Denis Lehane: Fighting fit after calf rearing season
“That’s because, my dear woman,” says I, pulling in my chair to face the feed, “my calf rearing is at an end. I’ve called time on the milk replacer. My days of scour are behind me.
"The calves are reared. I’m a happy man. Tis onwards and upwards from here. That’s why I’m smelling of roses,” I explained.
And you might be wondering how I got on with the calf rearing.
Well, I’m proud to report, that they all lived. Except that is, for the ones that died.
Like any fellow in the business of calf rearing, you can only do your best.
And if a calf decides to turn his toes up, there isn’t a potion, powder or prayer that can prevent it.
Half the time, a fellow can be on his knees praying for a miracle cure.
But ’tis all over now. The bunch are reared, my days of crying on the vet’s shoulder are but a fading memory.
To be honest with you, the biggest loss of all I suffered during this time came from missing out on my karate lessons.
I go to Crookstown Hall twice a week in normal times, to let rip with a few sidewinders and haymakers.
But because of the hungry calves bawling for feed, I was unable to go.
I’m very fond of my karate, and while I’m far from Bruce Lee, over the years I have developed a class of a kick that any farmyard donkey would be proud to possess.
Anyway I had feared that my absence would affect my standing in the club, in that I could have the living daylights beaten out of me on my return.
But then, I met my brother-in-law, and he wasn’t long setting me straight on the issue.
“Karate!” says he “Don’t make me laugh. In the name of God, there are very few who would take you on now, and the state you are in.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“For goodness sake,” says he “sure everyone knows that in the world of fitness, there is nothing like a house of hungry calves to keep a man fighting fit and rearing for action.
“There is nothing like rearing a bunch of calves to put muscle on a lad. There are fellows in steam rooms all over the country who would give their hind teeth to be half as fit as you are now.
“From drawing calves home to dragging in bags of calf feed. From hauling bales of straw across the yard, to lifting over-full buckets of milk replacer. The gymnasiums of Ireland have no fitness plan to equal that.
“And what about the kicks you received?” he continued.
“Make no mistake, the kick from a strong bull calf would equal the greatest kick ever delivered by a karate expert. And you stood up to it all.
“Sure you are like Giant Haystacks now, from the height of exertion.”
“Am I really?” I responded with delight.
“Of course you are,” says he. “Tisn’t afraid of returning to karate you should be at all, only biting at the bit for road. It’s your classmates who will be afraid of you.”
Of course, as always, the brother-in-law was talking absolute sense, and I thanked him for his wise words.
So I’ve little to fear as I return to karate tonight.
I’ll gallop onto that floor like a bull weanling let loose onto a field of grass.
My calf rearing has me rearing for road.
