Mr. Boo won’t take any bull
Last week I was out on the Stagecoach Fire southeast of Havilah, which is southwest of Lake Isabella. Bob was taking care of the ranch and the critters around home. As usual he was doing a fine job of it. Irrigating and adjusting the water in the meadow requires running around over several areas to get things set right. He drives the quad down into the pasture so he can scoot around between the various points where water is measured out of the ditch. This puts he and the quad in the pasture with all the animals, but most especially Mr. Boo.
Some mornings, my big herd sire is more interested in grazing than in being social. Drive into the pasture with him, and he’ll afford you little more than a glance as he busily nips and bites on the green grass. Other mornings, he’s all over you, walking right up to you, sometimes even talking a little, trying hard to get you to pay attention to him.
One morning I was irrigating, when Mr. Boo was at his most demanding. Every time I tried to go back to adjusting the water in the ditch, he’d walk in front of me and stand there. When I walked around him, after giving him a couple of friendly pats or scratches, he’d immediately move to block my way again. We repeated this attention-getting scenario several times before he got enough and chose to walk off.
Last week, Bob dismounted the quad in the pasture and found Mr. Boo was demanding to be scratched and petted. He walked right up to Bob, and by physically blocking the path to his irrigation duties, demanded to be scratched and petted.
Bob was in a bit of a hurry, so impatiently said to the demanding bull, “Outta my way Mr. Boo. I’ve gotta keep moving.” Bob walked around the big guy, and moved down the ditch checking on the progress of his irrigation. Apparently this didn’t please our big bull. The next thing Bob knew, he heard a noise behind him. When he turned to look back, he watched Mr. Boo put his head under the basket, then with a mighty heave, break it off the back of the quad. When the quad was basketless, Mr. Boo turned and walked away, apparently completely unconcerned with his destruction. Or maybe he was completely satisfied. It was almost as if Mr. Boo said to Bob, “I’ll teach you to ignore me. See what I can do? I’m strong.” Bob sent me the above picture while I was on the fire, and since several of the drivers also get my column, they all got a chuckle out of it as well.
One of the morning tasks for the drivers on a fire is to wash your windshield. I often finish with a quick wipe down of my headlights and tail lights as well. One morning I wiped down my right headlight, only to find it was abnormally loose.
A careful examination revealed the brackets holding the headlight in position, which also has adjusting screws for making sure the headlight points correctly, were broken. When finding anything on the truck needing immediate repair, the owner must advise Ground Support, and tell them what you’re going to do about it.
My first thought was to contact one of the Lake Isabella parts stores, order the headlight, and probably have it delivered the next day. After thinking that through a little more thoroughly, I decided the appropriate action was to ask permission to leave fire camp. I would drive to Bakersfield, get a parts guy to look at the problem to be sure I had the right part. Since I was in fifth position to go out on a run, I might even be back before I got called up.
When I started down the Kern Canyon, as long as I had cell service I began making calls to see if I could locate the proper assembly. The first two parts stores weren’t sure, but at the third the young man said he’d need to look at it to be certain, but he thought he had one in stock.
I immediately set my map program for his address and ducked into the part of the canyon with no cell reception. When I popped out into the flats, I followed the directions, went directly to the store and located the young man.
One quick look at the wobbly headlight, and he was satisfied. “Yep, got it. Let’s go get you checked out.”
As we walked back into the store, he said, “What did you hit that didn’t break your light, but caused the supporting bracket to break?”
I had been so busy thinking about how to get my truck fixed, I hadn’t worried about the cause. When he asked, I had absolutely no idea. I couldn’t think of anything that had happened to me in the past few days, either on the fire or just before I left, that could have been the reason my headlight wobbled.
As I searched my mind for a reason, I was also climbing up the twisty Kern Canyon as I hurried back to camp. Suddenly, I realized what had caused the problem. As much as I hated to blame him for something else, I realized it was definitely the fault of Mr. Boo.
The face, or lens of the older model headlights like mine, have little protrusions molded into the surface. They must have provided a perfect amount of scratch, for an unending source of itch, on his old bull hide.