Grade A Douche Bag

I recall as a youth, the many times that I found myself helping a friend's family, to herd their cattle.

My friend's dad, like my own father, was a farmer. He had acres upon acres of land that he sowed with seed every spring and harvested every fall. Unlike my father, however, my friend's family also partook in the raising of cattle. Their farm never raised the cattle for dairy, but for selling off of the beef. Noble in and of itself, I suppose. Contribute to the betterment of society through the culinary arts and such.

However, as I stated above, I often found myself helping out the family in moving the herd of cattle from one pasture to another. I'm unable to remember if it was moving them to the north pasture in the spring or if that came in the fall. Either/or, I don't really give two shits. All I know is that I was invited by my friend for a visit and a sleep over, entertaining ourselves with movies, games and whatever other mischief we could find ourselves getting into. Then in the wee wee hours of Sunday morning, there I'd be, along with his family out chasing cattle around like a f*cking retard.

What the hell did I care, where these f*cking beasts of burden wound up? But there I was, asthmatic little ol' me, huffin' and puffin' like a motherf*cker, chasing these cows around, trying to herd them into another pasture. And all on our feet.

The family, having had lots of practice, had a knack for knowing where they needed to be in order to prevent any strays from eluding them. Me, on the other hand, had no prior knowledge on how to telegraph where the f*ck the animals were going to run. Granted, I'd been rooked into a similar situation just a few months prior, but like most unpleasant experiences, both then and now, I often deleted any knowledge from my memory. I believe that if something isn't enjoyable, why the f*ck remember how to do it? Same thing happened here. The cattle, dumb as they are, were always able to outsmart the young version of me. Repeating that fact now, doesn't shine too favourably on my behalf. Oh well.

What I do remember, from these experiences on my friend's farm, is the constant belittling and the barrage of unfavourable comments that I'd receive from my friend's dad, Wayne. (Normally, I omit the persons name, but being that Wayne was, and I suspect still is, a HUGE C*CKSUCKER, I have no guilt in revealing his identity.)

So Wayne would rush up on me and unleash a fury of colourful metaphors and practically boot stomp my ass into the dirt, all because I couldn't corral HIS stupid cattle. What a douche-bag!

I remember seeing him years later, at another friend's wedding. I showed up with a gal pal of mine. We weren't romantically involved. She was simply a female who I was able to convince to be my "plus one" for this day of bliss. At the reception, Wayne, being half-cut already, not that I recall ever seeing him sober, came over to my friend T____ and I then proceeded to make small talk, which involved mostly belittling me and trying to make me look bad in front of whom he presumed was my girlfriend.

He spoke of how useless I was with "this" and with "that", mostly topics he knew very little about, until he came to my efforts, or lack of, involving the herding of cattle. "Yep!" he boasted smugly, "Jeff'll never make a good cattleman. That much is for sure...!" Then he smiled like the Cheshire Cat at me.

"Why the f*ck would I ever want to be a cattleman?" I said calmly, my friend shocked at my comment. Wayne, looked baffled by my query. "Why would I want to be a cattleman? I mean, there's no money in it! Plus, the only place I'd want to see any cattle, is in 6 or 8oz portions on my plate, cooked to medium-rare with a baked potato and some string beans!" I shook my head in disbelief and made my way outside, my friend T____ following close behind. The last time I saw Wayne that day, was seeing that douche bag, standing alone in the living room of my friend's in-laws house, scratching his head and looking confused by what'd just transpired.

I did actually see that f*cker a few years later. It was after my dad had passed away from cancer and the vultures had all landed on our farm for the estate sale. Wayne was one of those bloodsucking vultures looking for some good deals. He came up to me and offered his condolences on the loss of my father. I don't know if it was sincere, as I doubt he ever liked me. I thanked him for his kind words, but I could tell that it was tough for him to be friendly towards me.