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Farm's bovine baby sitters sometimes wreaked havoc
Country Today ^ | 2-8-10

Posted on 02/08/2010 4:51:59 PM PST by SJackson

Cows aren't necessarily the most attentive baby sitters.

Dad had few other options, though.

As a divorced farmer with two young daughters, he had to be creative, juggling family time with chores.

My sister, Jess, and I didn't mind.

The farm was our playground, and it provided endless adventures.

Dad was often nearby, tinkering with a tractor or feeding or milking the cows, and he gave us free rein, as long as we stayed out of trouble - or at least didn't get caught.

He set only a few rules, one of the most important of which was that the old, crumbling silo foundation was expressly off limits.

Perhaps that's why we loved it so much.

My sister and I would climb up the scattered silo staves, challenging each other to test the limits of our balance.

Our silence was Dad's cue that we were up to no good, and he'd eventually track us down and chide us for our disobedience.

A bountiful supply of kittens kept us busy in the barn during milking time. In between readying cows and switching milkers, Dad patiently listened as we explained the complex reasoning behind the names we gave each of our beloved felines.

The orange and white kitten with mustache-like markings, for example, was dubbed Pierre because that sounded quite French, we decided. How we linked mustaches with Frenchmen is beyond me still to this day, but nevertheless Dad never failed to show the proper enthusiasm.

On some nights the two of us, exhausted from our day's adventures, would fall asleep in an empty straw-cushioned stall long before Dad finished milking.

As Jess and I grew older, we became the calves' caretakers.

It was then that Dad came up with his master plan. What better way for two youngsters to pass their time than to halter-break all the calves on the farm?

Soon Jess and I made a daily habit of leading our calves around.

Though they never entered a show-ring or set hoof near a county fair, I think they must have been the best-trained halter calves in the state.

Everywhere we went, it seemed there was a calf just a lead rope's length behind. Up the driveway, past the lilac bushes, around the field we went.

On a particularly mischievous summer day, we trained one bold little Holstein to climb up and down the porch steps. We nearly had the little heifer coaxed through the front door of the house before Dad caught us.

When I was about 6, Dad gave me my first calf. I named her Daisy and fell in love with her immediately.

I wanted to train Daisy to lead. She was the first calf I would train by myself. Most of them Dad or Jess had started for me.

A stubborn tomboy, I was certain I could handle the adorable little brute.

"Now, whatever you do, just don't let go of the rope," Dad had told me.

That sounded easy enough - until Daisy took off at warp speed.

I ground my rubber boots into the floor, scraping a trench in the floor lime as Daisy pulled me along.

Dad's words kept echoing through my mind, and I kept an iron-clad grip on the rope, as Daisy dove in the gutter, between and under cows and whirled around and around the barn, dragging me in her wake.

It took a while for his words to penetrate my concentration, but at last I heard Dad yelling, "LET GO OF THAT ROPE!"

Let go I did, as I landed in a terrified, defeated heap in the gutter.

While Daisy may have failed in her task of keeping me safely occupied, it's important to note that not one of the matronly cows lifted a single hoof as the chaos unfolded beneath, behind and around them.

Maybe they're not half-bad baby sitters after all.


TOPICS: Local News
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1 posted on 02/08/2010 4:51:59 PM PST by SJackson
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To: SJackson

A fun read!
Thanks


2 posted on 02/08/2010 5:25:52 PM PST by DUMBGRUNT (The best is the enemy of the good!)
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To: SJackson

I can relate to most of that! Growing up on a farm was a lot of fun! Thanks for the memories. :)


3 posted on 02/08/2010 5:32:34 PM PST by gardengirl
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To: SJackson

Great story, great read even for a city boy.


4 posted on 02/08/2010 5:40:49 PM PST by Cyman
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To: SJackson

A good laugh- especially because it is so true.


5 posted on 02/08/2010 8:00:38 PM PST by handmade
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To: SJackson
Calving Heartbreak

Baby calves, a poem I penned,To share my thoughts 'bout where and when'The calves are aborn and life beginsSo here's the story when it ends.My heifer now, near two years old,I'd kept to be my very own,A 'babydoll' we say, not to be sold,But kept as years unfold.And so nine months I watched with careAs birth approached, I was thereTo help, if needed, in travail,To push or pull, but not to fail,But bring the joy of birth to whereThere's a chance at life, a farmers' prayerPerhaps had it been a soft full moon, Which urged gestation sing its tuneWhere harsh headlights honned the gloomOf losing life; To lose too soon,The baby calf died. An I immuneTo senseless sorrow, wept insideThat I could not help.Well there it is, a ranchers' life. Of loss and gain, joy and strifeI am particularly sad my daughter saw,As Life struggled Death, its' story told Before her very eyes. She is too young. I've tried to guardFrom harsh life-lessons; Lifes' courtyard.It's life and death; No-holds-barred.It's right to say that livings' hard.So baby calves, they satisfy,You do your best and really try.But help alone can't satisfy,The Reaper comes, the Reaper's scythe,It cuts a swath, it takes a life,It's hard to try to clarify,Why baby calves make me laugh and cry.

Copyright Jan 16, 2006. Texas Songwriter.

6 posted on 02/08/2010 9:04:45 PM PST by Texas Songwriter
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