Nov 6, 2012 3 min read

My dog didn’t get the message about turning the clocks back this weekend, so she had me up at her usual early hour Sunday for her morning constitutional. It took another hour for the kids and husband to start stirring, but from the moment they did, it was chaos.

While doing the morning feeding, my husband impaled himself with a pitchfork. About an inch of the steely tine entered his left knee, putting him in a position of deep discomfort.

I went to help him finish the chores before finishing cooking breakfast. He was certain his leg was just a flesh wound, and that it would be fine in a couple of hours, so shortly after eating, we left for Ohio to look at a bull we were contemplating buying.

I had asked to drive so that my husband could play navigator. That lasted about an hour before the endorphins and adrenalin from his injury began to wear off, and then he started to sigh heavily every time I tapped the brakes. I ignored him, but then I felt his gaze penetrating my foot as I slowed for the unfamiliar road. Apparently, I drive like a 90-year-old woman, and he had places to be. I pulled over and switched seats with him, and then pretended to be sulkily napping for the duration of the trip.

We spent some time looking at the bull and talking with his owners. My husband liked the build and the genetic numbers the people showed us on him, so we put a deposit down, and then headed home. About that time, my husband asked me to help him navigate our way back to Pennsylvania. I guess he thought I was concentrating on the drive up to Ohio or that I can read directions in reverse. He was wrong on both counts.

Fortunately, he deciphered enough of the directions to get us started, and then he recalled some landmarks as well. But, he didn’t remember the 15-foot rock that had been painted “Jesus Saves,” or the rearing horse statue advertising a restaurant, or even the driveway lined by gothic tombstones bearing the name of the family’s dead.

Instead, he said things like, “That large manure spreader was in front of that barn; I remember that combine being there; and I noticed that yard with several tractors in it.”

Really? We are in rural Ohio, dear! There are going to be manure spreaders, combines and tractors!

But he was, as usual where directions are concerned, correct. We made it back to Pennsylvania with no issues. Because the stiffness in his leg had become steadily worse all day, I convinced him a trip to Med Express was warranted. Because of the nature of his injury, they sent him to the emergency room, where they did X-rays and gave him antibiotics and pain medicine.

After a consultation with the doctor, they gave him follow-up instructions and released him. Since he had already taken his first dose of pain pills, I drove home. And since they were starting to work, he hardly noticed that I drove at a speed my grandma could appreciate.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@hughes.net.