Guest post by Friar’s Mom
I stood motionless in the northeast corner of a field in Tilley, Alberta. My friends were but small dark dots in the distant southwest corner of this huge acreage. The early morning April sun felt warm on my dark brown winter coat. A few small fluffy clouds dotted the blue sky at the horizon. Tiny blades of green grass peeked through the dry winter stubble beneath me. Spring had finally arrived in the Prairies.
For a long time I watched the vehicles whiz by me and loom towards me on the Trans Canada. I saw 18 wheelers, auto transporters, tankers, empty flatbeds, farm equipment, tow trucks, pickups, police cars, vans, cars. I noticed a blue Honda CRV. The woman inside turned her head to look at me as she drove by. She continued to stare at me through her rear view mirror.
She was happy that I had taken time to enjoy my day, yet she was also sad for me. She knew something of my future that I didn’t know. Earlier in the day she passed an empty cattle transporter truck. Tufts of hay protruded through the vent holes. Those vent holes told another story–horizontal streaks of dried cattle dung clung to the outside of the transporter. She knew one day, I would take a ride in a similar vehicle. Yet she wouldn’t tell me where I would travel. She told me to enjoy the present.
My life had been–chew, chew, chew, poo, poo, poo. I was tired of the monotony, and finally dared to try something different. The woman was happy that I had found a new interest. She was proud of me because I had the courage to be different. She suggested that I share my new-found joy with some of my friends.
This evening I’ll ask a friend to join me in the northwest corner of the field. We’ll stand motionless and watch the moving vehicles become silhouette specks against the setting sun. Perhaps tomorrow some more of my friends will join me.