Today was windy, rainy, and cold. It must have been like today in France in the trenches in 1918.
I had to help process a hundred or so wheat-pasture heifers in this slop. Cold feet, numb hands and water that finds it way through your raingear to soak and freeze.
I was suffering rather magnificently, though silently, because I noticed the cowboys were just as miserable as I was.
Then I noticed Roxanne.
Roxanne is a blue heeler that signed on at the Howard ranch from parts unknown. She has a lot of enthusiasm but little training. Her job, as she sees it, is to nip the heels of the heifers as they leave the chute to hasten up the operation.
Additionally, she has charged herself to bark enthusiastically to cheer up her human co-workers and encourage them to strive for even greater production.
She is an old-time Marxist-Leninist, glorifying in being a worker, and expecting little else from life. She would return to her station, plunk her butt down in the mud and watch intently to make sure the man on the headgate didn't miss the next heifer.
Rather than an "Ohmigodits Monday", her attitude was "Hot Damn! Monday!
If we humans could share that and most every dog's attitude toward work, little of the world's work would go undone. Boredom, alcoholism, wife beating and truancy would belong in the ashbin of history.
But I guess that's only a thought. Obviously today Roxanne didn't know how nasty a day it was. Shucks, she doesn't even know what France is or what happened there in 1918.
I decided that my suffering was largely self-inflicted, though, and thereafter I strove to meet her standards of behavior.