I jumped in the passenger seat of the John Deere Gator Greg had, while Jet sat in the trunk behind us. The Gator had no doors or windows of any kind. Just a steel frame surrounding us in case we rolled. As Greg turned the key in the ignition, he smiled and shouted, "You prolly wanna keep your mouth shut! There's a lot of bugs out here this time of night!"
Greg had his foot to the floor as his little Gator drove up and over the rolling gravel road with ease. I took in deep breaths of the fresh evening air as I realized just how much I missed that side of life. I'd been pent up in the city for so long that I'd forgotten about how important the country has always been to me. I'd accepted that the city life would be the only life I'd only ever truly know, and due to my health, working with my hands on the farm was completely out of the question. Clearly, I'd been believing a lie this whole time, and there is a lot more to the country life than just working yourself into utter exhaustion every single day of your career.
After a mile or so of driving, we pulled up to a gate, and Greg got out to unlatch it. As he did this, he put his hammer up to the fence nearby, and shocked it. Greg then held the fence in his hand and beckoned me to come hold his free hand.
"I don't think so, Greg!" I laughed while I remained seated in the Gator, "I know enough about how electricity works to know I'll get shocked if I get near you."
Greg let go of the fence, got in the Gator, and admitted to me that he loved doing that to his students from the city. Besides being a rancher and a diesel mechanic, Greg is also a diesel mechanics professor at a nearby college, so he has plenty of newbie city kids to mess with, especially since he teaches at his shop on the farm. You'd think that anyone applying for a class on diesel mechanics would be familiar with basic physics, but the school system fails more students than it helps to succeed. Experience is the best teacher, and when you get a bunch of city kids who have no idea electric fences even exist, attending a class taught by a lifelong rancher, it's easy to trick them into getting shocked one way or another.
Jet led the way as we drove deep into the pasture. He barked at the cattle, startling them into a stampede, while Greg and I pulled up to another fence to test. This time, I was handed the hammer, and told to put the head against the fence. It wouldn't shock me, because the rubber handle would absorb all of the electricity conducted by the metal head. So, I confidently used it to shock the fence, before returning to the Gator and heading off to test more fences.
Once we were done testing all of the fences that needed to be tested, Greg called out for Jet, and then started up the engine as soon as Jet was seated behind us. Jet wore himself out chasing the cattle around, but was very satisfied with himself. In his mind, he was doing the most important job in the world; guarding us from a herd of 50 aggressive cattle.
On the way back, a stupid looking black lab came bolting towards us from a neighboring farmhouse. Greg stepped on it, hoping to lose the dog in the dust. Instead, it kept up with us easily, barking and attempting to jump in with us as it sprinted over the gravel. For a minute, I thought that dog was aggressive and whipped out my pocket knife just in case, until we stopped and the dog put its snot-soaked nose against my hand. I scowled and quickly wiped my hand on my pants, while the dog trotted over to the other side of the Gator, hoping Greg would give it some attention.
Instead, Greg put the Gator in park, got out, and proceeded to yell at the dog while pointing at the direction it came from. But, instead of going away, the dog started barking at Greg. For about five minutes, while Jet and I just sat in the Gator and watched Greg and that dog have the most entertaining argument I've ever witnessed. Not even Greg could hide his laughter over the ridiculousness of the situation, which further incentivised the dog to stay with us. Finally, Greg decided to just get in the Gator and go as fast as it could in hopes of leaving the damn dog in our dust. As soon as he started the Gator again, the dog stood in front of us and refused to get out of the way. When we drove, the dog just stayed right in front of us. Clearly, it knew Greg wouldn't run it over. It's almost as if that dog's done that sort of thing before!
Greg flipped us around and headed the other way, hoping to herd the dog back home where its owner could catch it.
Greg's plan worked! As soon as the dog saw its owner standing on the front porch, calling its name, it abandoned us on the dirt road long enough for Greg to turn back towards home again and get out of sight before that dog had a chance to change its mind. I found out later that dog had a tendency to do that. The dog, a black lab called Maisy, loved people, especially new people. All she wanted was to get to know me, and she was gonna do everything in her power to make us stay with her. But, unfortunately for all of us, we still had things to do back on Cindy and Greg's farm, and couldn't stick around to hang out with her.
Back at the farm, I helped Cindy thin out a couple of her apple trees. Many of the apples were just turning red, but were about half of the size as they'll turn out to be this fall. But, because there were so many of them, the apples wouldn't grow to their full potential unless about half of the apples on that tree were picked early. I've always enjoyed tart apples, so I grazed on the ones I picked off the tree while Cindy just threw hers on the ground for Jet to get. She also brought a couple handfuls of apples over to the pasture for Peanut (the donkey) to eat.
