Lighten Up: Robert Redford and the bullock whisperer
Robert Redford stars in 'The Horse Whisperer' (1998).
Robert Redford was a great actor, and he was also a mighty horse whisperer.
I remember once seeing him in a movie, I forget the name of it now, but all he did for the entire thing was whisper to horses.
He'd whisper into their ears and they would respond to everything he said.
It was an extraordinary film, really. Well, extraordinary if you were a non-farmer.
For a farmer like me, whispering is part and parcel of rural life. I myself have been whispering to the hens for years, in an effort to boost egg production.
But alas, owing to the fact that hens have tiny ears, it can be hard for them to make out what exactly I am saying.
The bullock, on the other hand, is the ideal whispering companion. Like the horse, his ears are big so he can hear everything. Indeed, sometimes a bullock can hear too much.
"And what would you whisper into the ear of a bullock?" I hear you cry from the comfort of your armchair.
Well, out here in the plains of West Cork, I usually whisper instructions to them. I'd whisper things like "eat more grass", or "stay away from the neighbour's ditch". Practical stuff mostly.
I'm like Redford really, only without the golden hair and the winning smile.
In fact, I once had a bullock (and this is no word of a lie), who could not only understand every word I said, but who could reply too, whispering into my own ear.
Yerra, this was back in the days when bullocks were far more intelligent than they are today.
He was a Hereford by nature, but he once whispered that there was a bit of "Jersey blood" coursing through his veins.
"I'd keep that to myself bullock," says I, in hushed tones.
"Sure, why the hell do you think I'm whispering?" he replied.
That Hereford sure was a clever lad and a great fellow for the horses too. He once quietly advised me to put a lump of money on the horse Imperial Call, who was running in the Gold Cup. But I didn't, of course, and more fool me.
And I remember on another occasion the bullock, in hushed tones again of course, told me that my tax disc was out of date and that I should get my hip replaced.
"Neither of us is getting any younger," he quietly pointed out, before going back to eating grass.
That bullock was a class act. He was one of a kind. He was like Redford, really only that he was a bullock. And I was sorry to see him go in the finish, the bullock I mean.
But sure, he knew the story as well as I did myself, for I had told him everything.
"It was a pleasure staying with you here on the farm, Mr Lehane," he whispered to me, before quietly sauntering up the loading ramp. The hand would have gone out if he had one.
And so now, on a week in farming when we celebrate the great Robert Redford, I just want to remind you all that while we have lost a great talent and a mighty horse whisperer, remember there are plenty more of us still around who whisper to bullocks and to hens, fellows like me who carry on the noble tradition.
We may not have the looks of the Sundance Kid, but we certainly have the same love of country life.
