I Have No Words

Rest and Relaxation (or) I'm Getting Bored

I wish I had something to blog about, but all I’ve been doing is taking pictures of cows.  They are such obliging creatures - show them a camera and they fall all over themselves trying to be photogenic. Some fall a bit short of the mark, but you have to love them for trying.

The farm is quite a different place during the winter.  There is none of the urgency of the warmer months; all you have to do is feed and count the cattle every day and burn the brush piles you made last summer.  I’m not trusted to do any of those things, so I’ve been left to my own devices.  It’s been lovely - really, it has.

But I can only take so many pictures of cows.

Somebody please help me.

Snow Cows

Orange You Glad?

We took a long walk through the woods on the family farm while we were up north for the Ultimate West Virginian Wedding.  If you’re going to go on a long walk through the woods on the family farm, it would be smart to take along a couple of bags of carrots.  If when you run into the cows, one member of your party can throw carrots at the cows while the rest of you escape. 

Here’s The Man trying to convince Anemone that she should be the carrot-carrying member.  Anemone isn’t buying it.

I hate running into the cows in the woods.  First, they’re always surprised to see us there, and surprised cows are notoriously unpredictable.  Second, even when they’re not surprised, cows are big and nosey and not all that careful about where they step, so I always have to worry about my Goobs being stomped flat or pushed into one of the evil scrub thorn trees, losing an eye or two in the process.  To calm myself, I took a picture of these orange oak leaves.

We lucked out this time, and heard the cows coming for us (Moo!  Carrots!  Moooo!) soon enough to get up out of the woods and into the pasture.  Orange you glad?  I certainly was.  I was so relieved I took a picture of this sad orange cow.

She was sad because The Man ran out of carrots.  The Man ran out of carrots because Anemone decided she wanted to be the carrot-carrying member after all.  Stinker.

This is how I like my Goobers to feed our girls - from the relative safety of a stationary vehicle.  They’re always perfectly well behaved while The Goobs are feeding them the carrots, but when the carrots run out the cows start doing their little cow dance to earn more.  It’s a lovely dance, but as I said before, they’re not all that careful about where they step, and they don’t understand that if they trample the Carrot Bearers they’ll never get any more carrots.

They don’t understand this because Cows Are Dumb.

Got Milk?

Decisions, Decisions

It’s almost time for The Goobers to decide what to do with Puppy, their little steer.  They have several options, and they find each one as unsatisfactory as the last.

1. Sell Puppy at the sale barn and save the money for college.
2. Sell Puppy at the sale barn and spend the money on a heifer.
3. Sell Puppy to the family for food and either save or spend the money.
4. Keep Puppy forever and begin paying for his room and board.

The problem with selling Puppy at the sale barn is that Puppy is sure to die, and his last two days on earth will be terrifying.  The problem with selling Puppy to the family is that he is sure to die, and they are sure to have to eat him for dinner.  The problem with saving their profits for college is that they won’t have a chance of making any additional money; the problem with buying a heifer is that the heifer might die in labor and they’ll lose not only future profits but their initial investment.  The problem with letting Puppy live is that they’ll have to find a way to earn the money for his room and board because I won’t let them touch their college fund.

I don’t envy The Goobers.  They’ve got a lot of thinking to do. 

The Cow Whisperer

This is my latest project.  Her name is Jezzie and she is our most personable cow; she knows her name and loves to be scratched behind the ears, even without the promise of alfalfa pellets.  Poor Jezzie’s had a hard time of it; this year was her first time in labor, and things went bad.  She lost her calf.  We nearly lost her, but my dad was able to get her up and walking around.  (Great Granny Price always said that if you can get a cow on her feet she’ll be okay, and that looks to be true.)  Well, little Jezzie seems healthy enough, but since her ordeal she’s been shy and isn’t quite able to bring herself to get her ears scratched, not even for alfalfa pellets.  A few days ago, she would only just touch the tip of her nose to my outstretched fingers, but we’re already making progress - she let me chuck her under the chin this morning. 

Just call me the Cow Whisperer. 

All this cuteness is killing me.

Poor little Pickles hasn’t gotten so much as a taste of an alfalfa pellet yet because his mother is a shameful pig and hogs them all herself.  It is shocking.  The only thing keeping me from declaring her the worst mother in history is that she keeps him very clean.  He’s had more baths in two days than I’ve had in a year. 

I can’t imagine anything being able to keep clean on the farm right now; the whole place is a big soggy mess.  It’s hard to get around, much less get any work done, but there is always a silver lining - it’s a great time to burn a brush pile!  I know.  “Oh, boy,” you’re thinking.  “Burning a brush pile sounds so exciting.”  Well, you’ve never seen Cousin JimBob go at a brush pile with his blow torch.  That’s about as exciting as it gets around these parts.

So Sweet

This little guy is the cutest thing on the farm.  Look at those ears!  Those eyelashes!  That nose!  His name is Belvedere, but since I enjoy being contrary I call him Pickles.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to fall desperately in love with me - I’ve got a big bag of alfalfa pellets with his name written all over it.

cPride of Ownership

JellyMan and Anemone are the proud new owners of a steer.  His name is Puppy, and he likes green beans.  No, he LOVES green beans.  So does Uncle Bo, so they bicker a lot.