The Haxtun-Fleming Herald - What can we reason but from what we know? -Alexander Pope

Today’s column is written for male readers only. Sorry ladies. Today you’ll just have to flip the pages to the classifieds or somewhere else. The subject matter I intend to deal with in the next few paragraphs is just ... well, let’s say, it’s too sensitive to us guys for you to see.

OK, men, now that the women are all gone, I’ll explain the secrecy. It’s not that females wouldn’t have understood. In fact, it’s the opposite. They would probably understand. Even worse, they would agree with me.

By now I probably have you men confused. Let me explain. There are times, as you all know, when we males find it comfortable to confide in each other. Some call it male bonding. Whatever you call it, we get honest about subjects otherwise a little touchy to talk about. If a member of the opposite sex is present, forget about it. There is no way we are going to be honest about some things with a girl around.

Fellows, today I want to discuss the male hormone, testosterone. I’m glad we men have it because shaving is exciting for a year or two after we finally get old enough to start. On the down side, however, the chemical can make us crazy at times. These manly discussions are usually easier on everyone if someone will lead off with a personal experience, so I’ll go first.

I had a bull get into the neighbor’s pasture recently. I took a horse along to get him back into the correct pasture. Good idea. I took a neighbor (guy) along to follow in the pickup and trailer. Bad idea. When I found the bull he was still mad from his big bull fight with the neighbor’s herd sire. Common cow and human sense told me, “Let him settle down. Come back in a few days and he’ll want to come home.” I almost did that until I noticed my non-cowboy neighbor helper admiring my gallant cowboy image on my dashing steed. In my mind he was, anyway. That’s when it happened. Testosterone kicked in and common sense left. Two hours later the horse, bull and me were two miles farther from home than when we started. The bull was even madder than before, and had been joined in his rage by my horse, me and probably the neighbor I was going to impress. All thanks to the male hormone that causes stupid.

A few days later, I was in a field picking up hay bales. For me that involves a nearly 50-year-old tractor, 20-year-old bale wagon and lots of patience. If I go slowly I can fill the old New Holland stacker without incident, load after load. Half way through the project, a neighbor pulled into his field across the fence with a big new green tractor and state of the art version of my ancient bale handler. Without even realizing what I was doing, my tractor had shifted up one, then two, gears. As my land speed increased, so did my ego. “Let’s see who can do this the fastest,” something inside me was saying. Just as fast, however, my version of Mr. New Holland’s invention seemed to say, “Look little man, I don’t have testosterone and don’t need to impress anyone.” The “automatic” machine I was pulling promptly did about four things simultaneously that only can be described as chaotic.

An hour or so later, after laying on my back under the Monster in 100 degree heat, constantly sprinkled with hay dust, the contraption agreed to resume working, if I kept my emotions in check. The guy in the next field had finished long ago. Male hormone got me again. I just couldn't help myself. It's a curse. You guys know what I’m talking about. If you want to share in this cleansing honesty go find another guy and “bond." Don’t worry, most have stories, too.

OK we’re done here. Men, destroy this column. Tell the women it was about cars or something. Just don’t mention testosterone!