They Say College is the Best Four Years of Your Life, But Here's theTruth

It didn’t surprise me that I cried when I was saying my final goodbye to my mom as she dropped me off at Clemson for my first year. I cried when she left, but that was it. Unlike some of the kids that begged their families to hang around until the last possible minute, the kids who cried themselves to sleep for days, the kids who dreaded being on their own, I was ready for college. Sure, I’d miss my mom, but I was ready. I attribute this to a long life of being an “army brat” where I had no option but to get used to moving, leaving family, losing friends, starting new. I was ready for college, to be on my own, to answer to no one but myself, to make those friends that are supposed to last a lifetime, and I was ready for the best fours years of my life to begin. After all, wasn’t that what everyone had said they would have been?

Well, they are wrong.

My freshman year began in Young hall, on the third floor, in the Women in Animal and Veterinary Sciences living learning community—A floor of 30ish girls, most of which aspiring to become veterinarians. It was a time of floor meetings, awkward roommate introductions, halls filled to the brim with boxes and family members, paralyzing confusion—really, just total chaos. So much so, that as we, the residents of Young third floor, reflected on our past year, none of us could remember the first two weeks of our freshmen year.

Then every possible event/function/ gathering on campus happened—Back to school bashes, Ag barbeques, tiger prowl. And so, college life began. There was no curfew; you went where you wanted, when you pleased, and you were free to do you, when you wanted, and how you wanted.

And simultaneously, real college began, because that’s when classes did.

I personally didn’t find college classes much more difficult than high school classes, and I quickly got the hang of it after being one of those awkward freshmen who walked around campus the day before classes even started to find where they would be, and the freshman who showed up to class ten minutes before it started, unlike the sophomores who appeared with 30 seconds to spare, or the freshman that was ahead on my school work—which only lasted a week until I joined the rest of the student body as they casually suffocated in a heap of notes and homework assignments.

I even joined some clubs, well… okay, I joined every agriculture and animal related club there was to join, but who’s counting? I joined mainly for the resume builder, but was genuinely interested in the dairy science club because I would get to show dairy cows (and if you don’t know me or know how that club worked out for me, then you might just want to take a peek at my facebook profile or instagram, because one small peek and you’ll get it right away.)

But was college really going to be the best four years of my life?

I didn’t quite realize how wrong everyone was until my second semester of my freshman year. My first semester was great. I had a great roommate who was my best friend—we rocked life together—and a made so many more friends from my WAVS hall and dairy club. I was rocking my schoolwork, even while dying in biology with Turnbull. I fell in love with cows, and naturally, the one with the biggest attitude! I volunteered twice a week at Clemson’s equine center and in doing so, continued to add to my animal experience hours that I needed for vet school. I laughed in the freshman fifteen’s face and made four plate dinners a regular thing, and my friends and I entered the nightlife scene of Clemson by reeking havoc on flying discs and the poor workers who set out the signs for the tailgating spots. I’d say successful if you were to ask me.

But for any normal person, my second semester would have been the space between two WWI trenches where there was a 99.9974673486% percent change you would not even make it half way to the other side alive (Courtesy to Saunders and History 1730—the bane of my existence). I was almost taking the max amount of credit hours you could take, with four labs, and all of my lectures requiring roughly 29 hours of studying a day.  Yes, that does not quite work out well. As I struggled in class, I also struggled to sleep. I set a hall record for fewest hours slept in a week and the most all nighters pulled in a week—approaching four. I ended up being so tired that my hall mates were ordering me to sleep and by the time my dairy show came around, I fell asleep sitting against a support beam and slept so soundly that I was completely undisturbed as my classmates loaded two trailers of cows right in front of me. And the icing on the cake, my relationships with my friends went south for the winter and checked into hotel “Judging You Hard Suites.”

And this was supposed to be one of the best years of my life?

Well it was, and Ironically, I enjoyed my second semester more than the first. And it was in my second semester that I learned the truth to the cliché “college is the best four years of your life.”

So here’s the truth.

I buckled down, became best friends with the second floor of ole Cooper (the library), found myself a good study buddy, and did my best to get my school work back in order. An agenda became a thing, as did micromanaging, considering I had most days planned down to the half hour. I set goals in my head, and I did my best to reach them.

Sleep needed to be a thing, but lets be real, that wasn’t happening, so I became acquainted with coffee, courtesy of Cooper study buddy, and in turn became addicted, leaving me with an empty wallet, and still no sleep.  But hey, at least I got that last assignment done right?

My friendships said bye, and while they were enjoying their stay, mingling in their lousy lives that lacked a Bailey, I took it upon myself to find the good in the situation. I too checked out, and into hotel “Life Together Resort and Spa.” I used the time away from my friends and devoted it to my studies. Instead of going home where they would be, I would hang out with Cooper and worked on my schoolwork. And instead of pouting because my friendships weren’t functioning like friendships, I went and made new friends, great ones, and a ton of them. And on top of that, I focused on strengthening the friendships I had that were a stretch to even be titled a friendship.

So what did I learn the truth was?

College is everything you make it.

College can be the best four years of your life… or it can be the worst. These four years can be just “ehhh," or you could finish feeling indifferent about them.

But college is what you make it.

You decide how it will impact you, how it will pan out in the end, how it will effect you, how you react to what college throws your way, how you handle the struggle. You decide what kind of experience you have. You decide what your attitude will be while struggling though the hells of higher education. You determine if college will be the best four years of your life.

I didn’t let college beat me. I said “ha, joke’s on you, I’m going to make a damn good grade in all my classes, no matter what it takes.” And that’s what I did. I finished strong, and I finished proud.

I didn’t let my social life drag me down to the depths of the ocean where I would drown. Here I learned a very valuable lesson—keeping an open mind. I learned to keep an open mind in relationships. Not everyone will act as you would, but that allows you no room for judgment. I learned that an open mind when meeting anyone will almost always lead to a really awesome friend. I learned the value of a friend too. A friend, that’s something hard to be. A friend does not judge, a friend does not lie, a friend is not rude, a friend does not dismiss, and a friend does not alienate, but a friend does listen, a friend does tells the truth, a friend acts with grace, a friend accepts, and a friend includes with open arms. Most importantly, I learned that friendships are not easy, and they require a lot of work and effort, a lot of give and take, a lot of compromise.

When people ask me how my freshmen year went, only a few words can even explain the experience—“Glamorous,” “Too much fun.”

I cried when my mom left, but I bawled when my friends left after our last final. You’d think I would have found moving easy peasy, leamon squeezy. Yanno, considering I have moved over twenty times, but I put off packing until the last possible moment (and ironically pulled an all nighter to finish that too), and when I finally had to say goodbye to the third floor of Young hall, I was the last one left. I did not want to leave and am confident I took moving out harder than anyone. I checked out of my home, said goodbye to Erin, my RA, and my barren dorm room, 303, where I would swear I had just moved into the day before. I even drove around campus three times before actually getting on the highway. And finally, I left. But I left it a success.

And if you were to ask me if I think college will end up being the four greatest years of my life, I’m most likely going to say “they will be better than that.”

So to the newest high school graduates, who are itching to stand where I have now stood, remember, the best four years don’t just happen…

College is what you make it

Annnnnnnddddddd, if you made the right college decision, in 62 days, I will CU in Clemson.

Young 3rd Floor Girls

A great friendship can weather the toughest storms, even monsoons.

Cooper Library ft. Dabo and Tilly

Too Tired to Mooove-Dairy LNA Show 

Young 303 & Nicole

 And of course, my sweet, sweet, Tilly 

Proceed With Caution or Turn Back Now

When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, every little girl went through a phase where her answer was a veterinarian. This was me. I waivered from veterinarian, to lawyer, to teacher, but I always came back to it—being a vet—although it waivered, it always prevailed.

My aspiration to become a veterinarian really was substantiated as I was pressured to apply to colleges and really think about my future. I had always loved animals (naturally, because who doesn’t use that as a reason to become a veterinarian?), but when thinking about it, I hated history. I loved writing, but what was I supposed to do with that? I had a love-hate relationship with art. I was decent at it, but it was too time consuming and I quickly grew bored of the tedious and nit picky projects. I always loved science though. Chemistry was chemistry, and biology was biology, but what I really loved was anatomy.

I was fortunate enough to take Mr. Hill anatomy at a little private school in Sumter, South Carolina, the smallest “larger city” I had ever had the pleasure and misfortune of living in. Hill anatomy was the dreaded class of the junior classes. It was hard, tedious, complicated, and confusing, and to top it off, it was taught by Hugh Hill, which put the class on a whole new level of difficult. But I succeed. I conquered the textbook form the 70’s, the pop-tests, the bonus minor 100s, the “now people,” the cellular respiration test, and the fetal pig (which was awesome!). I was one of the few students who were able to finish with an A in the class, because I loved anatomy. The body is an amazing vessel. It moves beautifully, it functions smoothly, and the processes, the checks and balances, the defenses the body has, have all evolved from nothing into the delicate network of systems that function as one cohesive whole.

Living a life in service the human race seems rewarding. Working to save and heal, to make a difference in the human race, well, that would be cool. But I was never interested in dealing with my own kind, hence why I’m at Clemson for animal and veterinary sciences. As a high school graduate, and a future college student, I had my path set. I would attend Clemson to major in animal and veterinary sciences and hopefully, gain acceptance to a vet school to earn a degree in veterinary medicine. I loved animals and was fascinated by the functions of the body, so it seemed well suited for me. But it wasn’t until I was employed by the local SPCA that I really discovered my calling.

As a child, I was a PETA person (*gag*). I was all into stopping the fur trade, going vegan, discontinuing the use of hormones, saving turkeys on thanksgiving, and no kill shelters. I was very passionate about no kill shelters and stopping euthanasia. I wanted to end the “massacre” of innocent animals that had no play in getting turned into kill shelters. I found it barbaric, and at one point aspired to own the largest no kill shelter in the nation. And so there I was, filling out my application for my summer job at my local animal shelter, answering questions about my opinion of euthanasia. Of course I answered honestly saying that I understood why it was needed, but looking back now, I didn’t have the slightest idea of the truth.

That summer I watched hundreds (yes, HUNDREDS) of helpless animals get turned the shelter, and for a wide range of reasons—stray, can’t afford, won’t hunt, too big, aggressive, moving, doesn’t get along with other pets, digs, having a baby, allergic, injured, destructive, too old, owner hospitalized, food aggressive—and from this I quickly learned. The media shows what it wants to show. It targets your emotions, tugs at your heartstrings, aims for your wallet, but the media often leaves out the truth. That summer I learned the truth.

There is a major overpopulation of cats and dogs in the United States. They cannot all be fed, a human cannot love them all, they cannot all live under a protective roof, they cannot all survive. It is impossible to feed all of these animals, it is impossible to vaccinate them all and give them the medical attention they need. The over population alone is a huge contributor to the amount of animals turned into shelters every year, and a lot of people fail to realize this. The public also fails to properly defend against this problem. Due to money concerns, people refrain from spaying and neutering their pets, greatly contributing to the excess amount of animals. Often times, people cannot afford the medical attention their animal needs and resort to abandoning their “beloved pets” on the side of a road or in a box under a bridge, adding to the stay animal population. Impulse purchases, job opportunities, lack of funds, or new family members also contribute to the large intake of animals at shelters. All aspects of owning a pet are often overlooked when actually acquiring one. People fail to realize the total cost, the lifespan, the time commitment, the medical care, and the living arrangements needed for owning an animal.

The media and organizations like PETA claim to advocate for animals, but they hide the problem behind the solution. In regards to euthanasia, it is a necessity. Pretty? Ideal? No, of course not. But it is humane and quick, and surly better than starving on the street or dying a slow death from the lack of medical attention.

This idea really conflicts with many people’s beliefs and ideas of what animal welfare is. I was prime example, especially when discussing euthanasia. However, my whole view was changed and to think that I once was against euthanasia kind of blows my mind. After having the amazing opportunity of working at the animal shelter and becoming educated on something I thought I was educated on, I found out why I really wanted to become a veterinarian. I wanted to advocate for animals. I wanted to give them a voice. I wanted to educate the public on the real concerns, and not what the media could make money off of. I wanted to prove all of the misconceptions of animal welfare wrong, and explain what was right.

And now I’m here, about to start project 4, a research project. And what will be the subject of my project 4 research paper? Duh. I will be proving wrong the most popular animal welfare misconceptions I have come across—the food animal industry, vegetarianism, and animal shelter practices. And while I know some people will always hold onto their beliefs, I hope that I at least am able to enlighten someone on what the truth really is“.”

Contrary to popular belief, cows are fantastic cuddlers! This is Tilly and me at the Clemson University's Livestock show, which was Tilly's last show! She earned second place in confirmation and first in my heart! 

Chute! Another Project?

Chute? Not Shoot?

Yes, chute.

What is a chute?

A chute is a metal contraption that is used to contain livestock. Generally, chutes are made of metal rods arranged into rectangular boxes, with doors on all four sides. The doors on the sides open for easy access to the animal’s side, allowing vaccinations to be administered, clippings to be done, or any other medical procedures to be preformed. The two narrow sides function as the entrance and exit. The exit of the shoot has a lever that closes two bars on both sides of the animal’s neck, confining them inside the chute.

Of course there are many variations of chutes. There are some that lack exit bars and that just have a gate. Some chutes are called squeeze chutes, which have levers that when pulled, tighten the sides of the chute around the animal. Although it may not seem likely, squeezing an animal in a chute often calms them down. Some chutes have long tunnels that lead up to the entrance, and some chutes are solely the chute itself.

Project 3?

Yes, the dreadful project 3.

What does 1+2=?. Well, it equals 3. And that’s exactly what project 3 is—a mixture of project 1 and project 2. Take the “all writing is a form of authoring” from project 1 and the discourse communities from project 2, and bam! Project 3. Take a piece of writing, like a resume or cover letter, and then using my area of expertise, animal sciences (although I’m hardly an expert), write a cover letter or resume? And then ***Insert more prompt description that I cannot comprehend.***? Yes, that is an intended question mark. What? What is going on in project 3.

            The way I feel about this project is the way I’m sure a cow must feel when going through a chute. While leisurely eating grass in the freedom of their pasture, they are suddenly rounded up by a bunch of no good girls in navy coveralls who intend to make the next hour of the cows’ life miserable. While I imagine this is how the cows feel, in reality, cows are extremely dramatic and are never treated poorly. Halter breaking dairy cows is a necessity in showing them and obviously medical practices are necessary for good health. The entire process of halter breaking and training them, the animals are kept in a stress free environment. They are treated kindly and with respect. They are herded with patience and care. Don’t worry, no cows were harmed in the making of this blog.

            Cows like open spaces—pastures to graze in—so the obvious hesitation a cow feels when being sorted into a tunnel leading to the metal chute is reasonable. As they step closer to the tunnel, cows search around for a way to escape the wall of people behind them, but with nowhere but forward to move, they give in.

They enter the tunnel to the chute with confusion. I imagine them thinking “what are these walls around me. Hey! I can see my friends, oh! And grass, I can see grass. Wait, I can’t reach the grass. These walls, what are these walls? Hi friend! How are you today?”

Generally, cattle will continue through the tunnel, still extremely confused, until they approach the chute entrance. This is where cows must have a brain aneurism. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh! Something is in front of me. There is a door. It’s blocking me. I’M TRAPPED! I must back up. Chute, I can’t back up, my friend Betsey is behind me. What do I do? Panic. Panic!”

While standing at the entrance, the exit to the chute is opened, revealing the escape route. At this moment you can definitely see the relief of freedom on the cows face, but yet, they most always linger in the shoot and contemplate walking through the exit. “But wait, can I really walk through there? There is a bar. I have to step over the bar? What if the bar eats me? I’m a dairy cow, I do not taste good. Do not eat me bar! Ah! Walls, walls still around me! Human! Hey humans, I require your assistance. Remove these walls. Save me from that bar. It wants to eat me!”

Just as the cow builds up enough courage to peek her head out of the shoot, SLAM! The chute doors are closed around the cow’s neck.

“OH MY GOSH! HOLY COW. WHAT IS ON MY NECK! GET. IT. OFF! Wait. Wait a minute. This is okay. I cannot move. Okay, okay. I will just sit here. Human! Yes you there. You human, come pet my head and scratch my chin.”

Much like a cow, as I begin down the tunnel to project 3, I’m faced with nothing but confusion. I don’t even understand the prompt. I didn’t understand the first time, nor did I understand the 50^th time I read it.

Still as I try to move forward, I know one thing—It is suggested that I write on my major since this project is supposed to teach us real world writing, and that alone, gets me a little farther down the tunnel and farther away from the wall of bad grades that prevent me from turning around.

But for real? No. I know myself, and much like a cow, I will continue to linger in my confusion as my confusion locks me in! So much confusion!

Tomorrow I have English class and will see Eda, my professor. And when I see her, thank God for the freedom from this confusion! The tunnel doors will open and I’ll be able to see my way out! Clarity. I will finally have some clarity.

The best part of putting a cow through a chute it watching her reaction when she finally decides it’s safe to exit the chute. Sometimes she is on a halter and will jump around, and others, she will sprint for freedom. In some rare cases, a cow suddenly get the idea that she is a giant, warm blood, grand prix jumper, and will jump the bar the holds the front of the chute together AND she will clear the bar by an extra four feet.

When I’m finally able to see the concept and purpose of project three clearly, I hope to be the grand prix cow. I was to excel on my way out of this suppressing confusion. I want to understand, and I want to finish in style. And hopefully after Eda is able to explain project 3 to me, I will be able to write a blog post that actually follows the prompt which reads “For this blog entry assignment, I want you to post a "Road-Map" for Project 3, a road map that you will be planning to use and respond to each other.”

As of right now, my road map says, “in 12 hours, ask Eda what the heck is going on with project 3".”

I’m an animal and veterinary science major, and I’m on Clemson’s dairy science show team. I’m also in a class, which is called Little North America (LNA) which I also work with dairy cows. For show team, I use a Holstein, which is a breed of a dairy cow, heifer, which is a cow that doesn’t produce milk because she hasn’t had a baby yet. My show team heifer’s name is Tilly. Tilly is already halter broken and has won many ribbons in the fall Anderson county fair and the South Carolina State fair. Her next show is the first week of March. Tilly was recently bred and should be having a baby in 9 months. For LNA, also have a Holstein heifer. Her name is Sturgeon, and I’m in the process of halter breaking her for a show in April.

This is Tilly

This is Sturgeon

This is Sturgeon going through the tunnel that leads to the chute. The blue bars at the front are the gates that would be closed around her neck.  

You're Making Me Write an Essay on Writing?

You know when you were little and your parents told you they were FINALLY taking you to your favorite story to use the gift cards you got for Christmas? and your 5 year old self is screaming “Toys R Us!” and your awkward middle school self demands “Aeropostale!” or your independent high school self is just like “why can’t I go by myself?” And your just too excited because you’ve been stuck at your house with all of your extended family and younger cousins that insist on running around and driving you crazy.

So finally, you get in the car and then you realize it. Your parents pulled a fast one on you, and mom is like “First I just need to stop by the post office!” and then dad is like “oh, great I can get my dry cleaning too.” And your left mumbling under your breath. And then once the thank you cards and returns are mailed out and your dad picks up his freshly starched white-collar shirt, you’re finally off to your favorite store. Then, as you pull into the driveway of the tile store so your parents to pick out their new black splash, you wave your white flag and surrender because now you’re in the back seat dying of defeat.

This is how I felt about project 1.

When I sat down in my first college English class, and thank God my only English class (No offense Eda), I was all mopey and grumbly because I’m an Animal and Veterinary Sciences Major, and what does that have to do with writing? Last time I checked, the amount of food a chicken eats, or the purpose companion animal vaccinations, or what comes out of the back end of a cow has nothing to do with English. But lets be honest, I love to write. Especially in informal settings, much like this, when I can basically write what I’m thinking down. (An by the way, according to Stephen King, you’re telepathic because you’re reading my mind—think about it) So when Eda, my lovely English professor, told the class we were doing blogs, I was thinking “Eda, you da bomb.com.” I have never blogged before, but I have desired to in the past, so I was excited to finally have the push to do it.

And then Eda pulled a fast one on us.

When Eda told us “Its time to start Project 1,” and mind you, in her awesome Turkish accent, I obviously was not impressed. Or excited. Or anything that implies happiness. But if we are being honest, I knew project 1 was coming.

So Project 1: Is Everyone an Author? Have you ever considered the person who writes the little blurb on the back of a postcard an author? Or how about you? Have you ever sent a postcard? And when you did, did you consider yourself an author? Well if you read my essay, all 1,497 words of it, you will be informed that, yes, the person who writes the tidbit about Salem, Massachusetts, or Las Vegas, Nevada, or New York, New York, is in fact, an author. And you will also be informed that you too, as the sender, are an author too.

But how did I feel about this essay, Project 1? Actually, if I could possibly enjoy writing an essay, I could enjoy writing this one. The topic of “Is Everyone an Author” seemed to me to be pretty original, and I felt like the bomb.com for picking a postcard, which was so unique, that the proper way to cite it could not be found by Eda, my MLA textbook, or Google. This project really allowed me to realize my writing abilities, as well as my ability to critically analyze a piece of text on my own. And that was enjoyable. The essay itself wasn’t that awful to write either. The words just came to mind and I typed them out as I thought, but I think I owe the ease of this assignment to both my high school English teacher and Eda.

Mrs. Reaves, my AP composition teacher, did a fantastic job preparing the class for this entry level, college English course. And Eda made writing this essay quite simple, even though she may not know it, because she provided me with a lot of my resources. For example, every day for homework, Eda assigns a reading from our textbook AND an additional reading from an outside text (Which we already tried to veto, but had no luck). But one reading in particular, by Stephen King, actually contained the perfect points to substantiate my argument that the sender of a postcard is an author. Another cool thing that Eda did, that I really enjoyed, like really, was she canceled class for the day. Whoop Whoop! But by canceling class, she gave us the time to come to her office and have a one on one conference with her to discuss how our essays were going and to ask any questions we had. This, I thought, was extremely helpful because not only was I able to take an hour and an half nap instead of an half hour nap, Eda was available to help me with the citation of my postcard, which we basically ended up winging off of the MLA rules for a visual text.

If I really had a choice in the matter, would I have picked to do Project 1 for fun? Of course not? But overall, Project 1 was bearable. Now off to bigger and better things, or longer and more terrible things with Projects 2,3,4 and 5”.”

(& because I love cows, I'm demanding you love them too. Say hi to Tilly)