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“A beautiful new
longhorn bull was born in the pre-dawn hours this morning. He’s one mighty
handsome fella from championship bloodlines!” Rock’s proud voice sounded as
if another grandchild had made a spectacular entrance into the world.
Jerry had phoned to
report the death of their mutual friend, Foy, who had passed away in the
pre-dawn hours that same morning. Now he and Rock were attempting to end
their conversation with a few words on a lighter note. Nonetheless, their
voices still broke with the pain coursing through them. They continued
fighting back tears as they spoke.
They had reminisced
briefly about college years, fraternity pranks, marriages, raising families,
and growing older. After forty years, the bond of friendship never wavered
for Jerry, Rock, and Foy—or Folo as his friends affectionately called him.
One never knows how
long they will be on this earth, and Foy indicated he had hoped to have a
little more time. Although he could only agree when Jerry reminded him,
“You’ve somehow jam-packed the equivalent of 99 years into 64!”
Foy’s eyes lit up, he
smiled and said, “I really did, didn’t I?” In remembering Foy, one could
only recall that he lived each day to the fullest— a lesson he demonstrated
with flair.
Foy was gone now, but
he had left behind a multitude of unforgettable memories for his friends and
family. His wit was beyond compare and his mind as quick as a lightening
bolt. Quite possibly he could have made it into the “big time” as a
comedian. Perhaps he missed his calling, although he continually
entertained those close to him—even in his last days.
Thinking of the newborn
bull brought to mind similarities of the life it would lead, and the life
Foy had enjoyed. It could be said that Foy was bullish on life! Fences
could not, and did not contain this feisty fellow. He viewed life as a
lush, green pasture for running, romping, and kicking up his heels. Yet
when provoked, he could compete with any snorting, head-tossing old bull.
Having spent many years as a bachelor, he delighted in the company of female
companions—just as this young bull would learn in years to come. And, to
the dismay of friends, Foy was as strong as a bull whether he chose to
exercise or not.
As per Merriam Webster,
part of the longhorn’s description is: Having a highly variable color
pattern. That’s also a perfect depiction of Foy’s life, which was filled
with splashes of color and excitement.
Maybe it was
happenstance that a new baby bull entered the world, as an older bull named
Foy departed for pastures greener than mortals can fathom. Regardless, a
newborn Texas Longhorn now carries the name Folo. There’s no doubt Foy
would approve of his rowdy, rambunctious namesake. What could be more
appropriate for a man who was absolutely “bullish on life”…..
©2006 Kathleene S.
Baker
YELLOW ROSE
Lnstrlady @ aol.com |
