OXTED, England &mdash Murphy had been there.
In the airport. He'd gotten to the pop machine before me, because now every selection was sold out. And of course, the machine would not return my dollar bill.
When I catch up with Mr. Murphy, I'm gonna bust him one right in the chops and tell him just what he can do with his “law.”
This is what I was thinking as a collective groan went up from the rest of the passengers who had just boarded the plane. Hurried on board and herded into our seats like a bunch of nervous sheep by a captain and crew anxious to make connections, we were then informed of a “small maintenance problem with the brakes,” which would involve a “minor delay.”
Where is that Murphy guy! I'm on my way to England, darnit, and I don't need this right now!
“That's just wrong,” said the woman seated next to me, watching me write this.
“Really?” I said. “Do you think I should've used 'moan' instead of 'groan'? Because I tend to associate 'moan' with a pleasurable experience, and use 'groan' with one that's —
“No, stupid! The damn mechanical delay! It's wrong!” she said.
“So ... you don't think it's the brakes, then?”
“AAAUUUUUGH!”
Alarmed livestock
Well, I'm pretty sure that THAT was a “groan.”
And speaking of nervous sheep, I'm pretty sure that Murphy was not on the plane after all, but that he'd already gone on to England some months ago. Perhaps right about when foot-and-mouth disease made an appearance here in the United Kingdom, making all the sheep a bit nervy.
Now, my brother, Scott Frazier, and I have come to England to lecture about Native American culture, tradition, and about current environmental and wildlife issues, both here and at home in the States.
And to look for Murphy.
As part of our tour, we'd come to visit the British Wildlife Centre to perform a prayer ceremony. And, as Scott and I stood about to deliver our prayer for the multitudes of animals that have had to die because of foot and mouth disease, we couldn't help but remember our own buffalo back in Montana. Thousands of them have been killed too, because of a disease called brucellosis, which in reality has not been proven to threaten any life, only economic livelihood.
Scott and I had been asked to come and offer a prayer for the peaceful resolution to the foot and mouth crisis, which has caused over 2 million sheep and other farm animals to be culled. Slaughtered by British government officials in the interest of economic solvency.
It's no wonder the sheep here are nervous.
And if the disease is found on a farm here, all of the animals on that farm are killed, as are all of the animals on farms within a 3-kilometer radius, whether they test positive for the disease or not.
“This epidemic has had a devastating effect on Britain's economy, on the livestock industry, and on the hearts and minds of the people here. We certainly don't want it to leave here, we don't want it to spread to the States,” Scott said.
At the British Wildlife Centre, we stood in a sunlit, open field beneath a rare blue sky and prayed for those millions of animals that have died, as well as for the hundreds of families whose lives and farms have been forever altered by this disease. Young children as well as many adults and a few very nervous sheep gathered close around Scott and I as our prayers drifted into space.
Disinfected outdoors
It had to have been an odd sight: two Native Americans in an English field full of sheep, surrounded by and praying for people whose ancestors had come to our country hundreds of years ago to conquer.
And all of us in our rubbers.
Well, except for the sheep.
That's right, foot and mouth disease is so highly contagious that you need to wear rubbers wherever you go.
Except over here, rubbers are known as “wellies.”
And over here, when you go from place to place, you need to dip your wellies into a bucket full of very strong disinfectant solution to prevent the disease from being spread.
Since my wellies are much too large for the ordinary bucket, however, me and my big wellies had the distinct honor of being dipped en masse into a VAT of disinfectant. While this had the effect of putting the sheep at ease, it did not do wonders for my spirits, which were already dampened by the whole pop machine episode.
Wait till I find that Murphy bloke.
Copyright © The Billings Gazette, a division of Lee Enterprises.
John Potter, an Ojibwe from Wisconsin, is a gifted artist, illustrator and writer. After more than 20 years as an editorial artist and columnist with the Billings Gazette (Billings, Mont.), he now spends his full time and energy on his oils, painting the landscapes of the West that he loves the most. His work can be seen online at www.lonewolfgallery.com.
