Episode 12 A - A Farmer’s Prerogative

To pee, or not to pee, that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the bladder to suffer. The grimaces and clenchings of outrageous need, Or to take Action against a Sea of urine, And by allowing end them: to pee, to relieve.

How many people have wrestled with Shakespearean anguish to control the bladder? When all the body is focused on release, and yet the bathroom so distant, one is constrained by the morals of modern life to plumb the depths of control!

Ha, as a farmer, I have no such worries! I am totally out of control! It is never a question of not to pee, just a question of how quickly I can pee! No matter where I am, my mind now registers the best “pee spots” in the area. It’s like checking out the Exit signs at the theatres. “Be Pee Prepared” is what I say! My dog and I think the same way.

Growing up in the hills of Scotland, I was a wild thing and when nature called, the heather received a generous watering. At the first twinge, I would leap off my horse, find a suitable spot and back up again within a minute. Over the centuries, the ability to “go” anywhere as the need strikes has become engrained in the farmer’s DNA, and the farmer’s bladder. Indeed, it is a farmer’s prerogative to mark his land; how else would the sheep find their way home, pray tell?

Journeying along the Yellowhead Highway with a wonderful group of ladies this spring, I was struck with the need to visit the proverbial bush. “Hey, can you pull over anywhere you see some trees close to the highway?” I requested the driver, knowing my true pee place is defined in nature. Not far along, a likely stand of trees beckoned at a pullover, which was equipped with one of those government biffies you couldn’t pay me to go inside. A big truck had pulled in directly ahead of us, and I saw the driver open his door and walk towards the repulsive green commode as I dove into the forest. Really, I felt quite superior, a farmer exercising her life skills and right to bare.

I had just assumed the appropriate position when I heard the truck’s engine racing, and the trucker pulled back onto the highway with a screech of his tires. Wow, I thought, he’s a fast urinator!

As I sauntered out of the deep woods, hiking up my jeans along the way, I was flummoxed to see my friends with their heads hanging out of the car, yelling and waving their arms in all directions. “Run! Run!” they were screaming. I laughed at their joke, especially as I was still pulling up my pants, but upon hearing a noise behind me, I whipped around. Aaaarrrggghhh! There was the biggest bear I had ever seen, angrily lumbering around my “pee patch” and looking mightily pissed off. With a disapproving snarfgargle, the bear yawed its gaping maw and roared directly at me. Forgetting the zipper, I ran headlong for the car and dove through the window! We took off in a racing start, with me an upside down jumble of legs and arms in the back seat. We all laughed hysterically for at least 20 klms, reliving the close call.

I am a much wiser piddler now, maintaining my farmer’s prerogative on my own land, usually surrounded by sheep following likewise in an amazing cross species bladder connectivity continuum. But in the wilds of Canada, I bow in deference to the beasts of the forest as the ones with such prerogatives, and will keep my pees and quiet in that regard!