Rooftop perspective brings fear of heights in focus

Perched atop the old hog house roof on our farm east of Hardwick, I called my husband, Bryan, on my cell phone.
As the phone rang through, I pondered my predicament — I had climbed on the roof to fetch the dog’s frisbee and now I was stuck.
My errant throw landed Lucy’s favorite toy out of reach, and her eyes darted eagerly between me and the direction the toy was thrown.
 I knew she’d pester me and get in the way of my horse chores until I got that frisbee off the roof, so I surveyed my options.
It wasn’t that far off the ground – maybe  seven feet.
With no ladder nearby, I spotted the fence that butted up against the building, and it was an easy climb from the top of the fence to the frisbee.
The frisbee was retrieved and the dog was happy.
I, however, wasn’t happy. My short legs didn’t retrace the steps down as easily as the steps up.
I pulled out my cell phone and made the call.
Calling my husband to get me out of a predicament is not unusual. (Remember when I locked myself in the horse trailer?)
As I sat on the roof, I admired the view of the Blue Mounds, the rows of growing crops, the happy dog.
My call went to voicemail. I reflected: “When did I develop a paralyzing fear of heights?”
Long bridges are the worst. Just ask my son, Adam.
One time we traveled from Vermillion to Nebraska and crossed the Missouri River.
I saw the profile of the concrete bridge and fear crept over me. “That is a really tall bridge and it’s over water.”
I almost stopped the car and turned around.
Clutching the steering wheel and driving well under the speed limit, I drove down the middle of the road so I didn’t see over the bridge’s concrete sides.
Adam was unaware of my fear and wondered why the sudden change of speed and hogging of the road.
We laughed about my fear later that day when we drove over the same bridge back to Vermillion. Because I didn’t see the bridge from the side, I was fine with the second crossing.
As I continued to sit on the hog house, my anxiety wasn’t off the charts like it was in the car.
After my phone call for help went unanswered, I was determined to get down myself because I had things to do, and darkness was approaching.
Two cats perched on the peak of the roof gazed smugly at the human who foolishly retrieved the silly dog toy.
I’m not a cat person.
… That was enough to send me cautiously over the top to the roof’s other side where I used the higher fence.
I easily stepped to the ground — where those two cats stood and appeared to be asking, “What took you so long? It’s feeding time.”