A Pedicure

My friends from Oregon, Katie and Jill, came to the ranch to see my daughter, Abby, and me.

As we fed and checked for new calves, we talked about larger issues.

One discussion centered around society’s opinion of the perfect female body, what constitutes beauty and how to resist falling into the mental trap of expending so much energy trying to be beautiful every minute.

TV and Instagram tell us we need to be voluptuous stick figures with perfect skin.

Like many Montana women, my skin looked 50 when I was 30 and will still look 50 when I’m 80.

If someone asks, I’m 5’9” and weigh 105 pounds, but my nose grows when I say it.

I have more important things to worry about than maintaining my girlish figure –such as

mass shootings, economics and soils.

I solved the problem of never meeting society’s unrealistic expectations years ago: I quit

looking into the mirror.

I remember the relief I felt when I turned 40 years old. After 40, women tend to be

invisible – at least to the media – so I could finally just be myself.

Now the beauty pendulum is swinging in resistance to society’s opinion, declaring that

every body is beautiful, no matter the size.

Resistance to ridiculous standards is always healthy, but Katie argued that we shouldn’t

normalize unhealthy obesity in an effort to resist the standard of a voluptuous stick

figure that objectifies females.

Then we threw new mothers into the cauldron.

Often, new mothers are overwhelmed by a baby’s demands, with no time to take care of

themselves. Looking and feeling pretty is a distant dream as they shlep around in baggy

sweatpants and grimy t-shirts.

We didn’t have all of the answers so we decided to go straight to the expert.

My milk cow, Maija, knows about both motherhood and being objectified.

Maija’s udder sags from stretching and contracting from the demands of at least 12

calves.

Her enormous belly looms above me as I squat to milk on one side while her calf,

Bernardo, finishes breakfast on the other side.

Maija’s doe eyes gaze lovingly at Bernardo and her coat is shiny. She demonstrates

glimpses of beauty according to society’s standards, but the demands of motherhood

are clearly taking their toll.

She refuses to become invisible, though, shaking her horns to remind my other cows --

along with me and anyone else who will listen -- that she is much more than just the

delivery system for white nectar of life every morning and evening.

We decided Maija deserved to feel pretty.

We would give her a pedicure.

After all, her toes looked like skis.

They reminded me of why my socks get holes sometimes.

A pedicure would help her walk easier, too.

We could improve Maija’s physical and mental health with one easy procedure.

We slightly modified the usual pedicure experience.

Instead of sitting her down in a massaging recliner, we herded Maija into the working

chute.

Instead of toenail clippers, I brought out double-jointed hoof nippers designed for draft

horse hooves.

Instead of setting her toes in a warm, jetted foot bath, Katie and Abby pulled a rope to

lift her hoof into the air.

As my brother commented later, what could possibly go wrong when a rope was

involved?

We appeased Maija with a bucket of oats and I went to work, trimming 3 inches of

toenail from her back hooves.

Just as I flinch if a pedicurist nips my skin, when I twisted Maija’s toe she kicked.

We decided against neon-orange toenail polish because Maija was headed through the

mud, straight to the hay manger.

No need to get silly, after all.

As she high-stepped out of the chute, Maija exuded the proud confidence that is her

true beauty.