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The Manure Spreader: Rural emergency

Tim Moffett for Progressive Dairyman Published on 22 February 2019

Let’s face it; living where we live is different. It’s slower-paced, and people from big cities may poke fun at us, but who cares? These days, most cities have Uber.

If you’re not familiar with Uber, it’s a service where you text on your phone that you need a ride, and some stranger shows up and gives you a ride to your destination. I was in Montana recently and found out they don’t have Uber. They have what’s called “Goober.” It’s a little different. Just sing any Lynyrd Skynyrd song and a guy shows up in a beat-up pick-up truck and offers you a ride. Don’t mind the kids and the dogs in the bed of the truck or the 24-pack of Natural Light on the seat. You might need to drive, but it’s cheaper than a taxi.

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It’s my opinion where you live has a lot to do with how long you may live. For instance, if you have an injury and you live in a big city, calling 911 for help would be your best option. From your phone number, they know where you are and will have someone there to help in a matter of minutes. But God forbid you need 911 in the “murder capital of the world” – Chicago. That call would be something like, “Thank you for calling 911. All our representatives are busy right now. Your approximate wait time is three weeks. Please hold.”

But wait. Relying on 911 in a rural area can be just as dangerous. First off, when you call 911 in a small town, chances are you know the operator. You’re bleeding out from just cutting off two of your toes with a chainsaw trying to clean a deer the “fast way.” Ethel answers the phone. Normally Bob would, but he’s outside using the bathroom.

Ethel answers, “Well, hey Tim. How’s your mom? I really need to get that recipe from her … you know we had such a great time making those quilts last week.” After 10 minutes, Ethel gets around to why you called. And living where we live, directions are scarce. Ethel asks, “Where are you, Tim?”

“Well, I’m between the ol’ train truss and the Wacha farm. When you see a dead raccoon in the road, turn left on the next dirt road.”

Ethel says, “You’re still in the city limits. On your way in, could you pick me up a Fanta, some Bugles and a pack of Marlboro 100s? I’m starving.”

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Ethel says, “Tim, honey, it may be a while before we get out there. You know, Frankie had to use the ambulance to haul some 4-H pigs over to the fairgrounds. I’ll call Mr. Pete from the funeral home and see if he can come out and get you.”

Three hours later, Mr. Pete pulls up in a hearse and hops out with a rag and some chloroform in his hands. I’m yelling, “I’m not that bad; I’m not dead. I’m not dead!” Mr. Pete says, “Son, I only get paid if you’re dead. What do you think this is? Uber?”  end mark

Hey! March 9, 2019, I’ll be in southern Wisconsin – in Janesville, Wisconsin. I’ll be doing a show for the Rock County Dairy Association at the Janesville Performing Arts Center. For tickets, visit Janesville Performing Arts Center or call (608) 758-0297.

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