I had a dog named ABBA when I was a tween-ager and no, I didn’t name him. I inhereted him with that name from one of my older brothers who moved out on his own into a rental that did not allow dogs. If memory serves me correctly, it seems ABBA was given to him by a young lady-friend for the exact same reason. I am “Tough Enough to Wear Pink” AND man enough to admit I was and still am a fan of the Swedish pop music group that topped the charts from the mid-70′s through the early 80′s. It stands to reason that the original owner of my second-hand dog was an ABBA fan as well.
So, “What does any of this have to do with the price of rice at the Farm Town market?” Almost nothing, however do allow me some longitude here while I attempt to connect a few of the dots which mark the memories highlighted on my life map from those days to these.
If you have been listening to Farm Town Weekly or following us here to any extent, you are probably aware that we have all been suggesting names for my stupid Farm Town bull. After a couple weeks of taking suggestions from all my good neighbors and listeners, I picked a small handful of suggestions from the list and used those in a poll I posted here on farmtownweekly.com. This way, everyone could help in making the final name decision.
Jethro and Fernando
I took a final look at the poll just prior to making the winning name announcement at the end of our live show last Monday evening. As was announced on the show, the name determined by the results of that poll is “Fernando.” Other name suggestions were PeeWee (Big Mike), Snuggles (TATER HEAD), Fluffy (Nancy), Red Bull (Marci), and Dubya (Ms. Kelly Lynn).
I received way too many great name suggestions to include them all in the poll or to list and source here. Let me just say, “Thank You!” to everyone that gave suggestions and played along. It may interest at least some to know that when I remembered to remove the poll from the website a couple hours after the official name was announced, “Snuggles” had moved up to the number one spot and topped Fernando by 1 vote.
Who suggested “Fernando?” There was some confusion on this suggestion. I have to credit Mayor Mark as the source, but Grammiememe suggested Ferdinand. Somewhere along the way, wires were crossed and that suggestion was lost, but certainly not forgotten.
Accordingly, Ferdinand and Fernando are somewhat synonomous or are otherwise versions of the same name having like meaning. Ferdinand and Fernando are representative of concepts such as “prepared for adventure”, “protective of property”, “bold and reckless.” In Farm Town lingo it means, “Don’t go messing around with Jet’s bull!”
From a purely personal perspective, Fernando for me is synonymous with a childhood memory where I was living on a large dairy farm and on that farm there was a bull. That bull was as mean as he was huge. One would have had to be either drunk or insane to step into the coral which stood between Fernando and ones own existence.
Alternatively, you could be a bored eleven-year old like I was on the day that I climbed down from my perch and into Fernando’s corral to test the stern words of warning from all the adults that had told me to stay completely away from and to never tease Fernando.
Maybe I believed that everyone had Fernando wrong and that he was just misunderstood. Maybe I was just practicing to be the worlds first bull whisperer. Whatever the reason, I somehow felt connected to that bull enough to believe that I could pet his head and that in our mutual understanding of each other, he would not kill me but rather enjoy my companionship and good nature towards him.
Fernando stood there almost dead center in his corral. I slid slowly down from the fence and walked carefully towards him in my approach. I spoke softly to him as I took intermintent steps towards him. Eventually I found myself standing right in front of Fernando, center ring and completely exposed to his massive and ominous threat.
It was just me and him and even the bellers of over 400 dairy cows were silenced by the warnings that echoed through my head. “Stay away from that bull!” I stood there for some time, looking Fernando in the face and he looking right through me and the hundred or so flys that swirled around his head. “Don’t let me catch you near that bull!”
I wanted to lift my hand up to his head and give him a scratch, but the warnings going through my mind were becoming louder at my realizing that there is no turning back. I wanted to change my mind. I wanted to still be back on the fence. I wanted to obey those warnings in my head, but here I was and there was Fernando, the flys, and moment of just one of my first “near death” experiences.
I stood trying to convince my arm that it was not made of rubber and that with enough concentration, it could be lifted and used to pet Fernando. My mind was made up! If it is the last thing I do in all my 11 years, the last thing I do before the ambulance gets here to take my broken young body to the hospital, if only this bull stands between me and my maker, I am going to pet him right on the head! I had made up my mind, but still could not seem to talk my arm into giving my hand a lift.
The longer and harder I concentrated, the easier it was to ignore the flies that were swirling and landing, now on both our faces as we stood close enough that I could feel his breath on my forehead. Fernando may have weighed as much as 2,000 pounds and I had seen him acting agressively on a couple occasions, but standing in front of him, looking directly into his face, the impulse to pet him pushed my arm upward like a hydralic jack. Slowly and steadily I began to raise my hand to his head. My fingers only inches away from his forhead, Fernando began to twist his head rapidly and I flew to the other side of the corral as quickly as the flyies flew away from his head. I may have very well screamed like a little girl, but I’m not going to confess to anything my memory don’t hold.
Like a badger in a grocery sake, I could feel the rest of me being moved by the rapid beats of my heart against the walls of my chest. I could actually hear my own heart beating. Thinking of that moment, standing there and looking back towards that massive bull, it is hard not to recall the first words in the song “Fernando” by ABBA which at the time was being played every few minutes on every radio station around the globe. “Can you hear the drums Fernando?” The drums which was my heart pounding solidly against my chest.
I looked back at Fernando expecting to see him inches away from crashing into the corral fence, ready to impale my young body. But there he stood, exactly where I so rudely left him. His hoofs had never left the ground. Fernando was more aware and concerned about getting those flies away from his head than he was about me invading his territory. Only his head had twisted and that is all it took to send me flying over the gate.
