What's that smell?

I've never had a great sniffer, in my line if work sometimes that comes in handy.  I remember in my freshman year of vet school, the girls in my anatomy disecction group used to rub Vick's vapor rup under their noses prior to lab, in order to hide the smell.  I never had to resort to such measures.

Fast forward several years, and my wife and I now teach the five year olds a sunday school class at church.  Recently I was called out during church to go retreat a colicky horse that I'd been working on.  Having already treated this horse once, I thought it would be a fairly quick call where I could just give the horse a second dose of painkillers and make it back in time to teach the lesson I had prepared for the five year olds.  Because time was tight, and I thought I knew what was in store I didn't bother changing out of my suit.

I did take my jacket off, roll up my sleeves, and throw on a pair of coveralls before I began.   It soon became apparent that this horse wasn't doing as well as I'd hoped, and I decided I needed to do a rectal examination on the horse to get a better idea of what was causing his symptoms, and what his prognosis might be.  So, I drug the horse, put on a shoulder length sleeve, lube up my arm, and begin the examination.  Keep in mind that I've already administered mineral oil (a laxative) to this horse the day before.  Well the rectal exam relieves my anxiety as to the horses prognosis as all feels normal inside, so I remove my arm.  The horse must have been straining somewhat at the presence of my arm, because pulling it out results in something like I've seen in professional locker rooms when they've just won the championship and are popping the corks on the champagne.

The problem is, I'm standing directly behind the "champagne" bottle, and the "champagne" is a mixture of mineral oil, and the stuff that the mineral oil was given to help slide out.  My face is completely covered, along with my coveralls.  The coveralls I quickly strip off, hoping to get them off before the "champagne" has soaked through to my suit.  My face I wipe off with a paper towel.  

Taking stock of the situation, I assess that one spot on my pant leg has some slight discoloration and the suit will need dry cleaned, but it's not "too bad."  If I leave now, and go directly back to church I will still be in time to teach the lesson, meaning  my wife won't have to cover for me, and I won't be in the doghouse.

I stop by the restroom in the church.  Wash my face and hands a little better, and walk into the classroom where our class is just arriving.  Soon my classes noses start to wrinkle, and a little girl raises her hand.  "Yes?"  I ask.  "Brother Mathis, did you toot?"  That's when it hits me that perhaps that slight discoloration I'd noticed on my pants leg is worse than I'd thought.

I didn't bother explaining the smell.  But fortunately for my class, Sister Mathis had some Vick's vapor rub in her purse.

An answered prayer

     I recently came home to two kids in despair.  You see it all happened when I brought home two kittens to them.  They instantly fell in love with these little kittens.  Since their mother is allergic to cats, and the cats have to live outside, the girls insisted that I build them a house.  Well, any time the girls were home for the first few weeks, I don't think that the kittens feet ever touched the ground, and with the kittens home right outside the window on the back porch the girls could watch them closely from inside the house as well.
     The kittens seemed to love the kids, as much as the kids loved the kittens.  They were even coming on demand when the girls called them.
     So when the girls get home from school one day and the kittens are no where to be found they panic.  By the time I get home from work, the girls have looked everywhere they can think of and are in tears.  The first thing I do, is get a little cup of food and shake it, and call for the kittens.  The girl comes running from near the back fence.  But the boy is still no where to be found.  This sets the girls off even more, as these two kittens have always stuck close together.
    They continue looking well after dark, searching the bushes with flashlights, and calling for their lost "Scrambler."  As bed time is approaching I mention to my youngest daughter, "Make sure you ask Heavenly Father in your prayers tonight to help Scrambler find his way home safely."  This is not good enough for my little girl though.  She looks at me and with tears in her eyes asks "Dad, can't we pray right now?"
     So we gather up her brother and sister, and kneel down to say a prayer.  Before we're even able to start the doorbell rings.  A neighbor that we've never met is standing at the door and asks "Do you guys have a cat?"  So we tell him that as a matter of fact we are missing one.  He tells us that he thinks it is stuck up in his tree.  He says he had been in the house, and an owl had started making a ruckus out in this tree, so he went to investigate and had found a cat stuck in the tree that the owl was trying to eat.  We promptly follow him to his house, and to the correct tree, and sure enough there is "Scrambler" up in the tree and to scared to come down.  So I get the honor of climbing up and getting him.
     As we return home we once again get on our knees, and this time we are actually able to say our prayer.  But now it is a prayer of thanks, rather than the prayer we had originally intended.   What a reminder to me that our Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers.  Even the prayers of our heart, that we haven't had time to vocalize yet.  Especially if you have the faith of a little child.

My lucky day.

     I have always hated the dentist, at least for as long as I can remember I have.  One of the first dental visits I remember, I wedged myself under the seat of the car and hung on to the springs so that my mother couldn't get me into the dental office.  Incidentally that was also the day of one of my greatest triumphs.  The day I caught a rabbit with my bare hands at the clinic, only to have to let it go to go to the stupid dentist.  I don't know who screamed louder that day, the rabbit on being caught or me on finally being dragged out from under the car seat into the dental office.
     When I was older my parents made me get braces.  These were put on by an Orthodontist, which in my opinion was just a fancy word for Dentist, and I hated him just as much.  Another one of my proudest moments happened in the Orthodontists office.  The poor technician had to make a mold of my teeth before they could put the braces on.  They jammed this stuff into the roof of my mouth.  I tried to pantomime that it was running down the back of my throat, and that I needed to take it out.  They technician who worked for the evil Dentist wouldn't let me.  So I didn't feel bad when I threw up all over her.  I'd tried to warn her, but she wouldn't listen, I think she had it coming.
     Another time at the Orthodontists office, I was there for a tightening.  They took the rubber bands off, and left me alone in the room.  So I got up walked out, and said "Come on Mom, we're done." 
     When it came time to leave on a mission for my church they wanted me to get a dental exam first.  It was the Dentists opinion that I should get my wisdom teeth out before I left for my mission.  But he signed my papers saying I'd had the dental exam, and said "Set up an appointment to come back and get those taken out on your way out the door."  So I said "You got it Doc."  Then proceeded to walk right out the door without talking to anyone.  It's the lie I told so that they'd let me go on a mission, so I could teach people about the importance of following Jesus' example, by doing things like being honest.
     As you can see I really don't like Dentists, you might even call me an anti-dentite.  Sure you might say I was a rotten little brat, and you'd probably be right.  You might even say that my Parents should have given me a good whipping and blistered my behind, and you'd probably be right there too.  But it still wouldn't have changed the fact that I don't like the dentist.  So when I showed up for a Dental checkup yesterday, and the lady at the reception desk said "I'm sorry, but you're hygienist is sick today.  We've been trying to reach you all day to let you know.  We're so sorry but we're going to have to reschedule you."  Inside I was doing cartwheels, it must be my lucky day.
I think that was the kindest I've ever been to anyone at a Dental office.  The poor lady was all ready for me to be upset about having my time wasted by coming in when they couldn't see me.  I just smiled and said "Don't worry Ma'am it's quite alright."

The insensitive jerk.

     The kids have had a Betta fish for sometime now.  He was a little blue thing, and they'd named him "Bubbles."  To me it was just a fish, but to them it was their first pet.  He hasn't been looking so hot lately, and I was sure that the inevitable was coming.  So when I came home from work today and found him upside down in the bottom of his bowl I wasn't surprised.
     I took him out of the bowl, put him in the trash and planned on trying to pull the old switcheroo with a new fish from the pet store before any of them noticed.  Well, Mom wasn't in on my evil plan and spilled the beans to one of them that the fish had died.  Of course now they all want to know where he is, and what we did with him?
     I guess in my line of work, on can get desensitized to death to some extent, and I hadn't fully thought of how this might affect the kids.  Now confronted with it, I realized that throwing the kids first pet in the trash can probably wasn't the most sensitive thing a caring Dad would do.
     So now I had to distract the kids, so I could go dig "Bubbles" out of the trash can.  I then emerge with a shovel, and little "Bubbles," and the story of how I'd saved him until we were all together and could have a proper burial for our friend.
     Even to an insensitive jerk like myself, this felt like a much more proper thing to do than my earlier actions had.  The oldest didn't seem to mind to much, she still has a fish that her younger sister gave her a few weeks ago for her birthday.  The boy seemed fascinated by it all, and was eager to help dig the hole.  The middle child though with her tender little heart was heartbroken.
     So I spent time talking with her about our religious beliefs, and how we believe in life after death.  That I believed her precious "Bubbles" had gone to live with our Heavenly Father.  This isn't much comfort to a 5 year old who has Great Grandparents pushing 90, it will be "forever" before she gets to see "Bubbles" again.
     I think it was a good learning experience for the both of us.  She got to learn about how life ends, and to experience emotions that are new to her.  I got to remember why I wanted to be a Vet to start with so many years ago, because I wasn't always the insensitive jerk I am today.  Once upon a time I was as tender hearted as she is, and wanted to be able to help the animals I loved so dearly.
     In honor of her beloved blue "Bubbles" she thought we needed to have a blue dinner to remember him.  I almost said well we already buried the blue fish under the tree, if you wanted blue food we should have filleted him and fried him for dinner.  But I put my insensitive tendencies on hold, and kept my mouth shut.  Instead I made rice for dinner, and added blue food coloring to the water.  She was pleased, my wife was disgusted.  A win / win situation in my book.

Out of the mouths of Babes.

     Recently I had the privilege of baptizing my oldest daughter as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  It was a special day for our family, with many family members making quite a trip to be here with us.  I couldn't have been more proud of my daughter for her decision to follow the example of our Savior Jesus Christ by being baptized.
     After the ceremony was over, one of the presiding members of our congregation was making a few remarks.  At this point my two year old boy began to get restless, and started to make some noise.  So in an attempt to keep him quiet, I started making conversation with him.
     I said "Did you see Taylor get baptized?"  To this he nonchalantly replies "Yeah, she was in the water with Jesus."  To which I replied "Did you see Jesus?!"  Again he says "He was in the water with you and Taylor, but he's not there now."
     Now, I didn't see Jesus in the water with us, and I don't know if he was there.  But I do believe that he is my older brother, and that he loves our family, and was especially pleased with the decision my daughter made that day.  I also believe that if it was possible for him to be there that day, and he didn't have more pressing matters to attend to that there is probably no place he would have rather been than at the baptism of a beautiful young lady making a good decision.
     Taylor I love you, and the decision that you've made.  I hope and pray that now you have entered in by the gate, that you will stay on the straight and narrow path that leads to life eternal, by always staying close to your Savior Jesus Christ.  He loves you very much just as I do, and according to your little brother he was at your baptism standing in the water with you.