Once upon a time, not so many moons ago, I was roped into doing some chores for a relative. He had a gaggle of almost-grown chicks out in the cow pasture in a chicken tractor that he moved around every day to let the brand new chickens get used to life outside, while also keeping them safe from hawks and other unsavory characters.
One of my chores was to go out and feed and water those newly minted chickens thrice a day. This was my least favorite chore, because the chicken tractor was quite wide, but not very tall; more than adequate for a dozen or so chickens, but not so accommodating for a full grown girl.
Now, that was all well and good, but you see, these chickens were not alone out in that cow pasture. There were cows there as well! This may come as something of a shock, for, as we all know, cows are grade A escape artists.
Provided is a list of places one might safely expect to find a cow:
- In the road.
- In the garage.
- In the tool shed.
- In your yard.
- In your neighbor's yard.
- In your neighbor's tool shed.
- In your neighbor's corn field.
The astute reader will notice that cow pastures are not on the above list. This is not a coincidence.
However, despite the improbability, my relative had somehow managed to cow-proof his fences long enough to keep them in their designated pastures long enough for them to make my life thoroughly miserable.
You see, these cows (their names were Oakley and Remmington) had a grudge against humanity as a whole, and me in particular. Any time I tried to enter that pasture, they would rush for me, trying to corner me up against any available surface, be it fence, tree, or chicken tractor, and take by force anything I might happen to be carrying in my buckets, whether it was for them or not. (Spoiler: it was not. It never was. I fed them first thing in the morning in buckets attached to the fence so I couldn't be trampled. Anything I brought into the pasture in my own two hands was for the chickens. But did they care that they were depriving the chickens of their meal? Not they!)
I began to plot my chicken feeding expeditions with all the careful diligence of a general planning out an assault on enemy territory. I would wait until I saw them in a far corner of the pasture, arm myself with my buckets and sally forth at a dead run.
If I was lucky, I'd make it to the chicken tractor in time to duck inside and fill the feeders and waterers before the cows even knew I was there, and by the time they'd caught wind of my deception, I would be beating a hasty retreat, escaping their bovine clutches and live to fight another day.
If I was unlucky...
Oakley would catch up and pin the tractor door shut while I was inside and hold me hostage until I'd fling enough chicken feed out the mesh sides of the chicken tractor to distract her.
If I was really unlucky...
They'd catch me before I even reached the chicken tractor and spill my buckets, and I'd have to make the trip again knowing that this time they were waiting for me.
This only lasted for three days, but consider this, fair reader: I had to feed the chickens three times a day. Three times three is nine. (Aren't you proud of me? I managed some basic multiplication!) Nine times I went out into that pasture. Every time I set foot beyond the gate, I was taking my life into my hands. Truly, one of the more harrowing experiences of my life.
Then my relative returned form his sojourn in far off lands and asked, "Why didn't you feed the cows first and then feed the chickens while they were eating?"
And I realized that I was not cut out to be a farm girl.
Jump cut to the present day, where my family has made the ill-fated decision to get two Holsteins (pictured above). Elbi and Bibi may look very pretty and picturesque, to be sure, but they have murder in their hearts, and they have it out for yours truly.
Today, I decided I was going to be a big girl and take a walk through the 12 Acre Woods. But to do that, I have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death...pardon me, the cow pasture.
The Good Shepherd comforts the Psalmist with his rod and staff, so I decided to take a page from the bible (metaphorically speaking) and arm myself. Having found an adequate staff in one of the ever present brush piles that is a staple of every homestead, I once more took my life into my own hands and set forth in great fear and trembling.
The cows shook their heads, snorted angrily, stamped their hooves, and then both came galloping straight for me. Surely I was a goner. None could withstand such a charge!
I stood my ground and shook my newly acquired weapon in their general direction. It was like switch had been flipped. They both took one look at me and my cow-stick and halted their headlong charge, decided I was far too fearsome a foe and surrendered on the spot.
They really are sweet. Bibi's a bit shy, and won't say hello, but Elbi came right up to me once I offered a handful of grass, and let me pet her.
I think I'll keep a cow-stick on my person when I'm in the pasture, just in case. Cows can be sneaky after all! But maybe, just maybe, I've made some new friends?
