One of the greatest fallacies out there—maybe even right up there with global warming—is that of the trouble-free, peaceful farm life. To be sure, there is nothing like waking up to the quiet solitude of an acreage, the shrill alarm call of a rooster, and the gentle bellowing of cows.
That would be on most days, of course.
Silence is golden, though it can be a little tarnished. And the ear-piercing wake-up call of said rooster wears thin after a few mornings, though the occasional noise may still be in order. But it's the so-called gentle bellowing of cows that gets me more rattled than a flashing red and blue lights behind me.
Cows bellow when they're hungry...and when they're not hungry. They bellow when they are meandering through the pasture, usually for no rational reason. But it's when my cows are bellowing from someone else's pasture that really, really gets to me.
I mean, after all, if you're going to run away from home, er, the corral, please do it quietly.
Case in point: I am in the process of shifting my cows from one pasture to another, so as to free up said pastures to replenish themselves. This is old hat for many of you, but the moving of cows and securing of fences is still a big deal to a city slicker like me.
Last summer, with the help of two of my sons, I was able to create two new pastures—and were even able to use one of them after the hay was taken off. This year, however, when we tried the same thing, they lasted only two days—“lasted,” meaning they ended up searching for better water (in the river, outside my pasture) and searching for better grass (in the neighbour's field—again, outside my pasture).
My kids will testify that there is one individual here who is very responsible when it comes to chasing errant cows. That same individual, however, is also very hyper and uptight while doing it. And in case you haven't connected the dots, I are he—or would that be me-me-me-me?
I cannot say why I fall apart when cows get out. It's not like they're a bunch of teenage rogues, hanging around 7-11. These cows are simply doing what cows do, namely, looking for grass, water, and a place to lie down. (Uhmm, there are some distinct similarities with those teens, who also looking for a different type of grass, a different type of liquid, and a place to lie down.)
I have found rounding up cows on foot both a challenge and an art. There has to be some thinking through, well before one actually goes after them. I have learned these tips (and am still learning), so I thought I would pass them along.
One, don't yell. No matter how much you have the urge to. Yelling implies the cows are deaf and/or stupid, which they're not. It just adds to the “excitement” of the process, and one doesn't want excited cows.
Two, be human. That is, you are the human, you are not the cow. You are running after the cows, hopefully not the other way around. Keep that order in mind, please. If it is reversed, then you are in far, far more trouble than this column can deal with. My point is that you should be able to out-maneuver them, usually with foresight and forethought.
And, three, keep perspective. If this was, say, downtown Medicine Hat or even Taber, then you would have big issues. But when it's one field leading to another, it's not quite as serious. Cows can get mixed up in other herds, they can get out on the roads, to be sure, with all the inherent inconvenience that brings.
To me, it's a wonder why they don't get out more frequently. The three or four strands of barbed wire should be good enough to keep them in, but when they want to get out—especially bulls-- nothing is going to stop them.
No even a calm, cool, collected human. Like someone else, other than me.
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