For the Love of Cows

My main competition for hubby's affections has always been a  lovely lady with dark hair and soft brown eyes.  Or more correctly, a herd of them.  You see my hubby  loves his cows.  During my pregnancy with our son, I was a little apprehensive of the coming birth, he reassured me that "his girls just popped them out with no hysterics".  I knew then that when the time came, I'd better make sure none of his "girls" needed him or he'd figure that the doctor and I could handle it without him.

He is an excellent cattleman.  He seems to know intuitively when one of his animals is sick, off their feed, or just needing a little extra care.  They, in turn, seem to know that they can trust this human to take care of them.  They allow him to walk among them with no excitement only mild curiosity as he goes about his daily chores.  I have on occasion caught one of his ladies look at him with gentle reproach in her eye as he gives her a vaccination, as though to say, "I thought better of you than this.". 

He works unstintingly to see that they are well cared for.  That means hours of fencing, moving hay rings, putting up hay, mixing feed, getting cattle up for health checks, long nights attending births, feeding, and sorting and weaning calves. He enjoys it. However, there are two things that he doesn't like.  He hates to get up in the morning and feed (actually, he just hates to get up in the morning) and he hates the cold and mud.

He solved the first problem by involving the kids early on in the cattle program.  Before they knew it they had show calves in the barn requiring feed, morning and night.  To build their character and teach them responsibility, (he said), they were in charge of getting up and feeding their animals before school.  Then since they were already in the barn, (he said with an inward smile), they might as well dump the feed for the cows while they were there.  Each morning as the kids went through the kitchen to go feed, I would punch hubby as he lay in his nice warm bed and hiss, "I can't believe you let them go do that while you are still in bed!".  He would just smile and say it was good for their character.

Unfortunately, kids tend to grow up and leave home.  So the morning chores became his again.  Soon he was improvising ways to avoid getting up.  He started by "oversleeping" and would plead as he rushed out to the office, "It's all ready.  All you have to do is dump the buckets in the troughs."  We went from oversleeping to 8 am appointments to "you can do it on your way out for your walk".   Soon I was the one dumping the feed every morning for his ladies. 

This continued sporadically (he would graciously offer to feed for me if I had an early morning appointment or when I occasionally would rebel) until our son moved back from Oklahoma with his family.  Then hubby cheerfully turned the morning feeding back over to him.  However, the night time feeding has always been his.  He loves the quiet time in the evening when he can walk over his land and relax with his girls.  There is nothing like a soft spring evening to make you realize that farming is worth all the hassle.  Unfortunately, cattle don't just eat in the spring and summer. 

In Kentucky, the advent of cool weather usually means rain.  Sometimes, like this past week, lots of rain.  If you combine cattle and rain you get copious amounts of mud.  Deep mud that pulls at each step until you feel like you are dragging the whole farm on your feet.  Slippery mud that makes each movement a challenge in balance and gymnastics.  Splashy mud that manages to cover you from head to toe.  Mud that is soon on every tractor seat, covers every gate latch, and that I mop out of the "mud" room by the bucket.  Hubby hates mud.

Last week during the deluge he squished into the house with a sting of muttered curses.  "What happened!" I inquired, spotting his glowering visage and the liberal covering of mud.  "My boot stuck in the mud!  Then my foot came out and now even the inside of my boot is full of mud!!"  (not to mention my utility room). " I have half a mind to quit!" he roared.

"I have the perfect solution", I said.  "Let's buy calves in the spring, raise them all summer, sell them in the fall.  Then go to Florida for the winter."

He blinked slowly, then responded, "It's going to start drying up tomorrow and spring isn't far off".

Oh, well, I tried.