Denis Lehane: Why the National Dairy Show makes me cry

Our Denis says he was born to be a dairy farmer — if only he knew what he knows now, he writes in this week's Lighten Up

'I gave up milking cows, just when I was on the cusp of greatness.'

You will rarely see me at the National Dairy Show in Millstreet, for the event fills me with sadness.

Any mention of the place can stir up emotions.

I can quite easily get teary-eyed while staring at champion cows or well-bred heifers.

For when I do go there, I become bombarded with memories, or visions, of what could have been.

I could have been a contender and there is very little doubt about that.

I could have been a champion herd owner back in Millstreet at the dairy show, but alas events conspired against it.

As many of you know, I began my farming life under the cow.

Whether milking for others, or for myself, it was said I had "the gift".

I was gifted in the ways of the cluster.

Gifted like Christy Ring was gifted with the sliotar, or Rocky Balboa was with the glove.

And while gifted with the cluster, alas, I wasn't gifted in reducing my overall cell count.

Eventually, it came to pass that I was forced to upgrade my premises; my stall of 20 cows, or else face excommunication from Dairygold.

The pressure was on.

Anyhow, plans were drawn up, and a new-fangled milking parlour was designed and then presented to auld Lehane on glossy paper.

Everything looked groovy, except for the price tag.

The cost was astronomical.

It made me go weak at the knees.

And so then, like Ebenezer Scrooge himself, the fist tightened, and I refused to go ahead with the plan.

I may even have said "Bah Humbug!"

I struggled on for a spell in my stall but eventually said "au revoir" to Dairygold and closed the stall door on my milking career for good.

I could have even said "Bah Humbug!" again.

I gave up milking cows, just when I was on the cusp of greatness.

I sought out a new farming career, purchasing bullocks, rearing calves, lambing sheep; I tried everything really and failed.

I failed at every other endeavour in farming, for my calling had been the cow. That was where 'my gift' lay.

I was gifted with the cluster, like Johnny Logan is gifted with a microphone, or Neven Maguire gifted with the spatula.

I had the fingers of Liberace, the wrist action of Andre Agassi. It was said the cluster rested on my hand the way Jack Lynch's pipe rested on his.

I was born to be a dairy farmer and a great one too. The tragedy being, I never knew it back in the day when I had the 20 cows.

I never knew what I had until it was gone.

I guess time can be a great educator.

Anyhow, that is why now each and every year when the National Dairy Show comes around, I fall to my knees and cry aloud.

"I could have been a contender! I could have been a winner!"

And then I get the visions while asleep in my bed.

Ghostly visions, just like Scrooge, visions of a future that could have been.

Visions of me standing in the main ring in Millstreet, dressed all in white.

There with a beaming smile, accepting the adulation of the crowd.

Standing proudly alongside my winning cow with her five paps or two tails, or whatever it is that makes her exceptional.

Again, the details are vague, but one thing is clear: Auld Lehane is a winner back in Millstreet at the National Dairy Show.

And with regard to winning with dairy cows, it doesn't get much better than that.