Well, you just can’t tell two stories about Elmer now can you? Elmer has trilogy written all over him.
Where to start? Well, for new readers, Elmer was my Beer-Swilling-Eel Fishing-Ex-Uncle-In-Law. A well-known source of childhood trauma in my life. He stands out in my memory because of his amazing capacity to make exactly the least appropriate comments, and his ability to shatter childhood innocence with an admirable non-chalance. I would link to the other two stories about Elmer, but I’m just too damn lazy. If you haven’t read them, they’re down there somewhere.
Elmer and my ex-aunt Sharon lived in a trailer, on a farm of sorts, on a huge plot of land on top of Dickie Mountain (You might think I make this stuff up, but it’s true). I can say for sure that it was a farm, I just couldn’t tell you what was farmed, except maybe trout. Elmer had trout ponds out back. Of course he did, what else does an eel fishermen do in his spare time than raise fish in a pond for the purpose of sport fishing. I really never understood the "sport" in standing in a field, casting into a pond full of 300 trout, but then again, I don’t think I ever saw anyone pay to do it. I don’t think it was the most successful venture in the world. In any case, it gave me some amusement during family visits.
So one weekend, I was casting away, reeling in fish after fish, being pestered by Elmer’s huge, black dog (suitably, and predictably named "Bear"). My sister and brother were fairly young, and they had found a new friend. They were busy playing with Flossy. Flossy was a new addition to the "farm," a big, beautiful cow. She was one of those cows that you see in the story books; the black and white, cute as a button cow that all the plush toys are modeled on. And the great thing was that Flossy was really friendly. I walked over and watched Flossy licking my sister’s hand. "Feel her tongue!" my sister implored me. "I’ll pass," I said.
And let me tell you, this was one smart cow. Flossy would respond to simple commands that Elmer had taught her, "Stay" and "Come here," that kind of thing. She would do this thing where she would try to rub her huge head up against your legs like a cat. This was particularly hilarious because it would usually knock my brother down into the mud if he wasn’t paying attention. My sister was in love. She was mad for that cow. Suddenly, she wanted to go to visit Sharon and Elmer, when before she had to be dragged. She wanted to learn how to milk her and everything. Flossy was a hit.
Half a year later, we ventured up Dickie Mountain for a Christmas visit. We had come for dinner, and Sharon’s "Slush," which was some kind of vodka concoction that made all the adults wonky. Whenever that stuff came out, I knew we were staying the night. Anyway, dinner was served and smelled amazing; Sharon was a very good cook, as I remember. My Dad brought the serving plates over to the table, saying, "My God, this roast looks amazing…." (I’m sure you can see where this is going a mile away.) Elmer shouted out from his spot on the lazy-boy in the living room, "It damn well better be good roast, that’s Flossy Beef!"
My sister let out one of those strange noises that’s halfway between a scream and a gasp. Elmer strode proudly into the kitchen, threw open the deep-freeze and started hauling out cuts of meat to show us. "Yup, whole goddamn freezer’s fulla Flossy." My brother couldn’t speak… finally he mumbled, "F-f-f-flossy?" Elmer was taken aback by the silence in the room. He was one of those guys that couldn’t stand silence, so he shouted out, "Ok listen up, Flossy was a damn good cow. Hell, Flossy was even a damn good friend. But goddamnit, she tastes even better!"
It was a somber dinner. My sister cried through grace and refused to eat. My brother looked very pale. My Dad had to explain the whole "life on a farm" idea to both of them a couple times. I counted myself lucky that I hadn’t gotten attached to that cow. But, I gotta tell you. It
was damn good beef. Flossy was a hit.
