On an uncharacteristically warm day back in December, we (I use the term loosely) decided it was a good day to round up the cows for sorting. Me being the helpful wife that I am, kindly offered my expert services (insert sarcasm here). They being very, very desperate graciously accepted my offer.
Now we only had about 30 cows and calves, so it wasn’t like there was a huge herd to deal with. Not a problem. Right? Famous last words.
With just the three us, Alvin devised a plan to use all the work trucks to block off the way into the back pasture. My job was simple. Stand at the opening and if any cows came at me just try to shoo them back in the right direction. Also being the highly prepared person that I am, I grabbed a large stick for “just in case.” Bada bing and I’m ready.
So the men folk herd the cows toward the corral and I simply stayed out of the way. During this first grouping the cows split and half went into the corral and the other half tucked tail and darted back the other way. At this point I’m still on track with my job, and feeling pretty comfortable being a “cowgirl.”
As I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs I hear the sound of bovines thundering around the bend. Ok, here we go again. This time all the remaining cows get smart and trample into the corral. That is except for one little half deer/half crazy bull. I mean seriously he jumped the fence like it was nothing. This should have been a sign that things had taken a turn for the worse.
With this in mind, I decided that my little twig (because that what it looked like compared to this 1000lb bull) should be upgraded. And low and behold there on the ground about five feet away was an old broken gate. Just what I needed, a little metal courage. At this point I felt like I was ready to take this bull by the horns, so to speak.
After a little waiting I hear crashing through the woods and all kinds of hooting and hollering so I assume the position, squatting behind the truck so that I don’t spook this psychotic bull. Keep in mind I was told not, NOT to let any bovine creatures by me into the open pasture. Well I’m nothing if not a good listener.
Staying down in my bent position I couldn’t see what all was going on but I hear the rumble of his hooves and the boys start yelling at me so I assume it’s time for my precision cow guiding. I jump out ready, willing and oh my goodness he’s headed right at me! AAAHGHGHGHGHGH. Fight or flight? Fight or flight? Definitely FLIGHT!!!! I throw my metal courage down, find a dead end after I back pedal my way into the wheel well of the truck and barely turn when this mammoth bull taps my backside. The scent of freedom is enough temptation for him to decide “she’s not worth it” and take off for the open pasture. Whew, close call.
By the time I composed myself (i.e. stopped laughing at my idiocy) Bubbalicious and Alvin made there way over to me. Apparently my shriek of fear alarmed them a little (understatement). It turns out they were yelling at me, but not for what I thought. They were yelling for me to stay out of his way, because all the hollering I heard just before my one-bull stampede was Bubbalicious jumping behind the tree and Alvin taking a flying leap into the briar patch. Ooppsssiee daisy!
Needless to say our precision team work (again sarcasm) got the job done for the most part, but I did learn a very valuable lesson. Don’t wear shoes that you really like. Cow poop just doesn’t come out of some things.
So let me explain how I chose my name. See my boy Eli, (otherwise affectionately known as Mud Bug), he LOVES dirt! LOVES IT!!!!
Eli will spend hours on end playing in the garden
or his sand box
or on the job with his daddy! I don’t know that any thing can compare to playing in the dirt for my monster.
Now that I’ve explained you’re feeling guilty for judging me a gossip aren’t you? It’s okay, I totally forgive you (because I’ll tell you a little secret….I am…a little…but just a little gossipy).
So I’ll end it here for now, but ya’ll come back now, ya hear!
