ethereal

ethereal\ih-THEER-ee-uhl\

adjective;
1. Light, airy, or tenuous.
2. Extremely delicate or refined.
3. Heavenly or celestial.
4. Pertaining to the upper regions of space.
5. Chemistry. Pertaining to, containing, or resembling ethyl ether.

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The first four definitions of ethereal are the most common; I've seen the word used in all sorts of writing subjects - sci-fi, angels, anti-bellum, etc., but the last one brought back a hazy memory of my dad taking one of his work boots, spraying a rag with starting fluid (ether) and sticking it into the boot. He then took a young male cat (and I can't remember which one, was a LONG time ago), stuck his head in the boot and when the kitty quit kicking, pop quickly castrated it.

I've never done it, but I expect castrating a cat is much like castrating a pig...well, except for the teeth and claws bit, hence the boot and anesthesia, crude as it might have been. I once tried to give a cat a bath because of accidentally dousing it with naptha. I'm not for sure which had more slash marks when I was done, me or the shower curtain.

My dad and I castrated a large boar for a neighboring farmer; the hog was so big we had to put it in a cattle chute to control the animal. (The hog was large enough to put a saddle on! ) I can't recall how many times my dad had to stop and sharpen his knife while performing the surgery, but it was quite a few. and when trying to finish up each testicle, the ol' boar would tug of war the flesh away from dad in one final but futile attempt to retain his masculinity.

The "pig fries" were large enough to fillet and would have covered a fair-sized dinner plate - that is, if one were inclined to eat that. I've had pig testicles before and they were a bit gamey. My dad always said a good brining would take that gaminess out, but we never ate them again.

The hog later died, but it wasn't from our surgery; it got locked out away from water.

I bet I've castrated quite a few dozens of pigs, but it's been a long time. I've also milked a goat, but there's not any funny stories about that, just a few memories of squirting the milk at our cats and dogs.

Another animal story, then I'll stop, I promise.

We used to have huge toads around our house. We always kept large vats or buckets of water in the yard for our pets and the toads could be seen there during the day, nestled in amongst the cool damp earth and tall grass around the hydrants. At night time they would come into the garage where sometimes dad and I might be doing something, working on some project.

I expect they liked the cool cement floor during those hot summer nights, but they really liked to nab the june bugs and moths that would be attracted to the lights and would often hit the floor. The big ol' toads would be sitting there, sometimes three or four of them, sometimes only one, waiting on the bugs. A june bug could hit, lie on its back -stunned a bit, probably- and the toad would turn like a tank on treads, take a deliberate hop towards the struggling insect, perhaps another short hop to close the distance- then rocking delicately forward and with a flick of the tongue so fast it was hard to see, the toad would bring the bug into its mouth.

We had one toad dad was very fond of. Pop was welding something one time, and not knowing the frog was near his feet, dropped the stub of a super-hot welding rod on the frog's back. It scarred the frog, (like a distinctive mark, I'm sure it scared it some, and probably hurt like a mother, too, wouldn't you think?) but it lived, prospered and grew huge and kept coming back into the garage for several summers after that. Dad and I once fed the creature several dozen june bugs; so many that we could feel them crawling around in the toad's belly. The ol' toad stayed there in one spot, all that night and most of the next day, too stuffed to move.

Y'know, come to think of it, my stories like this certainly aren't ethereal by any stretch, 'cept for the starting fluid bit.