Battering ram. Ever think where that word-combination came from? Neither did I. Until Saturday. I was cycling my usual 5-mile jaunt around the lake, when I decided to stop and take a closer look at a fairy ring that Id passed hundreds of times, and always thought - must take a closer look at that some day Im not in a hurry. It was getting dark, late afternoon. As luck would have it, the farmer in the nearby house arrived in his car. I asked him would it be okay if I went up across the field to the fairy ring. No problem, he said, but the ram might follow you. The ram was a roundy fluffy fella like a giant stuffed toy with a thick head on him, cute-looking, no horns. And he did follow me, sure enough, looking like a bit of a gom. I made soothing sounds. I entered the fairy ring and there was an immediate ominous feeling in the air. It was a perfect circle of raised earth, a double-banked ditch, with hazel trees all around casting dark shadows, and three conifers someone mad had planted in the middle. The farmer had said - see if you find the tunnel. I saw a load of branches covering what might be a tunnel and picked my way over to take a closer look. Next thing - a scuffing sound behind, and I turned around just in time to get a whopping headbutt off that f***ing ram right in the side of the thigh. Dead leg territory. It was like being hit with a cannonball. The sheer force of it! And the innocent head on him! If I hadnt half-turned, hed have flattened me and Id have been at his mercy. Apparently, theyve been known to shatter kneecaps. A few days and Deepheat patches later, the bruise is just starting to show now, and I can walk without limping, more or less. But the pain when you touch it! Battering-ram. There for you, as Dermot Healy used to say. Leitrims way of saying hello.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Dec 2014 00:24:10 +0000
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