It’s the Pitts: Oh Say Can You See

By Lee Pitts

Tis the season when I get new Wranglers, because – due to very heavy early rains – the ryegrass has headed out in my world and it is already standing at eye level. This means pinkeye season is here, and I’m having to rip apart perfectly serviceable jeans to make eye patches – thus the new Wranglers. 

Even with my bad eyesight I can still see a bunch of white orbs staring back at me when I go out to check on the cattle, and because of my short-sightedness, the cases I detect are already in the advanced stages.

My eyes have always been bad. One look at my ugly horse would tell you that. My wife is pretty, but that was an accident – I met her on a blind date.

Last year was also a really bad year for pinkeye. Every time I went riding I saw spots in front of my eyes. I don’t know why they call it pinkeye. 

On one occasion, three calves were looking back at me through white eyes. I called them the Three Stooges. 

Remember the scene where they were always poking each other in the eyes with two fingers? Eh, eh, eh. 

Larry had one weepy eye, Moe had a foreign substance in his eye and both of Curly’s headlights were out. There was actually a fourth Stooge, but I couldn’t corral him. I guess he didn’t want to be seen in their company. 

Getting three blind calves in the corral can be a traumatic experience. In my case, it was like the blind leading the blind. 

The first step in restoring the Three Stooges’ vision to 20/20 was spraying their eyes with cow Murine and covering their white peepers with patches. This is where the Wranglers come in. Usually my wife cuts up my old jeans and uses them as patches, but all of my old jeans had holes in them so she cut up perfectly serviceable five-year-old jeans that still had a few miles left on them. 

We tried finding old jeans at thrift stores in the area but they all had cute little designs on them which would humiliate any self-respecting cow or calf that would wear them.

The patches are kept in place on the animal with eye patch glue. At least this is the theory.

The glue will keep your fingers glued together for two months, but it won’t keep the patches on the calves for more than two days. 

Then you have to get the afflicted animals in all over again. 

Because there is a glue buildup, the patches stay on for shorter and shorter periods each time, but the calves are easy to spot. The glue forms a distinctive circle around the eye. 

In the case of Curly – the calf with two bad eyes – it made him look like he was wearing bifocals.

My wife and I had to bring in the Three Stooges on four different occasions, and in the process of treating them, my wife actually contracted the infectious disease. 

I was getting fed up with being a cow optometrist, and my blind wife wasn’t much help in bringing in the calves so I resorted to using “Super-Bondo Industrial Strength Crazy Glue.” The patches stayed on for six months. 

The day came when I needed to sell the calves, so I had to remove the patches. I couldn’t wait to see if the Three Stooges had been cured, so I ripped off the patches and the vote was disappointing – the eyes had it. 

Curly either needed an eye transplant or a white cane. Moe still had spots in front of his eyes but he could see them better, and two out of three of my patients recommended seeing another doctor. 

The whole episode traumatized my wife to the point of wanting nothing more to do with cattle, but that was when she had her eyes open. She is still in the dark about it now.