The Independence of a Doer

Cowboy was raised an independent doer.  Growing up on the farm, if he saw something that needed done, he just did it, with Big Dad’s blessing. 

Take, for example, his first independent project using wood, a circular saw and bent nails: rabbit cages at the age of 12 or so.  Simple stuff, right?  I mean, what 12 year old doesn’t hammer out bent nails and brandish a circular saw while his dad is out driving a semi across country?  No biggie.  Little Cowboy saw a need, Big Dad wasn’t around to do it, it had to be done, so he did it.  And, as the story goes, when Big Dad got home and saw him working on the project, he simply asked “Whatcha doin’?”  Apparently satisfied that Little Cowboy had it all under control, he left him to the task.

This was the story of Cowboy’s life.  Different scenarios throughout the years, of course, but ultimately always the same ending.  And that, as they say, is how a doer “does.” 

Being the doer that Cowboy is, it’s only natural that the same doing gene be passed along to his daughters, right?  Our girls are pretty much doers.  They see a need, they tackle it.  Except for one silly little thing…their dad is not Big Dad.  Cowboy doesn’t turn a blind eye and let them do their thing like his dad did for him. 
Take, for example, the hay rack.  Girl 1 and Girl 2 know that we need a new hay rack, and they are more than willing to build one, but they first must get the okay from Cowboy.  The conversation came up one afternoon as we ate lunch.  It went something like this:

Girl 1:  Do you remember we need a hay rack?

Cowboy:  Yep.

Girl 1:  When can you build it?

Cowboy:  Some day.

Girl 2:  I can build it.

Cowboy:  Oh really?  You know how to use power tools?  You know how to use a saw?  Can you cut a straight line?

Girl 3 (jumping in):  She can’t DRAW a straight line! 

Girl 2 (shooting evil looks at Girl 3):  Sure I can do it.  How hard could it be?  Where are the tools?

Cowboy:  In my trailer.

Girl 2:  What trailer?

Cowboy:  The black trailer.

Girl 2:  (looks at Cowboy with a blank stare)

Cowboy:  The one in front of the barn…the one I take to work…the one you walk past every day…

Girl 2 (as realization dawns):  Oooooooh THAT trailer!  I knew that.  I can do it.

Cowboy:  How will you do it?  How will you draw a straight line?

Girl 2:  I’ll use the little triangle doo-hickey.

Red flags pop up in Cowboy’s mind.  First, she doesn’t know what the tool trailer is, and second, she doesn’t know the name of a speed square.  He laughs, sympathizes a bit, then says no, sorry, no can do.  Cowboy will do it when he has time.  This is where Girl 2 turned it on thick.  You know, all that annoying nagging stuff about being responsible and being able to handle the job and “don’t you trust me” and all that nonsense.  Cowboy didn’t reply, he just sat quietly eating his lunch.  Girl 2 was smiling, obviously thinking that Cowboy’s silence meant he was considering it.  She’d give him a few days to think about it and try again.

Interestingly enough, later that same day, after Girl 1 left to meet a friend, I let Libby-the-big-dog outside to use the facilities and asked Girl 2 to please remember to let her back inside shortly.  Libby, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, likes to roll in manure and eat gross stuff when no one is looking.  An hour later, Libby was scratching at the door, begging to be let in.  Uh-oh.  “EMMA! Why is Libby still outside?”  Oops, she had forgotten.  Ha ha ha, laughs all around, jokes about responsibility and independence. 

And that’s when it happened.  As we were laughing, the grossest of all doggie grossness reared its ugly head…and ears.  Libby walked over to the only piece of carpet we have in the house and without any warning whatsoever, she upchucked a full size, intact rabbit.  In one piece.  Whole.  Except the head.

Cowboy winced.  Girl 2 gagged.  Girl 3 ran away screaming.  I covered my eyes.  Libby sprawled spread eagle on the hardwood floor and sighed.   

This is where Cowboy, in an attempt at full seriousness and with the stern-dad voice he doesn’t generally use, “encouraged” Girl 2 to express her responsible independence in all its blazing glory by picking up the gross headless mess.  I was cheering:  Show him your stuff, Girl 2! Show him you can do it; you can handle it; you are willing and able to manage anything that comes your way; anything boys can do girls can do better!

With a look of complete and utter disgust, she refused. 

I guess this means she won’t be building a hay rack anytime soon either.