Sometimes I am simply amazed at the things that farmers do. Mostly, I tend to look on in a "wow!" kind of way, but occasionally, it is a head shaking, "Huh???" kind of way. This was a "huh?" kind of day.
We had been super busy with the normal summer chores of clipping pastures, bushhoging pastures, cutting and baling hay,.... Yep. All the rain this summer has kept the guys busy riding around in tractors. While they were riding around they had noticed that one of the old cows had a sore foot. She limped along, looking miserable until they decided they had to do something for her. Not only was she uncomfortable, but a cow that can't walk also doesn't eat or drink. Cows wander the fields continually, munching here and munching there. Then, twice a day, they will go to find water. With a sore foot she didn't want to do all the walking required to maintain her health.
So the morning came when they decided to fix her up.
To make it easier on her, they decided to take the cattle trailer into the field, load her up, and haul her to the barn for treatment. That way she wouldn't have to walk so much. So they hooked up the trailer and bumped their way down into the field to where the cattle were grazing, hoping they would be able to walk her into the low back of the trailer. The cows, realizing that a trailer in their field wasn't normal and probably not a good thing, eased away. Son jumped out and attempted to herd the sore footed cow away from the others and back to the trailer. She just looked at him and stood perfectly still.
He went back to the truck and maneuvered the trailer closer to her. While he was doing that, she moved in another direction. He again tried to herd her and she just looked at him and stayed where she was. He started back to the truck to move lower into the field where he could trap her between the fence and trailer, when the heavens opened up and the rains started.
Aggravated and wet he decided it was time for reinforcements.
So back to the barn for Hubby and a rope halter. By golly, he would just drag her into the trailer. So now, in a steady downpour, they pulled the trailer back down into the field, backing as close to the old cow as they could. They laid their plans. They would converge on the cow and Son would halter her while Hubby attempted to hold her still. (A cow's neck is a mighty muscle!) "I've got her!" shouted Hubby as Son lunged for the head, only to miss when she swung Hubby and head around to the side. Shouts of , "Try again!" "Hold her still!" "What are you doing?", rang over the field.
Finally they had her haltered and Son grabbed the end of the halter and gave a mighty tug. The cow stayed still and son went sliding through the slick, wet grass. With a thud he landed at her front feet. She looked down at the muddy man lying on the ground in mild puzzlement. Rain still pelting down, both Hubby and Son grabbed the halter this time and gave a mighty heave. The old cow's neck stretched out and her front hooves dug into the ground. The men's smooth boot soles lacked her traction and they soon were losing ground sliding toward her, winding up nose to nose with the cow. She blinked and mooed softly. Cow-2. Men-0
Muddy, wet and disgusted they devised another plan. Instead of pulling, they would push. Approaching the other end, they placed their hands on her rump. She raised her tail suggestively and the men promptly decided on another plan! To keep them out of the line of fire, if she decided to use the ultimate weapon (there is nothing like loose manure from a cow on fresh grass!) they would sling a rope around her back end and use that to force her to the trailer. She watched them loop one end around the metal of the trailer, then sling the other around her. Just as they were ready to start applying pressure and pulling with all their might, she blinked, gave a little shake and walked placidly into the open trailer.
With rain running down their faces the two men watched as she gave them a slow cow smile and wink.
Cow-3,
Men sill 0.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
It's Showtime!
Early in the summer our stock barn became home to two new babies. The little grandsons had decided to try their hand at showing pigs. So with great pride they brought home Famous and Cruse, and ensconced them in the stall at the end of the barn. We all trooped down to view these latest additions to our farm family. We were all enchanted with the little fellows with their continual curiousity about everything and anything. With little grunts of excitement they would crowd up to their fence to greet the kids and dogs that wandered into their section of the world. It didn't take long before they had figured out that humans doled out scrumptous food and delightful scratches.
They spent their days contentedly stretched out with fans and a mister blowing cool moist breezes over their pen. When they were bored they occupied their time rooting up the clean, creamy wood shavings in their stall. To prevent them creating a mud hole the kids found a couple of old bowling balls for them to play with. I never figured out what game they were playing (pig soccer, maybe?) but they would spend hours pushing the big balls around their pen.
One afternoon, a friend had stopped by to drop off some supplies. We were standing on the porch when the grandsons arrived for evening chores with their pigs. Soon childish voices drifted up from the barn in excitement. Laughing, I turned to our friend and proclaimed, "You have timed it just right for the evening pig show! Pull up a chair and get ready to be entertained!" Puzzled, he looked at me for enlightment. "Just watch." I smiled as the barn doors creaked open.
Grunting and snorting, a fat, white pig popped out of the open door. Soon he was followed by his black and white pen-mate. With obvious enjoyment, the two pigs trotted out into the sunshine. Following close behind came two little boys each equipped with a small, white whip. The pigs wandered happily into the yard and began exploring the enticing smells emanating from the grass and flower beds. Nose to the ground, emitting happy little grunts they headed for the flower bed in the yard. "Don't let them root up the lilies", I shouted. The boys obediently began tapping the pigs on the rump with their little whips. The pigs snorted and moved on toward the house, leaving the lilies to live another day.
Obviously fascinated, our friend asked, "So, the boys guide the pigs by tapping on them to tell them which way to go?" "Well," I laughed, "that is the theory. The truth is the pigs pretty much go wherever they want to and the boys follow behind. As long as they get some exercise, everyone is happy." The pigs now were wandering around the storage building in the yard, heading for the garden. "Don't let them in the tomatoes!" I yelled, again. The boys obligingly ran between the pigs and the garden and headed them around the house.
"Do they ever run away?" queried the friend. "How do they catch them again?"
Chuckling, I replied, "Not a problem. The pigs are too smart for that. You see they really are smart--like George Orwell and Animal Farm smart. First of all, they lay around all day in the shady barn with a fan blowing cool air on them. They aren't about to leave to suffer in the hot sun with the other animals, so escape is never on their minds. Secondly, these pigs know that they get fed after they take their walk. So they will trot happily around the yard until they decide it's time to have supper. Then they will head for the barn, go to their pen, and put themselves up! Mission accomplished. The boys just follow along behind looking important."
Sure enough, about that time the pigs emerged from around the house heading toward the barn, picking up speed as they passed the porch again. Trotting behind, yelling encouragement, came the two small boys, pausing occasionally to "shoot" each other and imaginary squirrels with the whips. Soon all four had returned through the barn doors.
Still chuckling, the friend stood up and headed for his car. Shaking his head he waved as he drove off, probably thinking that he had just left Animal Farm for real.
Pig show was over.
They spent their days contentedly stretched out with fans and a mister blowing cool moist breezes over their pen. When they were bored they occupied their time rooting up the clean, creamy wood shavings in their stall. To prevent them creating a mud hole the kids found a couple of old bowling balls for them to play with. I never figured out what game they were playing (pig soccer, maybe?) but they would spend hours pushing the big balls around their pen.
One afternoon, a friend had stopped by to drop off some supplies. We were standing on the porch when the grandsons arrived for evening chores with their pigs. Soon childish voices drifted up from the barn in excitement. Laughing, I turned to our friend and proclaimed, "You have timed it just right for the evening pig show! Pull up a chair and get ready to be entertained!" Puzzled, he looked at me for enlightment. "Just watch." I smiled as the barn doors creaked open.
Grunting and snorting, a fat, white pig popped out of the open door. Soon he was followed by his black and white pen-mate. With obvious enjoyment, the two pigs trotted out into the sunshine. Following close behind came two little boys each equipped with a small, white whip. The pigs wandered happily into the yard and began exploring the enticing smells emanating from the grass and flower beds. Nose to the ground, emitting happy little grunts they headed for the flower bed in the yard. "Don't let them root up the lilies", I shouted. The boys obediently began tapping the pigs on the rump with their little whips. The pigs snorted and moved on toward the house, leaving the lilies to live another day.
Obviously fascinated, our friend asked, "So, the boys guide the pigs by tapping on them to tell them which way to go?" "Well," I laughed, "that is the theory. The truth is the pigs pretty much go wherever they want to and the boys follow behind. As long as they get some exercise, everyone is happy." The pigs now were wandering around the storage building in the yard, heading for the garden. "Don't let them in the tomatoes!" I yelled, again. The boys obligingly ran between the pigs and the garden and headed them around the house.
"Do they ever run away?" queried the friend. "How do they catch them again?"
Chuckling, I replied, "Not a problem. The pigs are too smart for that. You see they really are smart--like George Orwell and Animal Farm smart. First of all, they lay around all day in the shady barn with a fan blowing cool air on them. They aren't about to leave to suffer in the hot sun with the other animals, so escape is never on their minds. Secondly, these pigs know that they get fed after they take their walk. So they will trot happily around the yard until they decide it's time to have supper. Then they will head for the barn, go to their pen, and put themselves up! Mission accomplished. The boys just follow along behind looking important."
Sure enough, about that time the pigs emerged from around the house heading toward the barn, picking up speed as they passed the porch again. Trotting behind, yelling encouragement, came the two small boys, pausing occasionally to "shoot" each other and imaginary squirrels with the whips. Soon all four had returned through the barn doors.
Still chuckling, the friend stood up and headed for his car. Shaking his head he waved as he drove off, probably thinking that he had just left Animal Farm for real.
Pig show was over.
It's Showtime!
Early in the summer our stock barn became home to two new babies. The little grandsons had decided to try their hand at showing pigs. So with great pride they brought home Famous and Cruse, and ensconced them in the stall at the end of the barn. We all trooped down to view these latest additions to our farm family. We were all enchanted with the little fellows with their continual curiousity about everything and anything. With little grunts of excitement they would crowd up to their fence to greet the kids and dogs that wandered into their section of the world. It didn't take long before they had figured out that humans doled out scrumptous food and delightful scratches.
They spent their days contentedly stretched out with fans and a mister blowing cool moist breezes over their pen. When they were bored they occupied their time rooting up the clean, creamy wood shavings in their stall. To prevent them creating a mud hole the kids found a couple of old bowling balls for them to play with. I never figured out what game they were playing (pig soccer, maybe?) but they would spend hours pushing the big balls around their pen.
One afternoon, a friend had stopped by to drop off some supplies. We were standing on the porch when the grandsons arrived for evening chores with their pigs. Soon childish voices drifted up from the barn in excitement. Laughing, I turned to our friend and proclaimed, "You have timed it just right for the evening pig show! Pull up a chair and get ready to be entertained!" Puzzled, he looked at me for enlightment. "Just watch." I smiled as the barn doors creaked open.
Grunting and snorting, a fat, white pig popped out of the open door. Soon he was followed by his black and white pen-mate. With obvious enjoyment, the two pigs trotted out into the sunshine. Following close behind came two little boys each equipped with a small, white whip. The pigs wandered happily into the yard and began exploring the enticing smells emanating from the grass and flower beds. Nose to the ground, emitting happy little grunts they headed for the flower bed in the yard. "Don't let them root up the lilies", I shouted. The boys obediently began tapping the pigs on the rump with their little whips. The pigs snorted and moved on toward the house, leaving the lilies to live another day.
Obviously fascinated, our friend asked, "So, the boys guide the pigs by tapping on them to tell them which way to go?" "Well," I laughed, "that is the theory. The truth is the pigs pretty much go wherever they want to and the boys follow behind. As long as they get some exercise, everyone is happy." The pigs now were wandering around the storage building in the yard, heading for the garden. "Don't let them in the tomatoes!" I yelled, again. The boys obligingly ran between the pigs and the garden and headed them around the house.
"Do they ever run away?" queried the friend. "How do they catch them again?"
Chuckling, I replied, "Not a problem. The pigs are too smart for that. You see they really are smart--like George Orwell and Animal Farm smart. First of all, they lay around all day in the shady barn with a fan blowing cool air on them. They aren't about to leave to suffer in the hot sun with the other animals, so escape is never on their minds. Secondly, these pigs know that they get fed after they take their walk. So they will trot happily around the yard until they decide it's time to have supper. Then they will head for the barn, go to their pen, and put themselves up! Mission accomplished. The boys just follow along behind looking important."
Sure enough, about that time the pigs emerged from around the house heading toward the barn, picking up speed as they passed the porch again. Trotting behind, yelling encouragement, came the two small boys, pausing occasionally to "shoot" each other and imaginary squirrels with the whips. Soon all four had returned through the barn doors.
Still chuckling, the friend stood up and headed for his car. Shaking his head he waved as he drove off, probably thinking that he had just left Animal Farm for real.
Pig show was over.
They spent their days contentedly stretched out with fans and a mister blowing cool moist breezes over their pen. When they were bored they occupied their time rooting up the clean, creamy wood shavings in their stall. To prevent them creating a mud hole the kids found a couple of old bowling balls for them to play with. I never figured out what game they were playing (pig soccer, maybe?) but they would spend hours pushing the big balls around their pen.
One afternoon, a friend had stopped by to drop off some supplies. We were standing on the porch when the grandsons arrived for evening chores with their pigs. Soon childish voices drifted up from the barn in excitement. Laughing, I turned to our friend and proclaimed, "You have timed it just right for the evening pig show! Pull up a chair and get ready to be entertained!" Puzzled, he looked at me for enlightment. "Just watch." I smiled as the barn doors creaked open.
Grunting and snorting, a fat, white pig popped out of the open door. Soon he was followed by his black and white pen-mate. With obvious enjoyment, the two pigs trotted out into the sunshine. Following close behind came two little boys each equipped with a small, white whip. The pigs wandered happily into the yard and began exploring the enticing smells emanating from the grass and flower beds. Nose to the ground, emitting happy little grunts they headed for the flower bed in the yard. "Don't let them root up the lilies", I shouted. The boys obediently began tapping the pigs on the rump with their little whips. The pigs snorted and moved on toward the house, leaving the lilies to live another day.
Obviously fascinated, our friend asked, "So, the boys guide the pigs by tapping on them to tell them which way to go?" "Well," I laughed, "that is the theory. The truth is the pigs pretty much go wherever they want to and the boys follow behind. As long as they get some exercise, everyone is happy." The pigs now were wandering around the storage building in the yard, heading for the garden. "Don't let them in the tomatoes!" I yelled, again. The boys obligingly ran between the pigs and the garden and headed them around the house.
"Do they ever run away?" queried the friend. "How do they catch them again?"
Chuckling, I replied, "Not a problem. The pigs are too smart for that. You see they really are smart--like George Orwell and Animal Farm smart. First of all, they lay around all day in the shady barn with a fan blowing cool air on them. They aren't about to leave to suffer in the hot sun with the other animals, so escape is never on their minds. Secondly, these pigs know that they get fed after they take their walk. So they will trot happily around the yard until they decide it's time to have supper. Then they will head for the barn, go to their pen, and put themselves up! Mission accomplished. The boys just follow along behind looking important."
Sure enough, about that time the pigs emerged from around the house heading toward the barn, picking up speed as they passed the porch again. Trotting behind, yelling encouragement, came the two small boys, pausing occasionally to "shoot" each other and imaginary squirrels with the whips. Soon all four had returned through the barn doors.
Still chuckling, the friend stood up and headed for his car. Shaking his head he waved as he drove off, probably thinking that he had just left Animal Farm for real.
Pig show was over.
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