corner of the house with Mister and Skipper herding him.

  “Hey, Dad,” he shouted, “watch what Mister does if I run off in another direction.”

  He took off at a right angle, away from the four of us. Mister ducked, intercepted him, and using his right shoulder, turned him back towards the picnic tables. Skipper trailed, barking, enjoying the game. Ferdie laughed so hard he tripped and fell face first. Both Mister and Skipper were on him immediately, licking his face and nuzzling him, their tails wagging in wide circles while Ferdie covered his head with his arms, laughing and screaming at both dogs to leave him alone.

  John paused for an instant to make certain his son wasn’t hurt. He took a church key off one of the picnic tables, opened his beer, and tossed the key to me.

  I checked the beef on the table closest to where I was standing. There was green mold on portions of the fat, well-marbled carcass.

  “We moved it from the freezer to the cooler early yesterday and brought it out from town early this morning so it’s still cold,” Ed explained.

  John stirred the fire in the pit with a steel pole. “I think by the time we get the beef seasoned, the coals will be ready.”

  Ted went to his pickup, lifted the hinged wood top to a large wood box that filled the bed, and removed a rolled-up length of greasy leather. He unrolled the leather exposing four sharp butcher knives and four even sharper boning knives, each in a separate leather pocket.

  Ed selected one of the knives and removed the tenderloin and a large amount of kidney fat from each of the half carcasses. Ted, John, and Ferdie went to the house and returned, each carrying a cardboard box containing boxes of kosher salt and large cans of black pepper.

  John emptied two boxes of the salt and a can of pepper on the inside surface of each carcass. The men mixed the seasonings together with their hands and then started rubbing the mixture into the meat. After the inside of both halves was well coated, they each took a thin boning knife and made numerous puncture wounds into the meat filling the holes with the salt-and-pepper mixture. They turned the carcasses over and repeated the procedure on the outside surface.

  John took a butcher’s bone saw from the box in the pickup and cut two eight-inch-long lengths from the end of each leg.

  By the time, the men had completed their tasks, the coals had settled below the lip of the pit. They laid the carcasses on the grates. The meat sizzled, and fat dripped into the coals sending flares of flame to within inches of the meat.

  John walked over to Ted’s pickup and from the same box extracted three long steel rods with sharpened hooks on one end and wood ax handles on the opposite end. They used these pikes to position the halves over the center of the pit.

  I wandered over to have a look at the box in the pickup. It was divided into several compartments, one of which contained two twenty-gallon, stainless steel cooking pots.

  “Hey, Doc,” hollered Ted, “bring those pots over, and we’ll get the beans going.”

  Ted placed the pots on the end of one of the grates. Before long, they began to smoke. He divided bones and fat between the two pots. Ed returned from the house carrying a plastic dishpan filled with onions cut into quarters. He split the onions between the two pots, stirring with a canoe paddle until everything browned. John came from the house with a five-gallon jug of water on his shoulder. He divided the water between the pots, ducking to avoid the clouds of steam.

  “OK, let’s get the beans,” said Ed.

  We found the four wives and Jenny working around a large table centered in the kitchen. Rosalie was chopping celery. Jenny stood on a chair next to her providing instruction on size and technique. Kathy was chopping onions. Sue, Ted’s wife, was chopping green peppers. I counted ten large stainless bowls filled with boiled potatoes and two others filled with hard-boiled eggs.

  Rosalie looked up as we entered the kitchen. “There you are.” She smiled at me. “Isn’t this an amazing kitchen?”

  She put down the knife, and Jenny picked it up continuing to chop with Kathy watching her closely.

  Rosalie showed me a six-burner stove, a huge mixer, a walk-in pantry, and a walk-in refrigerator that extended out from the side of the house.

  “Well,” I said, “I guess if you feed five hundred people at a time, you have to be set up to do it.”

  On the floor of the refrigerator were two huge pots filled with soaking pinto beans.

  John and Ted each took a pot of beans over to a large stainless steel sink where they poured off most of the water. Ed grabbed a bowl filled with quartered onions from a shelf in the walk-in refrigerator. Next, he took two huge bottles of ketchup and a can of cayenne pepper from a cupboard that was standing against the wall next to the stove.

  We returned to the barbeque pit in fading light. Ed and Ted added the beans to the boiling pots, then the onions, a bottle of ketchup, and a handful of the cayenne pepper to each.

  “The cayenne,” John explained, “and the beef kidney fat are our secret ingredients.” He added more water until the pots were three-fourths full, stirring with the canoe paddle.

  “I assume the paddle is kept for only that purpose,” I said.

  John gave me a fake glare. “You ready for another beer, Doc, or are you just going to question our integrity?”

  The ladies came to join us, each carrying an aluminum lawn chair. John sent Ferdie to bring chairs for the men.

  “Ferdie,” Kathy called out, “make two trips; don’t try to carry all five chairs at once.” Then she muttered, “That was wasted breath.”

  “Sue and Linda, I don’t think you’ve ever met Dave,” Rosalie said. “Kathy and I had lunch with Linda and Sue a couple of times when they were in town, but you’ve always been off doing your veterinary thing.”

  Sue Simpson was younger than her husband Ted, who was then in his early thirties. Ed, I remembered, was two years younger. Sue looked like a teenager, long chestnut hair, green eyes, very well endowed, dressed in very tight Wranglers and an even tighter blouse that emphasized her attributes.

  She must be at least in her mid-twenties, but she sure doesn’t look it.

  “Doc, I’m happy to finally meet you.” Her hand was rough, her hand shake as firm as any man’s.

  I wonder why I’m always so aware of people’s hands and the manner in which they shake hands. I suppose it tells me a lot about them.

  “Hi, Sue. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Rosalie has told me how much fun she has when the four of you get together.”

  “And this is Linda,” Rosalie continued.

  Linda stood a full two inches taller than her husband. Two long thick braids held her jet-black hair out of the way. Her eyes were deep blue, but her complexion and facial features hinted of some Native American blood. She ignored my proffered hand and gave me a quick hug.

  “We’ve heard a lot about you Doc. I’m happy you could join us.”

  “The potato salad is in the refrigerator melding,” said Sue. “Everything is cleaned up and put away. The only thing left is to make the barbeque sauce. All your ingredients are ready for you, Ed.”

  “He’s the sauce guy,” Linda explained.

  Nobody mentioned anything about dinner. We all sat in our chairs, silently staring at the coals in the pit as they flared from the dripping fat. My stomach growled, and everyone laughed.

  “Laugh all you want, but I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I put in a full day’s work before we got here,” I said.

  “Well, Hoss,” said Ted, “I guess we better do something about feeding you then. What about you, Miss Rosalie? Are you hungry too?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Me too,” Ferdie said, and everyone laughed again.

  The three partners skillfully flipped the two halves of beef to sea
r the outside, while the fire was still hot. Sue and Linda went into the house and returned with clean oilcloths for the tables and a Coleman lantern.

  Ted went to the pickup and removed a long steel pole with a hook on one end, along with a length of galvanized pipe with a sharp point welded to one end and a sledgehammer. He pounded the pipe into the ground between the two picnic tables, slid the pole into the pipe, fired up the lantern, and hung it from the hook.

  The four ladies went back to the house returning with a pot containing baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil, heavy plastic plates, plastic glasses, two pitchers of iced tea, a pitcher of lemonade, a large brick of cheddar cheese, two boxes of Ritz crackers, and a red wax-sealed bottle of Maker’s Mark Kentucky Bourbon.

  They placed the pot of potatoes on an outside corner of one of the grates to keep warm. After holding his hand over a portion of the other grate, Ed declared the fire had cooled down enough for the tenderloins.

  “Okay, people,” said Ted, “as the most senior person here and official master of ceremonies, I declare it time to get serious.” He used his pocket knife to cut the wax seal on the bottle of Maker’s Mark, opened it, and poured an inch into a glass for each of the adults.

  Kathy, with the same seriousness of purpose, poured an equal amount of lemonade into glasses for Jenny and Ferdie.

  Once everyone had a glass, Ted raised his. “We are gathered here tonight and tomorrow to welcome into our midst Dave and Rosalie Gross who, by virtue of their skills, smarts, attitude, moral fiber, toughness, determination, athletic ability, and only in Miss Rosalie’s case, exceedingly good looks, have demonstrated their worthiness to join this family of kindred spirits. We are also celebrating the Jones family’s good fortune. We hope that we will all be blessed with the discovery of black gold as well!”

  “HEAR! HEAR!” we all shouted.

  “The initiation to this group is simple—down the hatch!” With that, Ted downed his drink in a gulp.

  Everyone, including Ferdie and Jenny, shouted, “DOWN THE HATCH,” and emptied their glasses.