July 19, 2001 ~ Cows don't have the brains
God gave a turnip. And if you are thinking that God didn't GIVE turnips any brains, well, there you have it. Right you are. Cows are sweet things, dear things, funny old silly animals, but one thing they aren't... is smart. I have yet to meet an intelligent cow. Do they feel that way about us, I wonder? Do they stand around at night, snickering and telling stories about the goofy things their people do?
Yesterday morning the cows decided it was high time they changed pastures. Now, there was plenty of grass in the pasture they were in, but no, when you are a cow (and, I suppose, when you are a human), the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Well, duh. So they gathered round at the gate, mooing loudly at me, as if I hadn't quite gotten the hint. Being an agreeable sort of cow mom, I opened the gate and let them into the pasture of their choice, counting heads as they ambled by. One short.
That silly Bertha Marie had left her brand new baby behind, had run to the greener grass without so much as a thought of her newborn calf. Sooooo, I clomped out into the pasture to find the calf, mumbling and muttering about stupid cows. One can't run while wearing dork boots. "Dork boots" are rubber boots -- Karen calls them gumboots -- which are fine for plodding through manure-strewn pens, but don't work so great for chasing after baby calves. The little heifer finally stood up when she saw me coming, and took off at a dead run; she didn't know where she was going, but was pretty sure she should try to find her mother. I clomped and tromped and tried to keep up with the calf, all the while grumbling...
"I have to go to a funeral, little calf, and I don't have time for another shower. PLEASE go through the gate; please, please, please!"
And incredibly, she went through the gate. New calves usually go through the barbed wire fences for several weeks after they are born, not quite grasping the concept of gates, but this time I got lucky. Whew.
In the back pasture was a big old moldy bale of hay, about 1200 pounds of it. We had spread some of it on the hillside leading down to the small pond, to try to stop the erosion. You spread out old hay, which is full of seeds, and in theory the old hay provides a mulch for the seeds until they grow and take hold. Maybe this works for people without cows, but it has NEVER worked for us. You would think we would remember that, and would give up on it, but no... it goes back to that theory of the cows standing around at night, laughing and talking about how dumb their people are.
This is nasty hay. Black on the inside. It got wet, just about the time that the grass started growing in the pastures, so the cows and horses abandoned it and wouldn't finish that bale, which then got moldier and moldier. So we spread it on the hillside, thinking that if they wouldn't mess with it before, why would they mess with it now? Because they are COWS, that's why.
They had just gone into this pasture filled with beautiful, green bermuda grass, and yet they ran through the grass and ran straight for the hay by the pond. I even went out there and tried to run them off, but they have the advantage on a hill, you see. They have four legs and are much more sure-footed than I am, and while I managed to chase some of the cows away, the bull had his hooves firmly planted in the hay on the hill. Wherever Henry wants to stand, Henry stands.
This would all be akin to living in a house with a refrigerator jam-packed with all kinds of delectable treats and goodies, and someone dumps a load of garbage in your front yard, but instead of being angry, you run out there with your plate and your utensils, ready to dive right in and eat!
Well, that's a cow for you. This morning I was shocked to see that most of that big old bale was gone.
"How on earth...?" I wondered. How had they eaten so much so quickly?
I looked at the little pond, scanning the surface for the mama duck and her little brown babies, and I saw... something. The babies were standing on something in the water... at first glance I thought it was a dead cow. But (you have probably already figured this out; I myself am a bit slow) it was the bale of HAY. How had those goofballs managed to roll that bale of hay down the hill and into the water? I suspected Henry had a lot to do with it. He likes to bop the hay around, I guess it's a fun thing to do if you're a bull. Like hitting a punching bag, perhaps. But there was the hay in the pond, the top jutting upwards like an island, and the ducklings were standing there on the hay, happy as could be.
Alrighty then. So it worked out after all. Maybe the cows knew just what they were doing, and they planned to give those baby ducks a safe place to sleep at night, where they wouldn't have to worry about coyotes or foxes or neighbor's dogs.
You never know.
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