When I’m home and I go help Pops with the cows, I wear coveralls, a Carhartt’s hat, and mud boots (which are usually clumped with manure, but I pretend it’s mud).
This morning, Pops needed to go get a bale of hay from Randy’s for his steer (the one who tried to charge me yesterday), so I suited up in my Iowa gear and we tromped out to the barn. We grabbed some buckets so dad could refill the grain barrell since there’s some snow coming and threw ‘em in the back of the truck. The truck groaned and coughed to protest the cold (and it WAS cold) and soon we were off.
About twenty minutes later we had stabbed a big hay bale with the bale loader on Randy’s ancient tractor and were putzing up Center Point Road, belching exhaust toxins and gray smoke into the atmosphere. The bale we had picked was kind of lousy, too, and was moldy and kind of squishy looking, so Pops put it by the fence for the cows to eat first.
That finished, Pops climbed over the gate and plodded down to the shed in the pasture to give hay to the cows. I gamely swung myself over the fence and tromped along with him, now and then sinking into one of the numerous mole burrows and almost wiping out.
“Here,” Pops said once we were down there, “Take a bunch of this hay and go over there and feed 30. She’ll eat out of your hands.”
“OK!” I squealed, and grabbed an armful of hay and slowly walked towards 30. 30 was standing by two other cows, 24-25 and Red, and they looked at me suspiciously. Slowly, as 30 munched the hay I gave her and chewed her cud gracelessly, 24-25 moseyed her way over. She took a mouthful and chewed thoughtfully as she looked at me.
Red was still unsure if I was safe. She eyed me from a very, very safe distance and refused to come near. I edged closer to her and she took a hesitant nip of hay from my bundle.
“Dad, what’s Red’s number?” I asked.
“See any other red cows out here?” Pops asked.
“Um, no.” I said.
He was right, they are all black (or black and white) and Red is the only red cow. Apparently she needs no number.
Suddenly 30 thumped me in the backside with her nose, wanting more hay. 24-25 bonked me about the same time in the stomach, also wanting more hay. I doled out what I had left to them, and they were at peace with me once again.
Then I realized that it was after 9:00 and I was late to go have coffee with Sheri…so I ran upstairs and gave Sister the coveralls and mudboots.
Man, I love cows.
