The Great Esccape

The Great Escape

Cows are escape artists, every one of them. Cows have been the bane of my existence over the years. Cows were not on my radar; I am a city kid born and raised. My adventures with cows started when I purchased a farm. I had no idea how complicated my life would become in the matter of two years. I purchased a bull calf; I called him Tornado. I remember when he was de-horned by a neighbor. What a sight that was. I was already questioning my sanity for allowing that to happen. Tornado was a very forgiving bull. I began to build a herd; my next purchase was twin calves. They lived in the basement most of the winter and into the spring. Trying to explain to my dad that I had two calves in the basement was one of the most bizarre conversations I have ever had with him:

“What was that noise?”

“What noise, Dad?”

“There it goes again.”

“Ah, Dad, there are two calves in the basement.”

“Why?”

“It is too cold outside in the barn.”

“They don’t belong in the house!”

“They do if I want them to survive.”

That was the end of the discussion; Dad made his point. My adventures with cows continued. The cloudless summer night was hot and humid. I had finally fallen asleep when I began to hear cows. I rolled over and thought: ‘No, can’t be cows.’ I got up, grabbed my bathrobe, and headed for the closest sound; there on the front porch was a cow! I raced to the back door; another cow was mooing her malcontent. I ran back into my bedroom, grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my sneakers. I wasn’t exactly sure which of my neighbors were missing two cows. I quickly phoned the farmer on the next farm: “Charlie, your cows are out. I have one on the back porch mooing and one on the front porch.” I was already out the screen door; I came face to face with a heifer who had no intention of leaving any time soon. She stood there on the front porch mooing at me. I tried to coax her to back up, then down one step. It sounds easy? Not likely; she continued to moo. I was getting nowhere. I found several more cows meandering in the cornfield. I wondered why Charlie still had not appeared until I saw his wife heading toward my house, with a look of chagrin on her face: “Charlie is still rounding up the dry cows; I see you found the heifers.” Before I could answer, she gave the heifer on the porch a swat on the butt; I helped her find the others. The escaped cows were all back where they belonged, and I headed off to bed, only to have my alarm clock go off fifteen minutes later. Who sleeps?

Cows became a larger part of my life when I met my husband. He was a farm boy, and I was still a city kid; I had sold the farm that year. We decided on a larger farm, and new cow adventures began. We returned from our honeymoon and plunged right into life on the farm. We bought a small herd of cows, several heifers and one large ornery bull named Jubal. We also purchased goats, pigs, and a horse named Cody. Goats are a pain in the neck at best; the first nanny to have a kid decided the appropriate time was three in the morning. We helped her deliver the kid, and crawled back into bed. The pigs were a nightmare in the daytime when they escaped. My neighbor called: “Your pigs are loose; several are headed down the road, one is here in my yard.” I was on my way out the front door, yelled to my husband to hurry; the pigs were loose. Pigs, if nothing else, are stubborn animals, and not the most likable creatures the good Lord ever created. The chase was on; we were in hot pursuit of the two the neighbor spotted on their way down the dusty dirt road. The more we chased them, the more they ran. There was no way to stop them, other than to tackle them. We saw them turn into a cornfield down the road. We charged after them like two agitated farmers that we were. My neighbor sent over one of her boys to help us turn the pigs back to our farm. The pigs ran even faster; the boy started yelling at them as if they were fiendish children. The pigs stopped long enough for us to attempt to coax them with carrots. They regained their strength and began to run down the center of the cornfield. This is not the way to make friends and influence your neighbors! We finally rounded up all four pigs, with the aid of the neighbor boy. He very quietly muttered under his breath: “Next time close the gate.” The gate to the cows was held in place by baling twine; we intended to repair it, but with escapees getting loose at all times of the day, it was almost impossible to accomplish anything. The expression: “the grass is always greener on the other side.” is very appropriate. I dropped hay down from the loft for the cows and horse, then let the cows in the barn from the pasture. I closed the gate, pulled the baling twine over the top, and headed into the house to begin dinner. That was what I thought; the cows had other plans. My husband came in, washed up, and sat down. Then came the sound of a clomp on the back porch step. I thought, ‘Can’t be, I know that sound, one of the cows is loose, I still remember when Charlie’s cow got loose.’ Then came the dreaded moos. I looked at my husband; out the front door we went with great haste, to find twenty head scattered in the front yard. There were several in the lake; good thing it was a warm summer day. I began to run toward the lake. I got behind Dolly, the lead cow, and pushed her toward dry land. My husband, in the interim, was attempting to herd the cows back into the barn. The escapees began to run down the road, away from the house and barn. Damn, this was going to take a while, provided we could catch them and turn them; by this time, the first time heifers were loose, heaven help us! There is nothing dumber than a first-year heifer. The neighbor boy came out to help. He took off after several heifers, while we went in another direction after the cows. The thought that kept going through my mind: ‘Those damn cows, my dad was right, we never should have purchased the farm. I had enough money from the sale of the other farm to put down a good-sized down payment. Instead, here I am knee- deep in the lake, trying to move the cows inland. What a life!’ It was past midnight when the last cow was found munching on the new turf the neighbor put down. Good thing she had a sense of humor: “I guess I didn't want that turf anyway, hope she enjoyed it.” I apologized for the cow, gave her a swat on the back end, and we headed home. We finally sat down to a reheated dinner. I guess farm living is just not for me.