by Holle Abee

Created on: May 12, 2009   Last Updated: April 18, 2012

Several years ago, my husband, John, and I realized our dream of country living when we purchased seven acres out in the middle of nowhere. We quickly filled the pasture and barn with chickens, goats, rabbits, ducks, and horses. We added fruit trees and a large garden to make our mini-farm complete. We were ecstatic until we fully realized the upkeep required.

Seven acres might not sound exactly like a cotton plantation, but you'd be surprised at how much work is involved in making it appear neat. Weeds loved the sandy loam, and I'm convinced that had we been in some weed-growing contest, we would have won, hands down. Of course, there was no such competition, and weeds were much-hated by my "neat freak" husband. Hence the reason for the goats. We were told they'd eat all the weeds growing along the fence lines. We discovered, much to our dismay, we had evidently purchased critters with gourmet taste buds. These guys preferred to eat sweet feed with the horses, so the ugly weeds grew with abandon. This meant hubby had to spray the unwelcomed weeds with Roundup.

That fateful day was much like any other Saturday. John was doing maintenance chores while I was puttering around in the garden. At the noon hour, we both stopped for a break. He began complaining about pain in his...umm...how can I put this? In his "manhood." He examined it and showed it to me. It was red and swollen, and not in a good way. His face became ashen, and his voice filled with panic: "You gotta take me to the emergency room!"

Now please understand, dear reader, John is a typical man, a tough guy who eschews doctors and hospitals. He could have a broken leg and try to convince me that it would be fine with an ace bandage. I've seen him rip open his arm and put a little bandaid on it and refuse medical attention. But now that his "favorite" body part was affected, he was adamant about rushing to the hospital.

I drove him the twenty miles to the nearest emergency room while he moaned and groaned the entire way. Once we got there, he was relieved to find the waiting room was empty. They called him back after just a few minutes, and he wanted me to go with him.

A young, pretty nurse came in the examination room and asked him what the problem was. He looked at me with a pitiful, beseeching look, so I explained his ailment. And then she asked to see it. John has always been a very modest, private person, so the thought of this seemingly adolescent female seeing his nakedness horrified him. He flatly

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