Sunday, August 21, 2011

He Wouldn't Have To Get His Legs Wet....

Deb's dad - Robin - has always told us the stories of when he had a milk cow when Deb was little.

Every morning, he'd get up early, trudge out through the dew wet - and thigh tall - grass, to get the cow into the barn for milking. Every morning it was the same thing - the cow was about as far from the barn as she could get (cows KNOW it bugs people, so they do it on purpose...), Robin would go out to get her, and come back soaked to practically the waist. He'd have to do chores, in addition to milking, then go back into the house, eat breakfast, then change clothes to go to work.

Evidently this got tiring, because the cow soon left for "greener pastures", and was replaced by goats....

When Robin was here on our Hillbilly farm this month, he had to trudge out to get the cows from the pasture and - most of the time - he had to go way out to the farthest point away from the barn to get them. All the way calling "Here, Bos, Here Bos...!"

Unfortunately, cows don't speak Latin (Bos Taurus is Latin for "cow"), so they just looked at him and flickered their radar around, wondering who this new Hillbilly was, and why he was speaking a foreign language to them.

After a few days, the bovine figured out what he wanted, and that it involved food, so they were more willing to walk back to the barn for him.

My grass isn't near as tall as it SHOULD be this year, so he didn't get wet to his gills, but it sure reminded him of his days with the old cow back in the early 1970's - and affirmed his reasoning as to why they got milk goats. Goats are usually waiting at the door when food is involved.

Well, Robin left earlier this week, so Deb and I have had to get the chores done around here together. I must say, I know Deb doesn't particularly LIKE doing them, but together, we can be done in an hour, where it takes me almost 2. She's a great wife, and a game trooper when it comes to doing while I can't.

Anyhoo - since Robin left, we've been milking a little later then he did - not a whole lot, just a 1/2 hour or so.

Well, them butter-cows seem to know when they should be fed, and get up from their nightly chewing of the pasture, and mosey toward the barn without help. Every morning since, I've stood out on the back porch, and called them by name ("Here, Daisy...Here, Mabel...Here, Honey..."). Pretty soon, we see them making their way toward us, then turning to follow the fence.

The most I've had to walk out and get them was about 50' from the big gate at the top of the hill. Since all of the way was mowed grass, or cow path - I BARELY got my SHOES wet, let alone anything any higher!

It just proves that my cows don't need no fancy-smancy "furin" Latin language to come to breakfast. Daisy is always in the lead. When she hears the word "Hungry?", she comes running.

Of course, I don't ALWAYS speak English to the cows - Stew and Clover answer to a DIFFERENT call....

I bleat like a goat, and they come running. They've lived with goats for so long, they think they ARE goats!

We just hope the cows continue to come when called so we don't need to trudge out through the wet grass....

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