Cop Lover and a Bovine Honor (Volume 52, May 10, 1996 - October 19, 1996)
May 15, 1996
Yesterday I got stopped for speeding in Cross Plains. I was very touched by the whole incident.
I approached the cop with love and kindness, and he was kind back. He gave me a warning instead of a ticket. (I was going 39 in a 25, he said.) I had no animosity towards him, or getting stopped, at all. He was a young, cute, cop, very reasonable.
I’m sure it helped that I’ve had no citations or tickets in so long — never in this state. I told him that normally I’m the one that everyone else is giving the finger to and passing!
It was a psychic moment — kind of a test for me. I knew for a day or two that I would get stopped. I wanted to practice sending love vibes to him, instead of fear and anger. I did run out of my truck and go up to his car as soon as he pulled me over. I smiled and said hi. He didn’t admonish me for doing this. Of course, I’m in the category of the least threatening people in the world.
The key to me was that I let go instantly: I decided to love him whether I got a ticket or not. I had already decided I’d go to court and the amount would get reduced, and it’s a dumb way to lose money, but overall it’s not that big a deal, etc., — and because I was detached from the outcome, I think, he gave me the warning instead.
I was so glad I had gotten my address changed on my license — that could have been a reason to give me a ticket right there.
After he left (after telling me to slow down, it’s warmer, more people are out walking, etc.) and I continued my drive, I got really teary-eyed — but not for any negative reason — just because I had been so moved by the warmth of our exchange.
May 27, 1996, Monday night 8:50 p.m., the tail end of the Memorial Day Week-end
We had crappy weather from start to finish.
Friday Ellis and I visited Tom and Sally at their farm. Ellis thought Sally looked like the Wizard of Oz when she was milking cows — pulling levers for grain to fall out, putting iodine on cow teats, fastening and unfastening semi-automated milking suction cups, pulling on wires to open gates, pouring stuff out on the floor, administering penicillin to one sick cow, throwing paper towels into a bin, wiping things off left and right, all at once, all at an exceedingly fast pace, while talking non-stop. We both agreed we could never do that, never. Sally wears thigh-high rubber boots and is filthy most of the day, every day.
Sally told us they named one of their calves “Valerie.” They bottle feed all their calves with milk replacer. She said, “I fed this calf for months! I had $75 into this calf and then one day it was walking away from me and I said, ’Oh, my God! Valerie has balls!’ “
Well, the upshot is they gave Valerie to friends of theirs — the friends will raise it for beef. The stipulation was that this bull calf’s name must remain “Valerie.” It has an ear tag to that effect.
Out of 60-some calves born so far this year, only 25 were “lucky” enough to be born female. I asked Tom if they sell their male calves to veal factories. He said Jersey calves aren’t used for veal as they don’t grow quickly during the first few months that comprise a veal calf’s total life span. They give many of their bull calves to friends — but a good number become hot dogs.
If people knew their hot dogs had names, maybe…sigh