Farming with Cows

Short story - real life satire. This is a re-write of an email that I originally composed and sent to a friend while on my lunch break. She said I should publish it.

I love farming.  I especially love chasing cows; my favorite part being watching as they are high-tailing it across the neighbor's property.  If you don't understand the term "high-tailing it," you've never chased cows.  See, when cows get excited enough to run (it happens, but rarely) they tend to gallop while holding their tails up over their backs.  It's quite the sight to see a half-dozen cows galloping over the hill in front of you this way, tails up, udders swinging wildly, kind of evocative of Dolly Parton jogging without benefit of a brasierre.  The worst part is that you never know what they're going to do when they get over the hill.  Sometimes they just stop and eat, sometimes they scatter, and sometimes they just keep heading for the next county. 

 

The thing is, they have four legs, and I only have two.  I have to out-smart them, because I sure can't outrun them!  That means I have to understand how cows think, and then I have to think like a cow.  I used to have this down when I was a kid, but those were dairy cows - the freindly-looking kind that you see on your milk container every morning.  The current kind of cows that I'm chasing are beef cows - the yummy kind that steaks and hamburgers come from.  Turns out, they think a little differently.  Dairy cows won't run you over, but they're not exactly scared of you, and it's pretty rare to have one that will kick you.  If you do have a kicker, you will know which one it is, and you can tell them apart because they have those unique spot patterns that make them recognizable.  They tend to know their names, too. 

 

Beef cows seem to be a little more dense.  And they all look alike too, except that their ear tags have different numbers and a couple of them that came from other farms have brands.  It's pretty hard to read those ear-tags as the cows gallop past, and even if you do yell, "Hey, 420, get back here!" they just don't even know or care that you're yelling at them.  Maybe it's because they have numbers instead of names.  I guess I don't like that, either.  Of course, 420 is more likely to stop, just because she has bad feet.  I even kind of feel sorry for her.  Now, beef cows will let you get up close to them, but you don't want to, because they're just as likely to kick you in the head as they are to run away from you.  It took me a while to get this part, having been trained by dairy cows so to speak, and I've scared more than a few people by getting too close to the cows.  Maybe I've got it now.  The other thing about beef cows is that there is a bull out there with them.  My daughter named the bull Elvis (because he's the King) but he doesn't know his name is Elvis and he doesn't care that he's the King so long as you don't mess with his cows, so I don't bother.  He's just the bull. 

 

I try to ignore that he's the bull, and keep him at the far end of the herd from me.  Since the herd consists of ten cows, ten calves and the bull, this isn't quite far enough away for my comfort and peace of mind.  I have a big, healthy respect for the bull.  He weighs about twice as much as the cows, and his head is just massive.  You've seen those bulls on the Professional Bull Riding stuff on TV - now imagine one of those up close and personal, even if he doesn't have horns!  If he didn't squish me by running over me, I'm sure he'd squish me with his head.  Luckily, Chrome the Australian Shepherd just loves to chase the bull.  Chrome runs in front of the bull, reaches up and bites the bull's nose, and if he can swing off of the bull's nose, he likes it so much better.  The bull just hates Chrome, but he does go where Chrome wants him to.  I'll leave the bull to Chrome.  The other dog, Lucy, is a Husky.  She has an understanding with the cows.  She leaves them alone, and they leave her alone.  It's good, except when I'm chasing them.  Then I think she's a slacker!

 

The thing about chasing cows is that it's almost always followed immediately by fixing fence.  If it isn't, you can be sure that you'll get another opportunity to indulge in chasing cows either later that day or first thing the next morning - in your pajamas.  It is cringe-inducing to realize that all of the neighbors know exactly what your pajamas look like - splattered with mud and covered in grass stains - thanks to the cows.  But I do love fixing fence, almost as much as I love chasing cows.  I'm quite familiar with the practical applications of fencing pliers, a fence stretcher, T-posts, wooden posts, splices, electric fence holders and wire holders.  I'm fairly proficient at the operations involved, too - if I do say so myself.  I can walk a fence-line and find the break by the second try pretty consistantly.  Oh, and I know the basic principles of electricity, so I can make the right connections to keep the fence electrified.  It just means getting wet, muddy, and grass-stained while suffering wire cuts to my hands and electric shocks to my body.  Did I mention that I love farming, and all that it entails?

 

Of course, when you've walked the fence-line multiple times, broken down and had someone else walk the fence-line to see what  you missed, and finally figured out that there just is no shock (is that a good thing or a bad thing?), then you move on to my third-favorite farm task - brush-cutting.  Now, trees won't grow in the cow pasture because the cows will either eat them or trample them.  See above reference to the bull.  Cows are just as bad, but not quite as brave.  There is no bravery involved in trampling greenery.  Hence, cows are proficient at it.  If there are big trees in the cow pasture already, they will survive, but there won't be any seedlings starting. 

 

This isn't so for the fence line.  The midwest is a pretty verdant place, and would go back to woodlands in about 20 years if mankind quit trying to tame it.  Fence lines are proof of this.  Those seedlings jump up about 6 feet in the first year, and that's plenty tall enough to short out an electric fence.  The grass will grow to four feet in height, and that will also short out the fence.  Since the electric shock is drained off in a couple hundred parallel electrical connections, even a weed-burner electric fencer (the best kind, as noted by the name) can't keep them all down.  Of course, the cows don't go out through the brush, because the little thorn-ash trees we have here grow - you guessed it - thorns!  We're not talking rose bush thorns, either.  These things are about an inch long and just wicked sharp.  They'll go through your leather glove and half-way through your finger.  Ouch. 

 

The only thing I've ever seen that's worse is wild plum trees.  The fruit is no good, and they have four-inch thorns that will go all the way through the bottom of your boot and give you a puncture wound deep enough to require a tetanus booster.  That way, you don't just suffer the indignity of the first poke, but you have to voluntarily go get a second one, and usually get another pair of boots, too!  Of course, I get the job of collecting the brush and piling it up to be burned at some later date.  Somehow, this job is designated "feminine" while operating the chain saw is designated as "masculine."  It was when I was a kid, and it still is today.  I still don't clearly understand the logic there, but that's probably because I've only ever asked for an explanation from men.  Specifically, men who would have had to clear and stack the brush themselves if I hadn't done it.  Okay, I'm gullible or stupid or way too nice.  Take your pick. 

 

The best part of all of this is that we got all the cows (and the bull) chased in from the neighbor's last night, locked them in the barn lot, fixed fence, cut brush, checked for a shock from the fence and decided they could go back out to the pasture.  This morning, I was awakened at 6:30 and informed that I get to chase them back into the barn lot by myself (well, Chrome helped) and re-fix the fence if I had time before I left for work at 10:00.  They're in the barn lot.  By 9:30, I was wet all the way up to my waist, and muddy and grass-stained, too.  I had to clean myself up, eat something and leave for work in half an hour.  I mad it in to work on time, but I guess I'm fixing fence tonight.  At least I didn't slip and fall down in the manure this time.  Stupid cows.  Did I mention that I love farming?