My cousin was in negotiations recently with executives from a Northeastern city, and he stopped them cold when he reminded them, “We may have to lick the calf twice.” It took a bit of explaining to describe what he meant, which is, you may not succeed the first time, but try again. The businessmen took to the expression right away and started weaving it into their written communications with him.
Hearing that got me thinking about all the phrases and words we commonly use that reflect our culture’s deep agrarian roots. Most of us, even if we don’t know a round baler from a square baler, know that when we’re advised to “make hay while the sun shines,” we’re being told to take advantage of ideal conditions for as long as they last.
When our favorite team suffers a no-point game, it’s said to have scored a big fat “goose egg.” Likewise, when our “goose is cooked,” we won’t be of any use to anyone, because we’re in deep trouble. Anyone who has been around geese knows the origin of “you silly goose.” And how could we forget “ugly duckling,” “sitting duck,” “feather one’s nest,” and “lame duck”?
We use these terms so often that our language is enriched without our even knowing the words’ etymology. Yet, a moment’s reflection will make most obvious. There’s “let’s talk turkey” and stop speaking “gobbledygook.” (I’m only hoping this blog post doesn’t turn out to be a turkey.)
Sometimes, when we want to annoy someone, we simply “get their goat.” This is, of course, a favorite pastime of “old goats.” Just as often, we want to be easy on someone, so we treat them with “kid gloves” (a particularly soft leather from young goats).
Sheep have given us a vast language to describe everyday occurrences. Those scam calls in the evening? Get sucked into one and you’re likely to “have the wool pulled over your eyes,” maybe even “get fleeced.” As we move into the election year, we will all be attuned to the “bellwether” states (a reference to the lead wether — a castrated male sheep — which wears a bell that alerts the shepherd to location of the flock). Speaking of flocks, the pastor has one he tends to each Sunday.
If you have ever seen a territorial ram in action, then the term “battering ram” needs no explanation. When we’ve done something exceptionally foolish, well, we are feeling a might bit “sheepish.” And at a dinner party, when someone espouses some daft idea, we accuse them of “woolly thinking.”
Pigs, too, provide an arsenal of colorful expressions: We “pigged out,” you are so “pigheaded,” and “this room is a pigsty.” I “bought a pig in a poke,” but I’m “happy as a pig in clover.” “Sweating like a pig” (which doesn’t really make sense, since pigs don’t sweat), “squealing like a stuck pig,” and “bleeding like a stuck pig.” And, oh, yeah, “when pigs fly.”
So do cattle. “Bullshit,” “bullheaded,” “bull market,” “bull in a china shop.” “Take the bull by the horns,” and “crack the bullwhip.” “Don’t have a cow!” Let’s “beef you up,” maybe even turn you into a “beefcake.” Take care of your “cash cow” and “sacred cows.” Wait “till the cows come home.” He’s a “milksop.”
And horses. You may be “backing the wrong horse” or “betting on a dark horse,” unless, of course, you have the “inside track.” Waking up in the morning feeling “as hungry as a horse” is much better than being “off your feed.” “Stop that horseplay!” “Get off your high horse!” Ever feel like you’re “beating a dead horse”? “Putting the cart before the horse,” “riding for a fall” or “riding roughshod,” “putting them through their paces.” “Straight from the horse’s mouth,” a real “workhorse.” “Taking the bit between the teeth.”
I’m “mad as a wet hen.” I mean, we’ve got a “pecking order” here and I “rule the roost”! I’m “hardboiled” and must sometimes “scratch for a living,” but I’m “saving a nest egg.” On occasion, I’m “henpecked” and feel like I’m “walking on eggshells.” But I’ve learned to “never count my chickens before they are hatched.”
I’ll leave you to “brood over” that. Because if I go on much longer, none of us will exactly be “spring chickens.”
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Many of these words were conveniently listed for me in the thoroughly comprehensive work The Encyclopedia of Historic and Endangered Livestock and Poultry Breeds (Dohner).
Reading this weekend: Virgil’s The Georgics, a poem of the land. “All life’s best days speed earliest away to mortal rue; in slink diseases, bleak dotage and distress, and cruel death ravages unmerciful.” Yep, it is all that, plus guidance on raising cattle, planting vines, and caring for bees. Written just a short 2,000 years ago.
