Dec. 29, 2002 ~ Sunday
The cold air seeps right through or right past the windows, and I can feel the chill wind. The wind chimes dance, further evidence of the breeze. Housecats both sit with paws tucked underneath, tails curled tightly around their bodies. Baby, it's cold out there! And here I sit, coughing up a storm, eyes blurry, SO not wanting to go outside. But everyone is giving me looks; hungry, grumpy, accusing looks. Cows, cats, and horses, they're all getting across the idea that they are hungry and I'm falling down on the job.
Couple of years back we had a bad drought, and resorted to putting the three horses in the yard to graze. I'd be sitting at the computer in my bedroom and would look up to find three big babies standing right outside the window, staring intently. I'd walk to another part of the house and they would follow, going from window to window, peeking in. I had to shoo them off the back porch and close the curtains, out of fear they might try to come through the sliding glass door (never realizing that it was glass). So they went to the front porch, lined up and stared. Clearly, they wanted in. Or maybe they just wanted carrots, who knows. But all of the outside babies seem to know where the food people stay, and they all look towards the house. Sometimes I can go to the back door and look out, to find them all looking IN. When they see me, there's a resounding chorus of "Mooooo!" And "Ruh huh huh." That last one is horse talk, though I've never seen it written that way anywhere. Our horses do say that, though... "Ruh huh huh."
We usually call the cows to dinner, with a simple, dorky yell. They hear that certain sound and they come running from everywhere. From the woods, the back pastures, all over. Sometimes they will just hear us putting their food in the troughs, and that will do the trick, too. Here they come. Other people train their cows to come when they honk their trucks' horns. Some might ring a certain bell. But we never did those things, and I have no voice, cannot speak at all, so this presents a dilemma at the cows' dinner time. They DO come to the cries of "Kitty, kitty!" but that's out, too. Clapping my hands doesn't seem to work. Clanking the gate doesn't help. Yesterday there were maybe 4 or 5 who wouldn't come out of the woods, and I couldn't think of a way to call them. Finally, I went to the trough (where Husband, wanting to spare my back, had already placed the food) and kind of stirred it around. Made as much noise as possible. THAT did the trick, and the moo-kids came running.
They're all standing out there by the back gate now, wanting their hay, and if I were a good cow mom, I suppose I'd get out there.
Well.
I can't stand those dirty looks a moment longer. I'm coming, I'm coming!
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