K Story: networking
Dec. 17th, 2011 01:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7“If you’re a paleontologist in Utah,” he says, deftly snagging a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table, “you don’t let on. You say you’re a geologist. You say you’re looking for minerals. You don’t ever mention the words evolution, fossil, paleontology. It’s actually dangerous."
"Really,” I say.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “You could get shot out there. One time we were out working on BLM land– Bureau of Land Management– way out in the desert, and we’re doing what we do, and this pickup truck full of guys with rifles drives by, real slow, watching us. So we’re like, what’s that about? But they don’t stop and don’t say anything. But then they come by again, and again, a couple more times that day. And each time they just drive by. Looking at us."
He pauses to take a bite of food, then continues. "Next day we’re in town getting something to eat. And there in the parking lot is a horse trailer, and there’s this beautiful mare tied up alongside it. So, I mean, I’m a horse person, so I go over to look, like you do. She’s gorgeous, real nice lines. And I can see that she’s got a nasty hock rub, and it looks fresh."
"A hock rub?” I kept horses, but I only ever had two of them.
“An injury on the inside of one back leg, where the other one struck it,” he says. “It’s often caused by improper shoeing. But if it’s not treated it can abscess, you know how these things are– it can scar, it can cripple, it can even kill if it isn’t resolved. So I come closer to look at it, and a woman comes out and is standing there. So I ask if it’s her horse, and she says yes, so I compliment her, and after a moment she realizes I know horses and am not just some creep. So we talk a little bit about horse breeding, about conformation and the like, and then I mention the hock rub. She admits she’s noticed it but doesn’t know how it happened or how to keep it from happening again, the horse never had this trouble before. So I ask if the horse has new shoes, and she says yes, just the day before. Well, there it is. I look at the shoe on the opposite foot and sure enough, it’s just a little bit offset, a little crooked toward the inside, and it’s enough that it pulled her hoof off-balance and made it cut the other leg."
"Ohh,” I say. We never put shoes on our horses, so I never knew that.
“So she goes and gets her son and shows him, and they thank me profusely, and ask who I am, and I tell them my name and who I’m working with, and then we go our separate ways."
"That’s nice,” I say.
“Well, here’s the interesting part,” he goes on. “After that, the pickup truck with the guys with rifles never comes by again. And whenever we’re in town, everyone knows my name, and makes a point of greeting me and being polite. But seriously, everyone knows my name.”
“Oh how funny,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “The professor I’d been working with– Dr. A– he’d been working out there 22 years and nobody knew his name. I was out there three days and suddenly everyone was my friend. And he asked me, how did you do it? What did you tell them to make them like you? Cuz they don’t like our type, and these are dangerous people.” He shrugs. “I said, Everybody’s dangerous. These people are no worse than anyone else. But if they figure out you’re one of them, they aren’t nearly so dangerous anymore. It’s a universal thing.”
He shrugs again. “The thing is, I wasn’t trying to kiss up to anybody. I just wanted to help that horse.”
"Really,” I say.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “You could get shot out there. One time we were out working on BLM land– Bureau of Land Management– way out in the desert, and we’re doing what we do, and this pickup truck full of guys with rifles drives by, real slow, watching us. So we’re like, what’s that about? But they don’t stop and don’t say anything. But then they come by again, and again, a couple more times that day. And each time they just drive by. Looking at us."
He pauses to take a bite of food, then continues. "Next day we’re in town getting something to eat. And there in the parking lot is a horse trailer, and there’s this beautiful mare tied up alongside it. So, I mean, I’m a horse person, so I go over to look, like you do. She’s gorgeous, real nice lines. And I can see that she’s got a nasty hock rub, and it looks fresh."
"A hock rub?” I kept horses, but I only ever had two of them.
“An injury on the inside of one back leg, where the other one struck it,” he says. “It’s often caused by improper shoeing. But if it’s not treated it can abscess, you know how these things are– it can scar, it can cripple, it can even kill if it isn’t resolved. So I come closer to look at it, and a woman comes out and is standing there. So I ask if it’s her horse, and she says yes, so I compliment her, and after a moment she realizes I know horses and am not just some creep. So we talk a little bit about horse breeding, about conformation and the like, and then I mention the hock rub. She admits she’s noticed it but doesn’t know how it happened or how to keep it from happening again, the horse never had this trouble before. So I ask if the horse has new shoes, and she says yes, just the day before. Well, there it is. I look at the shoe on the opposite foot and sure enough, it’s just a little bit offset, a little crooked toward the inside, and it’s enough that it pulled her hoof off-balance and made it cut the other leg."
"Ohh,” I say. We never put shoes on our horses, so I never knew that.
“So she goes and gets her son and shows him, and they thank me profusely, and ask who I am, and I tell them my name and who I’m working with, and then we go our separate ways."
"That’s nice,” I say.
“Well, here’s the interesting part,” he goes on. “After that, the pickup truck with the guys with rifles never comes by again. And whenever we’re in town, everyone knows my name, and makes a point of greeting me and being polite. But seriously, everyone knows my name.”
“Oh how funny,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “The professor I’d been working with– Dr. A– he’d been working out there 22 years and nobody knew his name. I was out there three days and suddenly everyone was my friend. And he asked me, how did you do it? What did you tell them to make them like you? Cuz they don’t like our type, and these are dangerous people.” He shrugs. “I said, Everybody’s dangerous. These people are no worse than anyone else. But if they figure out you’re one of them, they aren’t nearly so dangerous anymore. It’s a universal thing.”
He shrugs again. “The thing is, I wasn’t trying to kiss up to anybody. I just wanted to help that horse.”
