I live on a farm. I have done my share of teasing city kids. No more. Where did this insight come from you ask? Well, let me tell you...
When I say I live on a farm I mean it. We have cows, horses, grain, dogs, cats, the whole shebang. But unlike normal farmers that ship aged cows off to be hamburger we keep the old girls around until the pass away. Seriously. The cows are all almost older than me. That's really old for a cow. With this policy we naturally see more cow health problems than we would if we ran a younger generation. Arthritis is an issue. Sudden, random, semi-temporary paralysis is also an issue. As in, it has happened twice in the last year and a half.
The first instance was Buttercup, whom I felt very sorry for until she suddenly lost her paralysis to become a wild face butting cow demon from Hades. I was fine with her when she whipped her head into my leg and made it numb for hours. It was the same with my arm. I shouldn't have been so close, right?
I guess in a way it was my fault really. I had severely hurt my shin tripping over a well, trying to run from a skunk about fifteen minutes earlier. I should never have went near her with the scent of blood in the water as it were. She sensed my weakness. She lunged from a laying position as I filled her water, catching my chin with a perfectly executed cow head upper cut that left my jaw dislocated and me very stunned and stumbling for a few minutes. I didn't fall though! I didn't even go to the hospital because I was concerned they would wire my jaw shut and I wanted to go see Boyfriend without being hampered by that pesky thing called helaing properly. Yeah. I'm pretty BA.
Though when dad asked me to recreate it so he could put it on YouTube I mutely shook my head as I stared at him in concussion induced stupor. Never. Again. Well, Buttercup passed away a few days later with my mom
mourning over her poor baby. The danged cow loved her and would lick her all over. The other cows lined up for their customary funeral procession, and within a few weeks life returned to the insanity we call normal.
Fast forward a bit to this summer. We have a lake. We have a hot cow. We have a hot cow stuck in a lake. I wasn't home, but the story must be told for posterity. We had just had seven inches of rain. The lake was
knee high as dad fought valiantly through the water to rescue the cow, Bessie. As he neared her and maneuvered to begin cow tipping, pushing her up he fell. Down, down, down through the stinky muck. Suddenly he was chest deep in the water and staring up at the side of a cow in a very precarious position. If she fell he would drown. Fear ate at his insides, but he fought it courageously. He would save this cow. He clawed his way through the gooey mud and wrestled the sling onto herwith God granted strength and perseverance. By the grace of good Lord, and the help of a Ford tractor, the cow was saved and pulled ashore. She head butted dad for his trouble, and proceeded to lick mom. This happened three or four times. Well, dad knew how to avoid the giant hole, so they weren't identical, but you get the picture.
This weekend good ole Bessie was down again. She wasn't in the lake this time, but she was wedged very near to the electric fence which was definitely hot when I inadvertently touched it while holding a metal chain and some metal pieces for the sling. Ow. Well, it was mom and dad's anniversary (28 years!) so dad and I hurriedly rolled her into the sling, which wasn't so bad because she was trying to stand up to presumably attack dad with her face so her body wasn't touching the ground most of the time, and proceeded to carry her up to the house and prop the front end loader of the tractor up with a large wooden post to keep her up and let blood return to her legs.
A few hours later and she was grazing happily without the support of the sling. She looked so good that my parents decided to let her loose. The next day she was down again and was less than cooperative. We got her
up briefly, but she didn't seem interested in doing anything more than hanging in the sling, chewing cud, taking a few bites of grass, and mooing plaintively. So we let her lay down again. Then the unthinkable happened. I
needed to use the tractor for something else.
Mom and I looked at her. Poked at her. Petted her. She mooed back. What to do? What to do? We tried to rock her so that we could get the sling better positioned. Which means that I tried to rock her while mom sang a round of "Don't rock the cow. Don't rock the cow, baby. Don't rock the cow. You'll tip the cow over." Cow rocking, tipping, cow moving period is damn near impossible when they do not want to help you. Cows are quite dense and frankly intimidating when you are concerned that ever move of their head is going to leave you with some sort of paralysis or dislocation. I'm not nearly as good as I used to be. Darn you Buttercup.
Anyway, after looking the situation over mom and I decided to wedge square bales between Bessie's legs so that
she could get blood flowing to her extremities. We lifted her up, wedged the bales in, lowered her down, unhooked her, and watched in horror as she started sliding off the bales. Heck. We grabbed posts and propped
her up. Would it hold? Could I possibly feed fast enough? I rushed to the tractor, sat down in a seat full of water and began my rounds in a rush. The other cows mooed angrily at me as I tried desperately to cut bale strings in the twilight. One bale down. She was still wedged up on her hay bale throne grabbing bites of alfalfa from between her front legs. Two bales down. Was she sliding? Did she look nervous or was it just dark? Third and final bale down. Yup, she slipped. We have a cow down. Mayday. Mayday. B1 is down. I repeat B1 is down.
Mom and I looked at her, contentedly chewing her cud and decided to leave her until today. Today we will try cow tipping and propping again.Maybe this time we will succeed. Maybe this time we will triumph over Bessie's blatant indifference to ever walking again. I'm not holding my breath though.
In conclusion: Cow Propping. Hardest sport, EVER.
*No cows were harmed during the duration of this story. Except maybe their pride. Nope, definitely their pride. Her pride is now irreparably damaged.
** We really do love all of our animals, and despite the dramatic storytelling, we provide them with the highest level of care possible. Bessie has pain killers and medical treatment. She has not been neglected in any way. She has been allowed to live life as a cow, and I'm not an expert on what a fulfilling life would be for a cow, but she has had what we consider to be a full life with lots of love, grass, hay, and freedom. She is currently experiencing "cow hospice," and aside from being photographed on her throne, is treated with the love, respect, and dignity she deserves.
No comments:
Post a Comment