These are Cows

 These are not OUR cows. They belong to our neighbor.

I think her cows are pretty. I like the colors of them.

They tend to eat a lot, though!

A New Baby

Yesterday around noon, a cow had her calf near the house. I had noticed her out there by herself and was keeping an eye on her, but missed the actual birthing event.

Welcome to the world, little one!

Let's clean you up a little bit before we present you to the world.

It's your big moment. Are you ready?

Ta Da! I can stand up mamma! I can stand up!

Yippee! I can kick up my heels!

Now I do what mamma does!

Baby Calves

Moo!

Cows

The Escapee

Generally the cows stay where they are supposed to, inside the fence. They are not inclined to wander and have no need to, anyway. They have lots of water and grass, hay in the winter, and occasionally we feed them bread or donuts. What a life!

Occasionally, though, a young one will decide he wants the greener grass on the other side of the fence.

This morning I glanced out the front window just as a young steer weighing about 350 pounds moved past. He was following the fence in an effort to find his way back to his mother.

Our house sits in a U-shaped lot that has a fence running down both sides of the driveway, sort of like this: c=== . Once an animal gets in that pipeline of driveway, the choice is through the fence, into the road, or in the yard.

I don't care if a calf is in the yard but I do care if they get in the road. For one thing, I could get charged with a misdemeanor for letting the animal stray. For another, a car could hit it.

I raced out the front door and shouted "whooo calf!" at the little steer. He stopped, looked around, and then started toward me.

For a brief moment I thought I might be able to call him over to the other side of the house where the gate is located. But the steer had that look about him, the stance and the eyeballs that said, "One wrong move and I am outta here!"

Apparently I made that move, for he bolted, heading down the fence line toward the driveway and its pipeline to the road.

I ran back into the house and into the garage. I climbed in my car and hit the garage opener.

In the time it took me to do that, the calf was halfway to the road (and we have a very long driveway).

Of course if I moved forward slowly I would push the calf on toward the road myself, which I did not want to do. He was headed that way without my help anyway.

I called my husband on the cell phone, because of course any time a calf gets out and I need help there is absolutely no one around. He was at work and his parents were out of town for the day. "Get me some help!" I told him.

It is difficult to round up a calf by yourself. You have better luck with a whole herd, really. But one scared little calf that just wants Mama can be a handful. He said he'd make some calls.

I sat watching the calf as it moved toward the road. It was getting closer. I had to do something; I couldn't let the thing into the street.

I hit the gas and sped past the little bugger when it moved to the higher side of the driveway against the fence. Then I hit the brakes and turned the wheel so that the car would stop practically sideways.

That way the car would act as a gate while I ran my little escapee back up the way he came.

This I did, shouting, waving my arms, screeching and huffing and puffing (because it was all up hill) the entire time.

Finally he seemed far enough away that I thought I could get the car turned around and chase him the rest of the way up with the vehicle. No such luck. He came barrelling back down the driveway and I turned around and did the whole scenario again.

I thought briefly about standing in the road and asking one of the drivers of the cars whizzing by if they'd give me a hand. Ten years ago I might have done that but not in this day and age. I was afraid I'd get shot or run over.

Finally the calf headed back toward the house, and I turned the car around. As I followed him back up the driveway, beeping my horn at him if he stopped or seemed to want to turn around, I noticed a vehicle coming up behind me.

Our neighbor, who lives about a half block from my driveway (or would if we actually had blocks, which we don't), had heard my shouts and come to investigate. Bless his heart! Bob is a retired police officer who helps one of our neighbors on her farm all the time.

Once the calf was safely in the yard again, I stopped and went back to talk to Bob. He said he would run the calf back around the fence, so I raced through the yard to open the gate.

The calf nearly beat me there, but finally I let the gate swing open and my miscreant waltzed through and headed straight for his mother.

I was sweating. The front of my sneakers were soaked from the wet grass. The bottoms of my jeans were wet, too. I wasn't really dressed for company!

I thanked Bob profusely for his help and we chatted briefly before I went inside to call my husband and tell him the calf was back where he belonged.

And that is why my morning at my computer, which I had expected to start at 9 a.m., isn't starting until nearly noon.

Feeding the Cows

Bull Stuff

Yesterday morning as I began work a noise caught my attention.

It was a low rumble, so low in the bass that I felt it in my belly as much as heard it.

Ummmm. Ummm.

Whatever was that? I wondered. I listened a moment.

It was the bull.

I hurried outside to stand on the front porch because for the first time our bull and the neighbor's bull were in sight of each other. Our neighbor fenced off what used to be a hay field and moved her cattle over there.

In the fog and close early morning hours, the sound of the bulls bellowing at one another was echoing off the house.

Umm. Umm. They both made a very low guttural noise.

Our cows had all stopped eating and were looking at the two bulls. I was reminded of a schoolyard with two bullies going at each other while everyone else stood around and watched them fight.

Suddenly, one of the bulls could stand it no longer!

Miii...nee! Mii... neee! Miii...neee! If you've never heard an angry bull bellow, well. I can hardly describe it. Very loud, very angry and very constant for at least a full minute.

I don't know of course what the bull is "saying" if anything, but it certainly sounds like a very low "Mii...neee!" to me. As in, Mine, Mine Mine! My herd, my women, you get the #@$ away from here!

I was very worried that the electric fence, hot on both sides of the wires, would not be working properly and the animals would get at one another. But thankfully after a while the two males tired of their game and went on about their business.

I didn't get any pictures because it was damp and drizzling and they were not close enough to the house for me to take a shot without getting my digital camera wet, which I did not wish to do.

The Idiot Award

I gave myself an Idiot Award today.

Here's what happened.

My husband phoned before 9 a.m., mad as a hornet because a hot air balloon had drifted over the farm while he was trying to round up cattle to take to market.

The cattle stampeded and ran all over the place, causing him untold misery while he huffed and puffed and chased them every which a way. Hot air ballooning can be a problem sometimes for farmers.

He was not a happy camper.

When he called, he wanted the number of the county administrator's office so he could lodge a complaint.

"They're probably not in, today is a holiday," I told him. (This is very important to note for my Idiot Award.)

After listening to much muttering and fussing from him, I hung up the phone. I had to be at a ground-breaking ceremony for an article for the newspaper at 10 a.m. It was about a quarter to nine.

I decided to hustle to the newspaper office, which is five miles away (and in the other direction) to quickly take care of some business.

I breezed in the office just after 9 a.m. The editor was not yet in and I needed a word with him. I made some copies, bothered the typesetter, and then decided to leave.

I thought I'd go to the library and get a new book on tape.

I pulled in the library lot. Silly me. The library was closed.

Of course! It's a HOLIDAY.

What to do, what to do. I had 45 minutes to kill until I had someplace to be.

I know, I thought, I'll go to the grocery store and just not buy anything that needs refrigeration. So I sped down the road.

A few miles passed and I thought, Oh! I forgot the checks I need to put in the bank! I'd better do that.

So I turned down a road that would take me back towards my house, and off I went to home. I had just enough time, I thought.

I raced in the house and began filling out the bank deposit slips. As soon as I dated the form, I realized ... the banks are closed.

IT IS A HOLIDAY.

(I realize I could have used the ATM but I am old fashioned in that way. Don't use the ATM, don't pay the bills online. Hard to change my ways.)

So. By this time I was pretty sure I had the Idiot Award sewed up.

I hustled off to my ground-breaking, took my pictures, talked to the folks. Headed back home, stopped by the grocery, ran through there quickly.

I was home by lunch time.

My husband came in, still muttering about the hot air balloon. He asked about my morning and I told him, somewhat exasperated, about my forgetting about the holiday.

Then, as he was leaving, I reminded him to check the mail.

He looked at me funny. "The mail doesn't run today," he reminded me.

IT IS A HOLIDAY.

At that point, I gave myself the Idiot Award, and he laughed at me.

I laughed too. What else was there to do?

Tuesday

On Sunday, as I headed out for breakfast with a friend, I spied a hot air balloon crossing a corner of the farm.

The cows were all huddled in the barn. Hot air balloons scare them. Sometimes it makes them stampede.

I did not call the law - it doesn't do much good, anyway - but it is a frustration. After all, if the cows run, scared, and break a leg, I'm the one with the loss. I did call my father-in-law, because it is his land, after all, because I thought the balloon might land in the field. The balloonist has no permission to do that.

But he landed elsewhere.

Unbenownst to me, Santa Claus was in the balloon, along with a TV crew.

****

My brother called me today. He is out of the hospital and his tests did not reveal any problems with his heart. Stress or reflux or both seems to be the diagnosis. He said he has a bad headache because they gave him nitro.

****

I spent part of the morning in jail. Well, not really. I toured the new jail under construction in Fincastle. It is a huge structure.

I went in one of the cell spaces. The cells are about 12 feet by 7 feet and very dark. There are no windows in this place, aside from some skylights. Each cell will hold two people and a toilet when it is done.

I would not want to spend much time in such a place. To never see the daylight, the grass, the fields, the trees. My gosh. I don't think I could stand it. It was bad enough when I had an inside office with no windows when I worked in a lawfirm in Roanoke so very long ago.

The United States puts more people behind bars than any other nation. You can read about this here. This is big business and I suppose an economy-builder. After all, our county is spending $20 million to build this jail; I saw what looked like 100 men on the construction site.

But I am not sure what it says about us as a country, that we put so many people in prison. Something like one person out of every 32 people has a criminal record of some kind. Which averages out to about one child per every classroom, more or less. It's rather mind-boggling.

I think it's sad that people can't behave themselves and thus end up in the court system, but I also think this kind of thing is a telling sign that we as a society are not doing something quite right. I don't know what it is we're not doing, though.

Tired now. I must be thinking too much.