dak

Home Page

dak-tar-i (dŏc tär ē) n. the sport of riding cows late at night, usually practiced by southern country boys bored to death and high on cigarettes and sweet tea, the only area known to practice this sport in a semi organized manner being Wilkes County, Georgia circa 1974.

dak-tar-o-sis (dŏc tär ō sis) n. the hightened state of excitement brought on by the anticipation of soon going on a daktari mission. Symptoms are usually dilated pupils, uncontrollable shaking, loss of fear, and being oblivious to pain and suffering.

The idea was simply to jump on a cow’s back at night and ride it as far as you could. Sounds easy does it? Nope. It took skill, guts, and maybe a little naivety. Cows don’t take too kindly to being ridden by people, especially strangers hootin and hollerin. Actually, it is virtually impossible to get close to them, except for maybe the big bulls or a mother with a calf at its side. Those were easy. They would come to you. But normally, you had to drive through a cow pasture, pick out one you thought would be a good ride, and give chase in the car until it became exhausted, the potential rider sitting on the hood waiting anxiously for the right moment to attempt a mount. That was your only chance of having a successful ride. Now, I participated in very few of these adventures. Growing up around cattle, I knew this was not the best of plans. Cows tend to weigh a lot more than people and thus, can hurt you without even trying. So, I always stayed around the fringes of it simply asking, “Please stay out of the Blackmon pasture,” all the while offering my encouragement to those willing to put their health at risk, all for fun. How juvenile. But, there was always some naïve soul willing to give it a try. And, being hopped up on cigarettes and ice tea, the danger of it always became lost in the excitement of the “big ride.” To make things even more dangerous, the cows, upon reaching their point of exhaustion, reacted in a variety of ways. One night a cow, after being driven to near collapse, the perfect riding condition, just stopped. Someone, I’m thinking maybe Bob Jackson, mounted it and the poor cow just stood there looking at him like, “What in the hell were you expecting anyway?” So, it had all the hallmarks of a successful ride. But, the cow wasn’t playing. We didn’t think about wearing spurs and bringing shock sticks. No amount of coaxing could get the cow moving. It had had enough and was not going to participate. That attempt ended in failure. On to the next animal. Sometimes, though, the reaction was just the opposite. Johnny Newberry was chasing a carefully selected cow and doing a great job of pushing it to its mountable condition. After a while the highly irritated bovine decided it had also had enough and turned on him, breaking off the side view mirror and slobbering all over the steering wheel of that green Mustang! I don’t remember what Johnny told CM about what happened to his mirror. Now, that’s exactly what you would expect from a rhinoceros, not a cow. So, you never really knew how it would go. You didn’t even always know what might be in the pasture like stumps, ditches, bushes, and small trees. And, by the time you did see danger, it was too late to react anyway. So, all you could really do was hope. Therefore, the chase itself was fraught with danger. Ask Douglas Pollock what happens to small trees when hit by a car.

One starry and moonlit night, after cigarettes and sweet tea and whipping some newcomers to the sport into a daktari frenzy (commonly referred to as "daktarosis"), off we went seeking that ultimate ride. We located a pasture with plenty of potential rides milling around, all completely oblivious to what these crazed and bored youth might be doing in their kitchen. Will takes his place. Unlike John Wayne, we didn’t have a seat bolted to the front of the car so the rider had to sit, squat, or stand on the hood (probably Newberry’s Mustang). We were ecstatic. Can you believe he’s going to actually do this? This going to be great! We chased the heard until we selected one cow that became the object of our desires. Are you wondering how we made such a decision? I don’t remember. But it was probably similar to how lions do it. They give chase until one animal becomes separated from the others. Round and round we went, staying as close as possible to the selected beast but being very careful to not hit any other cows or obstacles (right). The conversations went something like this:

The cow eventually succumbed and began walking, too exhausted to run any further. Will, now in a total state of daktarosis and fearing nothing or anyone, was perched on the hood of the car and ready to spring into action.

No. It’s Will! He’s so pumped he’s vibrating, a very serious case of daktarosis!

That’s too far for me to jump. Closer. Closer. Hold it Newberry. Right there!

At the perfect moment Will leapt from the hood of the car, landed square on the back of that cow, and off he went into the darkness.

Under the conditions, it was simply unavoidable. We fell into a state we called back then “bent double stuck laughing” or “BDSL.” It was that condition where you were laughing so hard you gasped for breath, had difficulty speaking, and your stomach was in a hard knot. You knew you would be sore the next day. However, the real danger was that if BDSL persisted for too long you could progress to the feared state of “hyper bent double stuck laughing” or “HBDSL”. HBDSL was like having the breath knocked out of you. One night in Granny’s Field we all lapsed into BDSL over something quite trivial, I’m sure. While the rest of us recovered, something was wrong with Jeffrey. He was convulsing and trying to say something. But, we couldn’t understand. "Ya'll be quiet. He's trying to tell us something," somebody said. Eventually we were able to figure out he was saying, “I’m stuck!” Oh no! The dreaded HBDSL. Jeffrey had gone too far. We didn't know what to do and being in the latter stages of BDSL ourselves didn't help very much. It was a very delicate moment. One small word from somebody could start the whole cycle over again. But, while BDSL was common, HBDSL was rare. And, we really didn't know how to treat it. Fortunately, he came out of it before mouth to mouth resuscitation became necessary. That was a close call. Anyway, upon regaining our composure, we realized we had lost Will again and had no idea where he was. So we just stayed put, trying to relax, take deep breaths, and not slip back into BDSL or worse, the dreaded HBDSL. Eventually, Will walked back to the car. I think he dismounted when the cow appeared to be headed for the woods. He probably didn’t think too much of the idea of wondering off in the forest in pitch black darkness on a cow’s back. I certainly wouldn’t have. I mean, put yourself in Will’s shoes, or chaps. He’s riding on the back of an exhausted cow. It’s dark. And it appears he’s headed for the woods. How long do you stay on? Where is the cow going to take him? How far is the barn? What will the other cows think? It’s a very complex issue. We drove back to town and commenced to celebrating by going to Pet Milk’s break room and having ham and cheese sandwiches and Mountain Dew. They just don’t make nights like that any more.

With our sense of time being somewhat askew and in a constant state of BDSL, fearing the dreaded HBDSL, there was just no way to officially determine how long Mr. Pierce stayed on that animal. It could have been a minute or an hour. A minute could feel like an hour, if you know what I mean. But, without question, it was the most successful daktari ride of all time. Now, that’s not to take any credit away from Bob Jackson. He does deserve kudos for trying. His hood riding was flawless and his transition from the Mustang to the cow was seamless. We just picked the wrong cow. But, that’s the complicated nature of the sport. It takes skill not only to be a top notch crotch rider but also skill to choose the right ridee. Thus, Will Pierce is the one and only daktari champion for Wilkes County. He deserves a ceremony in April and a trophy for his exploits. Welcome Will. We are truly honored to have you. We all are looking forward to your acceptance speech.

I should also mention that Paul Bennett showed up one night with some friends from up north. We gave them some cigarettes and sweet tea, whipped them into daktarosis, and sent them out to the country to take their chances with the beasts of the night. One guy even had a broken leg. But, when you are in daktarosis, nothing else really matters. Off he went hobbling on his bad leg. Nothing could stop him. I, however, wanted no part of this particular adventure. Go daktariing with carpetbaggers and amateurs? Not me. So, Paul, you might want to shed some light on how that mission went. We never heard from ya’ll again. But rumors persist to this day that Marion Barnett began locking his gates soon afterward.

Important Note: It needs to be understood that in April there will be no demonstrations or re enactments, only challenges. So, man up or bow down and kiss the spurs of the champion.