The sainthood of the cow, Andora, and how it happened

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

Preface and Apology to Readers
If it is your intent to read the following, I can only be amazed at your lack of discrimination and, further, apologize to those of you who are possessed of any literacy and those of you who possess any command of the English language. The following is an affront to all gentile folks, to all the classics ever written and to all of the great authors who every lived. I advise you to skip this and get yourself a good Mark Twain book or perhaps you could find an old Don Marquis regarding Archy and Mehitabel. Any one can read the following, but why would they?

Why We cannot Attend the Funeral
The funeral for Anchell's cow is to be Thursday. Cows, of course, strictly speaking are not church members but Andora, the cow, was partial to the Wednesday night bingo supper at the Catholic Church and always showed up there to help clean up the salad scraps and such. Of course, it was not the Catholic Church. We just call it the Catholic Church because it was for nearly a hundred years and then they up and built a new Catholic church with lots of them religious towers and windows and free parking and such.

The old Catholic Church was abandoned for a while until a self declared Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem, rented it and took to preaching. He was quite a talker and folks begin to go to church there just hear him talk. He could really string works together just like some ladies are natural at making gravy. Priest Javier Obitem said he would at least come by and say a few words over Andora on behalf of Old Lady Anchell when it come time to bury her; that is to bury her cow which is the dead one. Mrs. Anchell is just real old, not dead.It was a dreadful outcome to the events which took place at Buford's Barbecue and Barbershop the previous Saturday. None of us suspected it, of course, and certainly not me, for I was standing by innocent like to this whole and entire affair. It would not have happened I guess if Troy had not been there showing off his long black powder rifle. He has one called a buffalo gun. It is really long and shoots a bullet about the size of small golf ball. I would say it was more likely an elephant gun but then we don't have elephants down this way no ways. Troy says if he hit a phone pole dead center with that rifle that pole would be cut clean in two. I believe it, now. Troy Baumgardner is sort of a show off anyway and if he was not an honored World War I Vet, I would give him a good knock on the head, but he does have some medals and you can't just ignore that. After all, he helped protect my freedom and that has allowed me to continue to vote for some of the lyingest and most corrupt politicians that ever lived, and presidents too.Dragon Breath Seasoning, the Gift Sets the Tone
Of course that would not have mattered. About Troy being a show off. If I had not taken my surprise package that I got in the mail with me. Of course if I had just gone home and left the mail for my wife to open it would not have happened but, even though I cannot stand the smell of burning hair, every once in a while I want a good barbecue sandwich. Burford's barbecue sandwiches are not good but he has the only barbecue for sale in the county; otherwise why would any one buy it? I surely would not unless I needed a haircut or some barbecue.

Any way you can see how it happened. While I was in Buford's waiting on my barbecue sandwich and trying to avoid the hair storm made when Buford is cutting hair, I noticed I had not opened my surprise package. Herman Handers, the local county blacksmith, was setting next to me so I sez to myself I will open it and show it to Herman. But while I was opening it Herman got up to go to the privy and I was just settin’there looking at my surprise, a bottle of Dragon's Breath Smoke Seasoning sent by my brother, Mark. It surely looked good, but you can not tell what these things taste like by looking at them. Then, too, my brother is somewhat of a joker; so you can’t exactly take things just at their own face value—they might not be. It is like Cousin Whitsitt says, in our family a little caution don’t hurt none and always get your non-disclosures first and all like that. So, with that in mind, I just opened up the Dragon’s Breath and dumped a fair amount of it into Herman's barbecued beans. If Herman liked it, I knew I would too.

Well, right out of the blue Herman came back and commenced back to eating his beans and suddenly all to oncet to leapt up and commenced to choking and turned violet red like. Well I flung a glass of water at him to help calm him down and Buford shouts at me what did you do Herman's beans? Why, I wonder did he ast me that? I was just setting there.


The Greater Misfortune; Andora Shot and Killed
That shout was what is knowed in literature as the greater misfortune. Old Troy, who had been dozing and dreaming of his days in the army in Europe in the Great War, heard the shout and thought the Nazis were attacking. He grabbed that big long buffalo rifle and let off a blast that clean removed a square foot of the back wall of the barber shop including a Life magazine cut out picture of John Fitzgerald Kennedy; then come the lesser misfortune, or maybe it was another of them greater misfortunes.

As Andora, the cow, was walking past the back of Buford’s Barbecue and Barbershop at the exact moment Troy fired off his rifle, that golf ball sized shot went through the wall and smooth hit her smack between the eyes and she fell over on the spot, I seen her through the hole that was oncet smiling JFK. She, Andora, gave a few quivers and then stuck her tongue out like she wanted to say goodbye or something nice like that and it was over. The quivers gave it up and she just laid there. I hate to see a cow dead especially if it is one that I knowed like I did, of course, know Andora when she was alive.

In the meantime Troy was trying to reload his thunder boomer, my dog, Diogee, out on the curb was howling to beat the band, but with us all sort of in shock like, and with Troy not having his reloading tools, he took a look at us and said the center couldn’t hold with the likes of us. He, dashed off, as fast as an old codger like him could, to get his reloading tools. I remember as he went out the door, he sez to me, glaring right in my face, “You hold this position, no matter what.” And off he went, dodging Nazi bullets in his mind as he went. Well, when Old Troy got himself and that buffalo canon out the door and down the street, I can tell you we all took a deep breath. But, that was when Herman saw my bottle of Dragon Breath and he sez whose is this? And like a durn fool I sez it is mine. This turned out to be the tragedy and the beginning of the end in more ways than one. Anyway, it was not my fault. Who could have knowed that Dragon’s Breath was hot enough to melt concrete.

Why I Cannot Attend the Funeral
So that is the reason I may not attend Andora's funeral on Thursday. But I do expect to be out of the hospital in a day or two.

It is always a mistake to offend a blacksmith like Herman. Especially as he can lift his anvil and put it in the back of a truck if he needs to. If you have not moved an anvil, I guess that remark won’t carry much weight except that I can tell you it is doubtful if that Swartzandknecker California fellow can lift Herman’s anvil.

When my fingers heal up to where they will write, I intend to send my brother a get ready note. After what he done to me with that Dragon’s Breath, I will have to be revenged on him. I would call him but my jaws will are still wired for a time. I imagine he knows it is coming any how and he will try to be ready. Anybody can see I will have to revenge on that Dragon Breath which a fool can tell ought to be treated like a military weapon and not passed around like some seasoning. What if a child had a holt of that stuff? I had a first cousin, Linda Jo, I still do, that gave her own self a rubdown with Tabasco Sauce when she was just two or three years old. Her hair is still red and anyone can tell she ain’t over that Tabasco after more’n fifty years have passed away.But, probably, you can tell that we all enjoy a good joke in my family.

Jerry Don, Mrs. Anchell, and the Pink Pearl
Well you know how hospitals are. My insurance was not very good so they doctor came in and told me it was cash on the barrel head and that I could be discharged and that I did not feel as bad as I looked like I did. You could not tell by me but I guess that is what the doctor gets paid to know. I thought I was banged up pretty good but he sent me on home.

Buford come up to the house the next day to see how I was doing and to feed, Diogee, my old dog. Being a customer of Buford’s Barbershop and Barbecue put me high on his list of well wishing duties as Buford does not now have and never did have very many customers. I mean, you know, how many people can stand the smell of burning hair with their coffee or hamburger? You have to be pretty determined and fairly hungry to get through a dining experience there.

Anyways Buford was telling me that Jerry Don Rivers was going to bulldoze out the grave for Andora, it was because Mrs. Anchell had been his third grade teacher before he dropped out and later become a GED. And because Mrs. Anchell helped him get his bulldozer operator’s license with the help of help of her Pink Pearl eraser and, of course, as she could spell good too. She as gooder than anybody at filling out forms, and applications, and such. Of course she had lots of practice at reading and writing, not to say spelling too. (Note: Before the advent of computers tablets, pencils, and the famous Pink Pearl Eraser were common tools for students and teachers).

Searching for Andora’s Casket
He said that Old Mrs. Anchell was hoping for a casket and had called to find out if the hardware store had any large caskets or piano crates. But Mr. Bo Edwards, at the Hardware, Fresh Produce, and Used Mattress Emporium told her that, due to Andora’s notable girth, all the boxes seemed too small.

He also noted that as far as he knew no piano had ever been unloaded in the county but he had heard that one had been delivered in Clay County to a funeral home that was in business to make money. Anyways that piano had been delivered nearly ten years previous. It was pretty clear that there weren’t no free boxes lying around the size of Andora.

So Mrs. Anchell decided on an alfresco service after which the bulldozer would just nudge Andora into the grave and then tenderly doze the dirt over her. Then Don says to me how nice it was that Javier, the priest, was going to say a few words over Andora. And he was telling me that though Andora had always been a Catholic, so to speak, he did not think she would mind being buried by a self appointed priest like Javier. Jerry Don said he thought Andora liked the old Catholic church because cows sort of knowed that Catholics are supposed to eat fish. You can see right there that he is no rocket science by any means. Anyways, as I said to him, Andora had been accustomed to going to Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church meetings and I knew for a fact that up until about two years ago Andora had been a firm Baptist cow.

Andora Quits the Fundamentalists
The way she become a Catholic was that the priest, Javier got into an argument at the Three Deuce Bingo and Domino Emporium about membership with Donald Elliott, the Baptist Choir Master and Part Time Assisting Preacher. Old Don told Javier that they attracted more cattle to the Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church than people showed up at the Catholic Church. The outcome of that discussion was not pretty but a few stitches covered every thing up pretty quick. Preacher fights have to be quick and not too protracted like. If they are fast enough nobody takes no notice.

But it was not long after that when we begun to notice that some Russian Orthopedics down at the old Catholic church were wagging some of their home grown vegetables to their church and, there being an excess of vegetables, they were sort stacked around out back of the Church. Well you can just imagine what happened and it did.

And that is how Andora became a Catholic and quit the Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church.

“What happened?” Buford sez to me. “What did happen?” Well I sez what happened is every loose goat, mule, horse, cow, duck, chicken, and guinea fowl began to show up at the Russian Orthopedic Church. And one day, Andora who had been napping under the pecan tree at Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church, got up and walked down to the old Catholic Church. Seeing as there was plenty of fresh vegetables there, she lay down by a big pile of turnips and quit the Baptists on the spot. That is how she become a so-called Catholic cow, due to the old name of the church; nobody could say that she avowed her self to be a Russian Orthopedic or that she even knowed Javier personal like. And, anyway, whoever heard of a cow that did not like fresh turnips. I like them myself.

Javier Obitem Smoozes the Crowds
Then with folks hangin’ all around the Catholic Church, hunting their pigs and such, Javier just naturally smoozed them into being Russian Orthopedics and joining up at the old Catholic church. Some said he was teaching Cataclysms for any donation. Anybody knows that them Cataclysms are a sure short cut to heaven cause you could just sort of jump over the Purgative and go straight in the front door of Heaven, so to speak. Any one could see by the animals that it was the most popular church in town and some say they serve beer in the basement on bingo nights, though I never knew Andora to take a drank, never.

I would say a lot of folks liked Javier Obitem whether they got a free beer or not. But that is how Andora became a Catholic. I can say I have personal never seen an empty beer bottle anywheres around that church.

Miracles in Quick Succession
You wonder what happened and how this all goes on. Well, n Tuesday morning, just two days, before Andora’s funeral, Old Mrs. Anchell noticed that the large corn that had been on her smallest toe on her left foot had fallen off. She had spent a small fortune at the County Seat, where they have a drug store, to buy corn remover. Bottle after bottle patiently applied had never affected the wart but the remover did seem to eat out holes in her shoes where the corn plaster met with her shoe; and of course the hole provided some relief. Looking at the newly missing corn, she thought to herself, “A miracle!” Then she drifted off to sleep and dreamed that Andora spoke to her and told her that she would find her will stuck in the back of the family Bible.

When Mrs. Anchell awoke, she remembered her dream, clearly. She struggled to her feet and dashed, slowly, across the room to find her own will, sure enough, stuck in the back of the Bible just where she had put it some years previously and where, in fact, it had been every time she thought to check on it.

She thought to herself, if Andora had been a person she would have been a saint. Of course a cow is not a person, not even a Catholic cow, and everyone knows it.

Andora Becomes Anchell’s Guardian Angel
Well, that was just the beginning. Mrs. Anchell got her breakfast made without burning herself or anything. Then her bowels moved, in what you would say was a sort of spontaneous fashion, and we all knew that her bowels sometimes did not move for days.

Then in, short order her old radio began to work, and she found her eye glasses; she got a letter from her sister printed so big that she could read it without her eye glasses. It was a miraculous day in the life of Old Mrs. Anchell. That night she went to bed thinking that the spirit of her beloved cow, Andora, was working to help her; she drifted off to sleep comforted that while she had lost a good milk cow, she had gained an angelic guardian.

In her dreams, Anchell found that Andora could sing, preach, dance, and play the harp, and her dreams took on a much satisfying character.

Miracle Behind Buford’s Barbershop and Barbecue
On Wednesday, in preparation for Thursday funeral, Jerry Don Rivers, licensed bulldozer operator and GED graduate, went over to Schumacher’s Seed, Feed, and Used Mattress Store and borrowed their forklift. We all knowed it would take some kind of powerful lifting one way or another to get Andora up to the grave site as a dead cow ain’t no feather and Andora darn sure was not a wheelbarrow candidate. And anyway, as Buford had noted, the tourism dropping by to see Andora had dropped off, especially since, construction had begun on the new Sno Cone shed at the other end of town. You can’t beat a good construction site to attract lookers. So he was ready for Andora’s removal.

Anyways here comes old Jerry Don proud as you please on the fork lift and getting all positioned to slide the blades, easy like, under Andora. But you can hardly imagine our feelings when, just as he give her the barest nudge with the dozer, Andora lets out a bellow, jumps up to her feet, gives her head a good shake and the golf ball sized bullet smooth come flying out of a dent between her eyes. She bellowed a time or two whilst looking right at me and Buford, then Andora took off in a little trot towards the Catholic Church. It was a blessing that old Mrs. Anchell was not there for it was a heart stopping event to see a dead cow that you have knowed just jump up from being dead and take off like they was alive and all.

Old Jerry Don just set on his fork lift, slack jawed-like and I could tell Buford was in shock. I know. For I have never known him not to be the instant authority on everything, but for once he was silent and there, on the ground, between us lay the golf ball sized lead buffalo ball that we had supposed had killed Andora outright.

Dang, if that ain’t a miracle
The aroma of barbecue and the faint smell of burnt hair filled the air. Buford, leaned down and gingerly picked up the black powder bullet, holding it aloft as though to be sure God could see it, he said, “Dang, if that ain’t a miracle, I never saw none.”

The Lack of Informed Opinions and Miracles
The following day, which would have been Andora’s funeral except that she wasn’t dead, found Buford’s full of folks needing a hair cut but probably only one or two that would be willing to pay for the insult to their persons. Buford was not exactly the best barber in the world neither but he was the only barber in the county, why else would anyone let him cut their hair. But, that is not the point; the point is that we were all talking about Andora’s miraculous recovery from having been killed by World War I vet Troy Baumgardner and his black powder buffalo rifle which had blown the John Kennedy picture clean through the back wall of the barbershop.

First there was the issue that Andora had recovered but now she was bellerin’ all night and keeping all the dogs upset and making the cats nervous. Some said the chickens would stop laying eggs if Andora did not quiet down. Then there was the issue brung up by Lew Jorgen, former ROTC Army Captain and high school graduate. He said he figured Andora’s brain had been damaged and that was why she was bellowing so, though it did not interfere with her enjoyment of the free produce round about the Catholic Church. I could not stand by and have Andora called brain damaged but Lew claimed the shot between the eyes which had failed to kill her had probable jarred her brain around.

The opinions, none of which were actual informed opinions, flew betwixt and among us like so many birds in a storm and the only actual not made up fact was that the committee formed by Catholic ladies to inform Mrs. Anchell had done so. That is they told her of Andora’s recovery and how she was bellerin. Then Mrs. Anchell and several of the ladies had exclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”

The Lady Vet
Due to the complaints about the bellerin, Mrs. Anchell had sent for the County Vet, Lisbeth Thurgood, and she was expected none too soon, allowing for travel time from the county seat. Miss Lisbeth was a caution as she was a vet and unmarried, and childless and, naturally, no one would call on her for doctoring cattle unless they had too; why would they? Her being an unmarried single woman acting just like a regular Vet. Even though she was a Vet and apparently had never lost a patient, she was popular enough to be invited to socials, parties, teas, and fund raising events which were the whole and entire cultural frame work of our county as there was absolutely nothing else to do except eat barbecue and get your hair cut which nobody wanted to do no way. I have been to some of them fund raising events to eat but I was never too impressed with the food unless it was made by the ladies at the Geneology Social Club. They were established cooks and several amongst them could swing a mean frying pan, and all of those gals made their own pie crust… none of that Dough Boy rubber dough for those gals.

Andora and the Vet
As the sun rose higher, folks began to drift off for their lunch, no one wanting to eat at Buford’s as they had other choices. And it was late afternoon before the Vet, Lisbeth Thurgood, arrived. I went down to the Catholic Church so’s I could help her round up and coral Andora for her psychic exam to find out what was making her, Andora, beller all the time.

Well, in a flash, Vet Lisbeth Thurgood, glaring at me kind of keen eyed, says to me, “How long since this cow was milked?”

“Well” sez I, “how would I know? She ain't my cow or concern. I do not know when she was last milked but I can tell you she was not milked whilst she lay unconscious behind Buford’s Barbershop and Barbecue for the last three or four days” I knowed that because the only one that can milk her, due to her temperament is old Mrs. Anchell and she did not even come down to visit the Andora’s body while she was dead. Mrs. Anchell is too tender hearted to be looking at dead cows, especially her own.

Well, we must get her home to Mrs. Anchell. This cow wants milking and is in pain for lack of it. While we took Andora in tow and pulled her along towards Anchell’s place, Lisbeth Thurgood allowed to me that the golf ball-sized lead shot from the buffalo rifle had knocked Andora’s brain hard enough to knock the idea of going home out of the cow’s head and that, no doubt, was why Andora was hanging around the Catholic Church instead of going home like a cow ought to do. Course I have seen lots of cows, and pigs for that matter, not do what they ought to have done; lots of animals don’t do a durn thing that they ought to. If you doubt, that you just try to get a pig to share trough space.

Morgan David and Milking
Now, as a rule, I would not mention such personal things as this as I am never critical of others unless it is somebody else, but when we got to Mrs. Anchell’s her front door was locked. I went around to her kitchen door and it was locked and the blind was nearly all the way down. But, by peering carefully through the slit at the bottom of the shade, I could see accidentally, that old Mrs. Anchell had dozed off, apparently whilst meditating on a fairly large bottle of Morgan David. Which, as you can see, is how and why Lisbeth Thurgood, Veterinarian, and I put Andora in the barn and milked her. Well, when we commenced to milk Andora, she began to quit bellerin’ and a sort of tranquility began to creep back through the town.

We got three pails of milk and had to waste the rest, there being no pails about. We set the three pails on a bench and covered them with newspaper and went back to town. The Vet fee was eight dollars that I paid to Lisbeth Thurgood on the spot. I paid in cash money, on the belief that I would be reimbursed by old Mrs. Anchell. Though in the fullness of time I never got that eight dollars as it eventual became an unwilling donations, but that is another story.

The Miracle of the Butter
Well, you can see how things was going. About miracles and all. Old Mrs. Anchell slowly came to around about sunset and stirred herself up. She put the Morgan David for medicinal purposes away and made a cup of tea. As the sun was going down, she thought how she had usually gone to the barn to milk Andora and give her some feed around that time of day. With that on her mind she went out the back door and found, to her surprise, three pails of milk. Then she dashed to the barn and there, sure enough was the source of the milk, Andora, the saintly Catholic cow.

Even though Mrs. Anchell knew that Andora had come back from beyond the grave, she was still very excited to see her actually alive and standing in her accustomed stall. And Andora had obviously been milked by unseen hands. Mrs. Anchell put her old hands around Andora’s neck and said, lovingly, “It’s a miracle.”

Later that evening found Mrs. Anchell churning butter for she could not use that much milk. The creamy rich milk produced more butter than Mrs. Anchell had ever made. Looking at her new abundant supply, she thought to herself, “It’s a miracle.” If I had been there I could have mentioned that she had never before had three pails of milk for making butter, but I guess it is just as well that I was not there. Most people think I am too particular in my details no way; and I guess I am. I have heard people say I act just like a Virgo though I have never been sure of what that means unless it means I am very particular, which I am. I do like my laces to be squared up.

Capitalize the "S" in Saint
That night, when Mrs. Anchell went to bed she was reflecting on Andora and her miraculous recovery from being dead; on Andora’s dream messages that revealed the whereabouts of the will hidden in the bible; on the age old corn that had suddenly fallen from her little toe; and on the miracle of the butter, and so many other things that had happened since Andora had crossed over and returned from death. “It’s a miracle,” she thought, “and Andora is just a Saint.” The s was capitalized in saint when Mrs. Anchell thought about Andora.

That night she dreamed about Andora floating around heaven with a sparkling halo and playing a large harp. A troop of angels floated along with Andora and it all seemed very normal to Mrs. Anchell.

Anchell, Andora, and Bob Hope
The next day being Sunday and all, Mrs. Anchell was in deep reflection and reading her Bible and thinking about her saintly Andora. Then, all to oncet, it hit her that she getting to be a regularized church saint was not much different from nominating a high school queen; as she thought to herself it mainly a sponsor and donations. She had been that process once, many years ago, and knew that it just required getting world of the nomination around and getting some votes and maybe a sponsor or two.

Inspired by the simplicity of the matter, she resolved to have Andora elevated to a deserved sainthood and realized that all she really needed was the strong support of
Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem down at the old Catholic church. She knew she could get some public support for Andora and she would easily get Javier to write the Pope and sponsor Andora for a saint, more or less just like Bob Hope and other such saints.

She could hardly wait for the clock hands to tick on through Javier’s sermon time. His sermon was always followed by news comers coffee and donuts --- the truth was there wasn’t hardly any news comers, but the coffee and highly sugared donuts attracted regulars; the news comers coffee was always followed in the early afternoon by Sunday school. So she would wait for all these to play out before going down to the church; she did not want Priest Obitem distracted by anything when she approached him about nominating Andora for saint.

Andora Nominated for Saint
After Sunday School at the Russian Orthopedic Church, that most members of the community still referred to, by long and undisturbed habit, as the Catholic Church which, of course referred to the structure, not what went on therein, old Mrs. Anchell caught Javier totally unprepared.

She approached him, gently, with a twenty dollar bill for the tithe, and they chatted a few minutes, he remarking on the weather, her well being, and so forth. She then launching into Andora’s remarkable and Lazarus-like recovery from death; the miracle of the milk, the miracle of the butter, the miracle of the will, and so forth until Javier was quite overcome with her lengthy presentation.

Then, realizing the church needed several things which included repairing several of the beautiful stained glass windows in the old building, she mentioned to Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem, that if he persuaded the Pope to grant sainthood to Andora, she could be disposed to tax her meager assets to underwrite the repair of the windows…. a cherished objective of our hapless priest.

And, without refusing the matter out of hand, Javier said to her that he would consider it.

Mrs. Anchell gave Javier a jubilant hug, promised to send a detailed letter of the miracles now attributed to Andora, and went on her way as it was nearly Morgan David time.

Javier Reflects on His Credentials
Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem stood alone now in his sanctuary. Javier was reflecting on his chequered career. He was, as he knew, an undocumented wetback from Mexico with a penchant for religion and one who had been able to learn English easily as youth, now presenting himself, approximately as a Russia priest in charge of an orthodox church. He had just agreed to consider sainthood for a local cow and, as he clearly knew, it was not only impossible, especially with him as the agent, as neither he nor his church had any connection to the Pope, Rome, or Catholics. It depressed him greatly to be a party to the matter. But, then, of course, it was his duty to consider how best to protect the infrastructure of the old Catholic church building; it could not be allowed to become too shabby.

Anchell’s Letter Nominating Andora Wins Support
Our gentle readers will recall that Mrs. Anchell had been an honored third grade teacher and, with the help of her writing, and spelling, and a good Pink Pearl eraser she had helped rescue many of her adult students by filling our forms, writing letters, filling credit applications, and coaching not a few of them in the achievement of the precious GED. It was often said that she was “gooder than anybody at filling out forms, and applications, and such. Of course she had lots of practice at reading.

Bring her consideration skills to bear on what had now become an obsession, Andora’s sainthood, she quickly produced a nice three page letter which documented the entire death, recovery, and miracles attached to Andora.

Then she had the idea of having people attest to the facts and to urge Javier and the Pope to allow sainthood for Andora.

She immediately began to approach those who were involved and quickly attracted several winning signatories including Troy Baumgardner, honored WWI Vet who attested that he had shot Andora between the eyes with a slug that would cut down a telephone pole; eyewitness Herman Handers, local blacksmith, testified to examining dead Andora shortly after the shot that was fired had barely missed him; Buford, the owner of Buford's Barbecue and Barbershop, affirmed that Andora was shot and observed to be shot by a bevy of his customers and that Andora had lain dead for three days behind the barber shop. The personal evidence continued to pile up and was all supported in her neat handwriting by a good collection of the signatures of the solid citizens of the town.

Javier Obitem Accepts the Dreaded Letter
Mrs. Anchell drove over to the county seat and purchased one them nice clear view presentation binders with a professional black binding post because she wanted to include Andora’s photo as the cover and she did want a nice presentation for the Pope whom, of late, she had began to regard as a friend and neighbor.

The following day Mrs. Anchell called on the Priest Obitem at his little rectory, not forgetting to along a nice plate of iced sugar cookies --- a treasure highly regarded by one and all.

She had Javier down, as she would any student requiring a little coaching, and went through the whole binder, reaffirming each detail and all of the testimonial material so as to indelibly fix it in Javier’s mind. She felt if he would just feel as she did, that would make the presentation to the Pope so much easier.

Then, Javier offered her some tea, which she accepted. They had tea and a cookie. And then she drilled him again just to be sure that he understood his material.

After a painful two hours, Javier was relieved to see her out the door. After which he took the remaining cookies, about a dozen, and went to bed and slowly ate each cook while wondering what he was to do.

He began to wish he was once again among the guava trees of his youth in the uncomplicated village of La Primavera in old Mexico.

Time Creeps Past as Andora’s Sainthood Stalls
For the next month or so, Javier was seen less and less about town, having taken to his bed in an attempt to solve the Andora challenge. Mrs. Anchell, on the other hand, was out and about everywhere and totally eagle eyed for any chance encounter with Javier.

Javier was a simple man and had the unfortunate knack of not knowing how to say no. This inability drove him, regarding Andora, to finally compose a letter to an Archbishop that, by chance he knew, in a distant large city. He enclosed the bound report on Andora and continued to prefer his bed to being seen around town.

Lying in bed as a way of not encountering Mrs. Anchell was effective in the main for Javier but the idle time led him into reflection and, as we all know self examination is often an unpleasant experience that leads us to reflect on the many uncorrected sins and errors of our past.

Thus Priest Javier Obitem found himself engaged and realizing that he could have and really should have chosen to be a much better man than he had become.

These thoughts put him to thinking of his family, now mostly deceased, and all very far away. And thus, we now find him drawing an old suitcase from beneath his bed and there, in total disarray, are photos and memorabilia of his own equally disordered life.

An Old, Old Award Prompts a Solution
In the old tan with brown stripes suitcase, Javier finds a few photos of his childhood, pictures of a fiesta or two commemorating his name day, a few shots of his parents, some pictures of relatives he no longer remembered. Why, he asked himself, as we all do, did people take time to put date, place, and names, and occasions on these little treasures.

And there two, still in a stiff cardboard binding was a beautifully embossed gold and red letter with many fancy seals from the local Bishop of his youth, it was an award, a special award, for having attended a long series of summer Sunday training sessions and, as Javier recalled, only three people had attended all sessions and received these beautiful letters which, of course were executed in Spanish from the Bishop of La Venta. All that was long, long ago before Javier had devised to become a self appointed priest and launch his own not quite Catholic Church. And even that decision, in which he was resolved to only do good, had brought him to the cross road with the cow, Andora.

He had removed the very official award, the very colorful and gold embossed award from its card board cover and noting how beautifully it was executed, when he suddenly realized it was an official Catholic Church letter, addressed to him, and that being written in Spanish, there were few in the town who could have read the letter in any case.

He began to see that the letter might get him past his Andora problems and yet keep him in good stead with Mrs. Anchell.

And, he noted, Halloween was fast approaching. He began to see his way out.

The Greatest Halloween Ever
Javier began to see that the usual Halloween festivities might be pumped up a bit in order to help with his Andora problem. He was thinking that they could possibly use Halloween to help get his windows repaired, attain the desired status for Andora the cow, and keep Mrs. Anchell happy as well.

He therefore arranged a tea for the Halloween committee and urged them to ask the local merchants to help keep kids in and around downtown and their families by having the merchants give away free candy.

He also suggested that the old Church parking areas could be used as free vendor stalls for anyone who had something to sell like arts, crafts, or foods, or even garage sale type items.

And, he asked the committee to try to figure out how to snare a band or two from any of the little nearby communities. He also urged them to try to find ways to increase the usual number of contests like apple-dunking, potato-sack races, best costume, and so forth and even suggested that the church, with the advent of digital photography, might offer a free photo service for any who wanted their child’s Halloween costume photographed. He had not thought of the cost of color ink, photography grade paper, and similar things for he was, consumed with the flame of potential success.

Members of the lack luster Halloween committee who had never had an original thought began to glow with the prospect of having a really great Halloween and began to really join into the effort. Suddenly Halloween began to blossom and committee members were out raising candy, candy donations, and not a few went so far as to invite children from nearby towns to join the festivities.

A grand Halloween was about flower; and it would serve Javier very well.

The Pope Turns Mrs. Anchell and Andora down
Four days before Halloween, the excitement about the grand event was catching all over town. Here and there events were being planned for Halloween which ordinarily would have gone un-noticed. For instance, he Nursing Home and Office Secretarial Service decided to stage a small play for the nursing home; the Secretarial Service. The Pay Advance Loan Office was doing a window tableau and offering a drawing for a free five dollar bill. The Mayor’s office was making arrangements to offer hot spiced tea to selected citizens who might wander by… indeed; the festive air was filled with possibilities.

Prior to lunch, Mrs. Anchell received a hand delivered note from Javier Obitem asking her to tea at the rectory. As invitations to anything were rarer than Haley’s comet, she sent word that she would attend… and who would not?

At the appointed hour she arrived and was greeted by a solemn Javier Obitem. He served tea and the got straight to the issue. Drawing the old beautifully embossed gold and red letter with many fancy seals from the local Catholic Bishop of his youth, his attendance award, written in Spanish, from a leather case, Javier told Mrs. Anchell that he had word from the Pope about Andora. Then he read the text of the beautiful letter to her in which the Pope thanked her for bringing Andora to his attention and while she might be worthy of sainthood, the Pope begged to point out that it was well know that she was not Catholic but was well know to have been a long time member of the Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church prior to her recent conversion to the Javier’s Church. The Pope went on to suggest that Mrs. Anchell place her hopes for Andora before one of those two churches inasmuch as he, the Pope, could do nothing for a non-Catholic cow.

Obitem to Andora’s Rescue
Mrs. Anchell was clearly both thrilled and dismayed… having had the high honor of being written to by the Pope on one hand and then having her hopes dashed on the other.

She was quite befuddled and readily suggested Javier’s suggest that she retire to her large living room and have a little-pick-me-up in view of all the excitement.

Javier assured her he would take Andora’s case under consideration, personally, and see what could be done. What a shame, they agreed, that Andora had abandoned her original Catholic faith.

Mrs. Anchell retired in direction of her large bottle of Morgan David and its metallic cap; Javier opted for a rather strong single-malt. Javier was not a drinking man, but thought he had won the first stage of maneuvers and a little Scotch reward not undue.

Two Days Before Halloween
The town was fairly bubbling with Halloween activities. Children from distant parts were already showing up among the merchants demanding free candy even though the appointed day had not arrived (long afterwards it would be widely debated how it came that over a thousand children from nearby towns descended on Buford’s Crossing on Halloween to march up and down with local children seeking their annual sugary bribes; a question that only some of Javier Obitem’s committee members could have answered).

The Tuxedo and Tool Rental Shoppe, which also offered party and Halloween costume supplies was virtually sold out --- the owner noted they still had plenty of Frankenstein and Wolf Man and Nixon masks which he said children did not have an interest in as they preferred more modern characters about which he knew nothing at all, things like Wookies he could grasp but these white faced operatic characters exceeded his desire to know… still he sold lots of the usual knights, queens, princesses, mummies, and such.

Most of the stores had put some sort of display for the season and hay bales abounded along with Halloween motifs of a wide variety. The Mayor had ordered that the sixteen United States flags usually flown on Veteran’s Day be flown around the town the square and he had declared that citizens could either give away candy around the square or even offer home made goods, such as sweet dill pickles, for sale on Halloween night.

On that day, Javier dropped by Mrs. Anchell’s and asked to arrange for Andora to be present in the Church parking lot on Halloween and that Jerry Don Rivers, licensed bulldozer operator and GED graduate would, along with Lew Jorgen, former ROTC Army Captain and high school graduate, would safely escort Andora to the church. Mrs. Anchell was invited to attend a late Halloween tea with Javier and a few committee members in the rectory far from the swirling crowd.

Javier assured Mrs. Anchell that it would be a memorable occasion.

The Surging Crowd
Children do not wait for Halloween any more than they wait for Christmas. Early in the afternoon young children could be seen in every sort of costume, pulling on their parents fully stretched arms, as they towed the unwilling adults out in an early search for free candy and, of course, to be seen, which is second only to amassing a horde of corn syrup.

As sundown approached, the streets were fairly overflowing with hobgoblins, and not a few of them were young adults in search of sweet loot, and, as many merchants noted while watching their supplies of candy shrinking, many of the goblins were not locals. An enormous crowd of children and adults flowed back and forth between the square the various booths and activities offered at the churches. At Javier’s church there was a stand selling barbecued turkey legs; another offering an assortment of flavored ices which are a sort of sno-cone; one stand optimistically offered hand turned wooden pens; and various booths offered costume jewelry, homemade fudge and apple bobbing and a few such participant events and such. A fortune teller and a card reader finished out the group at Javier’s church.

In the midst of the booths at Javier’s church, Andora was in a stall of sorts, constructed of a few hay bales, and some posts which were connected by ropes and festooned with an abundance of ribbons. Andora, having found a bucket of turnips in her stall, was much occupied with eating turnips and ignored the passing crowds of witches and hobgoblins. Jerry Don Rivers, GED graduate and Lew Jorgen, former ROTC Army Captain, remained in attendance as a sort of honor escort.

The crowds grew and the little town found itself quite bursting with local and distant citizens while a spirit of abandon and merriment swept through the night air. Everyone, except Andora, was anticipating the fireworks which were to shot off at seven-thirty on the dot. In the rectory, Javier readied everyone to view the impending fireworks and privately told Mrs. Anchell to expect a surprise.

The Ascension of Andora and how she became Theodora
Around seven-fifteen PM, Priest Javier Obitem escorted his little group out to the parking area and assembled them around Andora’s stall to watch the fireworks.

The committee was present and several well known members of the local citizenry, including Buford, Troy of gun black powder rifle fame, and other notables, including me, and my rascally dog, Diogee, who took little note of any such affairs.

As the fireworks shot upward, tracing wonderfully bright colors on the dark sky, accompanied by a suitable number of booms and whistling sounds which subsided almost immediately due to the town’s budgetary restrictions. As some quietness fell, Javier told the assembled that he had an announcement regarding Andora,

He unrolled a scroll of some length, which he read at length and which, in part stated that “… whereas Javier, as the sole actionable principal of the Russian Church was duly empowered and did so act to declare Andora, the first and only animal saint associated with said Church, and further that Andora would officially known as Theodora, in memory of the great Empress Theophano whose devout life had been commemorated by her Byzantine Emperor husband, Leo VI, “the Wise”, who had not been allowed to dedicate a Church, built at his own expense, to his wife. Therefore, and hereafter Andora, shall be officially known as Theodora for merits already demonstrated…”

Javier handed the beautiful scroll to Mrs. Anchell, and the assembled dignitaries, much distracted by the swirling crowd of princes, princesses, and hobgoblins, began the business of escorting Theodora and Mrs. Anchell back to their barn and home.

And that is how Andora became a saint; and of course that is how, eventually, circumstances would lead to the question of whether the Church was obligated to support the efforts, of my dog, Diogee to run for Congress but, of course, that is another tale of another tail which, of course, must be continued. As a tale goes it is not much less strange than events which, years later, led to Andora being accused of the drwoning murder of an old goat with big curled horns... but that was long afterwards and, except for the wheelbarrow, would never have happened.

Dragon’s Breath Smoked Seasoning
For those hardy souls, who have no fear of spicy food, please be advised that there really is a Dragon’s Breath Smoked Seasoning and you really can buy and season food with it.
I especially love it on sausage, eggs, barbecue, steak, hamburgers, beans, and chili and, no doubt, many other foods which I have not yet tried. Dragon’s Breath is a hand processed, and individually smoked and prepared to order. If you are interested in trying a bottle, just drop me an email at media1@turnerteamagency.com and we’ll put you on the waiting list for the next batch. Dragon’s Breath is not a commercial item and is made only in small batches at ten dollars per ounce. Allow $3.95 for shipping.

Apologies
I do apologize to all persons, history, and any and all churches that may take offence, as I do, at my cow story.

On through the night

Copyright, Terry D. Turner, 2009

A couple of people, including my own internal self talk mechanism, have said, "be glad when you get back to your old self." No one would be gladder than I to attain the general demeanor I exhibited before having to deal with this fast moving cancer about which I have written in previous posts. Certainly I am not claiming that my old curmudgeon character and manner could not be improved on, but it was a much more energetic and personable character than I now find myself to be.

In part it is stress that has altered me greatly. And, largely, it is the stress of the unknown. As you can easily imagine dealing with cancer of the lung, spine, ribs, etc. is no picnic under any conditions. Getting past the initial treatments is a tough job and, then following the initial treatment there is the on-going follow up treatments which require considerable discipline and an uncommon effort in terms of food preparation, and other disciplines, along with the ever present attempt to help the liver detoxify by use of un-roasted coffee enemas.

While this effort to be cancer free goes forward, there is no visible evidence that tells you if you making progress or losing ground. It is a matter of hoping you are gaining on the objective but having no way to judge how far you have come or how far you must go. Progress, or lack of it, against this type of cancer has to be judged with the huge and horribly expensive MRI/CT scanning procedures which can look in your body and see what happens you take a big dose of something akin to sugar water --- cancer does love sugar in all forms and the medical techs have learned know how to light up the cancer cells which hit their party time buttons when sugar becomes available. Then, of course, one does not want to be scanned too often so, during all the time between scan results are also times in which you must wonder what is going on inside your body.

And naturally, you do not forget that this cancer blindsided you once and only a fool would rest easy with such a sneaky opponent.

With all markers and indications absent, all the follow on treatments, protocols, and and all that goes into the battle to be cancer free must go forward, so to speak, in darkness... hoping against hope that the protocols are working and that cancer is receding or even dead.

Under ordinary circumstances we have our health issues so well defined that we think we know where things end and begin... take this for ten days and be well; rub this on and it will stop. We'll just cut this off and that will be that. Take this for headache and it will cease and so forth. If you have the flu your own dripless nose tells you it is over.

Not so with cancer. Rising with cramps in the middle of the night, or, as I am now, sitting here drenched with yet another night sweat which forces me off my wet pillow and out of my wet sheets to change into fresh underwear, you don't know how you are doing.

What you do know is that you are exhausted with taking a hundred or two hundred pills a day. You know you are weary of these drops and those drops in thirty-two ounces of water; you are water logged with don't forget your food grade hydrogen peroxide (only eight drops in five ounces of water and only four times a day) and don't forget your lead free bicarbonate of soda and, by the way don't forget to think how to mitigate the extra salt; and don't forget your dose of molasses and bicarbonate of soda, and on and on. But all of this, of necessity, proceeds because it must...these are one's tools in a silent battle with a silent opponent. It rather reminds me of a famous line whose origin I have long since forgotten "Just because I am paranoid, don't mean nobody ain't following me."

So, with the battle fully underway between yourself and the cancer, what you do have the is recurring exhaustion that comes with every little pain which says, "Hey! What am I? Could I be cancer spreading?" Of course there is no reason to think so, but this aggravation is another burden on the attempt to have a tranquil mind

The sweats and the cramps, which just don't seem to end even though now and then I get a break from one or both, but they keep coming back. Are the sweats a good thing, like detoxification? No one seems to absolutely sure but they remain a constant companion during the battle.

And there is the tiredness of the aftermath of all the treatments. It is a flat, tired energy-less zone in which you remain too tired to rest, too tired to talk; too tired to do much of anything; it is a tiredness that reminds of that mournful haunting poem, Ozymandias.

Ozymandias
by
Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said--"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert ...Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."


Ah, but tired or not, we must go on with enthusiasm, and on, through the darkness and on to the dawn when at last we will see proof of our labors; the cancer markers will fade, and the CT will look in vain for the sugared cells, and the nightmare will fade. And in time, the cancer will be forgotten, new treatments will arise, and in due course the forty year old popular health destroying death treatments such as surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation, in the main, will be replaced with the alternative life supporting treatments such as hydrogen peroxide, bicarbonate of soda, zeolites, oxygen, and such. And I will be left with the memory of the many, many friends and family who came to my aid in this battle.

God Bless You and Yours in All Things,

Terry
The Constant Curmudgeon

How Annie Turner Became a Heroine

Charlie Whitsitt and Combine

Copyright, Terry Turner 2009

In the fall of 1945 or 1946, as nearly as I recall I had an NDE ( a near death experience). For me it was death, period. It was an event that left an erasure in my memory and, I think, probably changed my mental and physical structure for all time. By erasure, I mean that I had a life and conscious memory one second, then for a time, who knows how long, I think a day or two, I did not exist, no memories, no feelings, no thoughts, no time, and nothing attaches to that long blank space that was removed from my life.

I do apologize to my readers for yet another improbable story, but I did not choose this nor many other events in my life. In this particular story I am simply the victim and my dear grandmother, Annie Turner, is the absolute heroine of the story --- which is the tale of how I became the Electrified Dancer.

This electric event occurred in the same year in which I was burned in the ditch, and later shot myself with a 22 cartridge. It was an eventful year.

This is yet another memory I am working to replace with pleasant and happy thoughts and, at my age, none too soon.

So this is how I came to be dangling from a radio antenna wrapped around a fifty thousand KV electric transmission line which ran the length of East Second Street in Wichita Falls and went beyond the horizon in both directions. I should say I have no way of knowing anything about the transmission line and that I rely on what I was told after the event (about which I know nothing).

In the spring of the year, a friend was moving from Texas to California. I don't recall his name but I do remember his mother was very tolerant of children and we seem to have a lot of fun racing around her dining table singing some nonsense about "Mabel, Mabel, set the table, and don't forget the red hot sauce" or something similar to that.

Just when they were prepared to drive away for the last time in the late afternoon, a storm was brewing and giant clouds were darkening the skies. My friend dashed from the car to my house and told me that he had left a softball for me under the edge of his house with some other things and he urged me to go gather up the loot before the storm. At that instance a giant bolt of lightening split the sky and fairly shook the ground, the rain started in torrents and he dashed off for the waiting car and I dashed into the house, heeding my Grandmother's voice telling me to get indoors.

The storm raged a long time and everything flooded while high winds dashed down tree limbs willy nilly... a very typical Texas storm. You can imagine that I was not allowed out of the house and due to the winds and lightening was happy to stay near my Grandmother due to the fearsome storm.

The next day dawned bright and clear and I was anxious to have my breakfast and get up to my friend's house to see my new treasure trove, little suspecting that fate was waiting for me.

Annie Turner served me, as almost always, some hot biscuits, gravy, and an egg. She cooked at all hours, sometimes nine meals a day, because her husband, Joe worked strange hours for the railroad as a Fireman on the Fort Worth and Denver Railroad as did her son, William L. "Buddy" Turner who was a brakeman on the same line. Their hours meant we might have hot meals at any hour of the day and night and, Dad, her husband, Joe, liked me to dine with him. Mother, as many women of her day, did not believe a meal could be served without hot bread; the consequence was that I had a huge caloric intake and was a rather giant child.

After breakfast I went dashing over the damp ground, skipping pools of water, shortcutting to the nearby house. I think it was only one or two houses removed from our home, though I don't actually recall the layout of our little neighborhood. I think there was a small Pentecostal Church between our houses.

As I went dashing towards the assigned spot, I did not notice a very long wire dangling before me, so intent was I on the prize. The wire was a long section of radio antennae that had blown loose from a distant tree and managed to get draped over a power line and dangled there, near the edge of the house, a trap for anyone who strayed into contact.

In that era most homes had a wire radio antenna which either ran the length of the eve of the roof of the house or was run along the house and attached to a distant tree or pole. More ambitious people seeking better, wider reception might run these wires a considerable distance tying the wire to trees or anything to gain height and distance. Those of you so young that you do not about the vagaries of trying to tune in a broadcast have no idea how primitive communications of the era were.

At any rate the electrified wire awaited me and I slammed directly into it; my world and mind ceased to exist. I cannot describe the event because for all practical purposes I was dead at that instant with no feeling, memory, or any other sensation.

Apparently I could involuntarily vocalize because my cries attracted a small crowd of neighbors who could not muster the courage to deal with the situation and watched whilst I twisted and turned in my electrified dance.

Somehow Annie Turner, a small woman, became aware of this situation and came on a dead run to my aid. I am told that as she approached me, she knew that the only chance for her or me was to strike me with great force and to carry both of us beyond the wire.

So, mimicking football players, running at full speed she threw a commendable body block at me, and with the momentum of her speed and weight, she carried both of us to safety beyond the wire. 911 was years in the future and, in any case, would have been far too late.

I do not recall that or several days afterwards until I became more conscious of the fact that something horrible had happened and that I had lost toenails, fingernails, and that my mind didn't seem to be the same familiar turf. I could tell you about the pain and confusion but I am sure you can imagine all that... no fun for sure. I cannot say how long I was "out" nor can I say if received any sort of medical treatment, though I think we did employ doctors at the time unless a serious emergency developed.... that idea may amuse some of you as the present custom leans toward seeing a doctor at once for most conditions.

Thereafter, and to this day, I cannot pick up a piece of wire without clearly see both ends and I do not care to work with electricity in any fashion.

I think it changed my "perception" of the world and perhaps made me "see" things differently in the visual sense. One side effect, I think, is that I seem to have a strange effect on electronics, especially my own computer, and sometimes on electrical equipment belonging to others.

I was recently in a doctor's office where he proposed to use some sort of electronic bio magnetic device on me but he had great difficultly launching his machine and calibrating it for the purpose intended. I knew what was happening to his device, at least I believe I knew, but, of course, I said nothing as this invariably leads to a long and complex discussion ending in disbelief or it does not lead to a conversation and ends in disbelief. This is one of those stories like the buffalo attack, which is best left untold.

At any rate, Annie Turner saved my life. No doubt about it. She did so when no one would lift a hand to help me. Thanks, Mom, thanks for all the next sixty plus years.

Addendum, due to questions generated by this story, I add these comments about Annie Turner. She had three children, Dorothy, Ollie, and Buddy. At the time of this event the daughters were married and busy with thier own lives. At the time her husband, Joe William Turner, was alive and her son, William Laverne "Buddy" Turner, were both living at home with her. They were both railroad men, were often away, and Annie was armed with a small 32 pistol which she carried about in her apron. She did not hesitate to brandish it if she did not like the look of someone about the neighborhood. A very small woman, born in 1900, she was indefatigable, never hesitated tackling jobs that were thought the province of men, such as fence building, plowing, digging ditches, or doing plumbing work, or slaughering livestock, and I observed that she almost immune to ordinary pain. I once saw her take a fall which drove a broken old style glass Coca-Cola bottle deep into the bone of her arm. She pried it out with a screwdriver, wrapped in dish cloth and went about her business.

Photo Credit. Source and date unknown, the picture has a note that says Charlie Whitsitt, Annie's father, and Combine. I am guessing it is around 1890-1900. Annie Turner was born in 1900. I put the Whitsitt Wagon here as a place holder as, oddly, I could not find a single picture of Annie Turner. In due course, I will get her photo on this article.