The boy sat on the ground next to the barn, holding his injured arm. He had been directing his father, who was backing up a horse trailer, and somehow his arm had gotten caught between the trailer and the building. His dad quickly realized and pulled the vehicle forward, freeing him. They called for the ambulance, and being only a short distance away, I took a ride over.
The injuries didn't look serious. There was no laceration and no obvious deformity, and otherwise, the boy was in good shape. Naturally his mother was frantic.
"Is it broken?" She asked me.
"I don't know, Diane, I didn't bring my x-ray glasses with me," I joked trying to calm her and lighten the mood. "He needs to go down and get a few pictures taken. He's going to be fine."
"He's okay?" She looked for further reassurance.
"He's going to be fine," I answered.
She looked at him sitting there.
"Get up," she told him. The boy, his father, and I all looked at her quizically. She grabbed a nearby hose.
"Strip," she told him.
His dad and I tried to dissuade her, without success.
"He's been working with the pigs all day," she explained to all of us. "No son of mine is going to the hospital smelling like that. Strip," she told him again.
He did, right down to his boxers, and she hosed him down right there. His father and I could only grin at each other. Just a country mom.
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