The Nicene Creed

by Katie on January 9, 2012

Sunday morning, we decided it would work best, as it often does, for us to attend “night church” (the code words we have given the 6pm service at our church.

Brandon needed to check out my truck brakes (because after two months of me telling him they were squealing, we realized on Saturday they were now “grumbling”…not good) and do some shop work, and we planned to spend the afternoon working with our cows. It’s time to get ready for breeding, which means we had a few cows we needed to synchronize for Brandon to AI.

We ended up not leaving the house until 2pm, with me being the nagging wife I swore I never would be, telling Brandon there was no way we were going to make it to church on time, and how I would be unhappy if we didn’t.

We had to be back home by 5, which would only allow 30 minutes for us both to wash off the cow stink and put on our church clothes.

Now, all we had to do was sort and load seven cows and their calves at the pasture behind his grandma’s house, haul them to the pens at his parents’, catch a few more, run them all through the chute for one shot and a CIDR implant…basically, a two minute per cow process.

So, could normal people accomplish this in less than three hours? Absolutely. But if there’s anything I’ve learned about working alongside my husband, it’s that things go wrong.

And sure enough, they did.

At one point during the hour it took to sort and load 14 head (which should have taken 15 minutes), we ended up with three cows and one calf running loose in the shop area…located outside the pens from which we were trying to load them, and 100 yards from the road. (A situation which could have been avoided, mind you, had my partner been willing to chain the trailer gate to the chute gate, as was suggested. But I’m not gloating, promise.)

Later, Brandon said he wished he could have video taped the whole thing, despite the fact he was far from laughing at the time. Apparently I had some sort of cartoon character maneuver when we realized the cows were escaping into the lot at the end of the chute, rather than into the trailer. I guess, I ended up in some basketball defender position, wide-eyed, looking both directions, yelling, “Oh no!” but not moving, for a solid 30 seconds. Then, when I did begin to sprint in the direction of the problem, my third step landed in a giant, wet, slippery cow pie, which of course propelled my entire body into a full skid across the manure-filled pen. Fun times.

I, however, found all my humor in what came next.

As the fourth bovine made it’s escape, Brandon looked at me, threw his hat down, and shouted, “There goes the Nicene Creed!”

He was referring to the general selection of “readings” as he calls them, that come at the beginning of the church service. He’s not very fond of them to begin with, then on top of all my nagging about being late that afternoon, followed by my slow motion reaction to our crisis situation, he was making a firm point.

When it was all said and done, we were headed home at 4:45, just in time to meet my 5 o’clock deadline. Halfway there, Brandon glanced over and said, “I think I’ll drive slower. We still have to miss the Nicene Creed. Out of principle.”

We did, in fact, make it just in time though.

To say the Apostle’s Creed, not the Nicene.


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