Cowgirl antics
I took a tumble off our 4-wheeler the other day while trying to round up a stray cow. First off: how did those words just come out of my mouth? And second: I should not be allowed to round up stray animals. Ever. I’m just not cut out for the job.
Take, for instance, the snowy afternoon a couple years ago when I was picking my kids up from school and for some reason brought along our dog, Maggie. When I opened the car door, Maggie bolted out into the snowstorm and just kept running. I called for her, pretended I had doggie treats in my pocket, and chased her, but nothing worked. Finally, she came within grabbing distance, and I lunged for her collar…which made me slip and fall flat on my back…which made me—yes, you guessed it—wet my pants. It was so ridiculous, I’m not sure if I laughed or cried. But as soon as Maggie saw me on the ground, she ran right over to check on me like a good little doggie and I was able to grab her collar and get her safely in the car—my pride, dignity, and jeans significantly tarnished.
That should have been my first clue that animal-chasing isn’t my forte. But last week, I was the only one home when I looked out the kitchen window and saw one of our four cows on the wrong side of the fence, and his three cow compadres looking dangerously close to following suit. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that chasing four escaped cows is infinitely worse than chasing one escaped cow, so I knew I needed to get down there quickly before the situation escalated. I pulled on my muck boots and hopped on the 4-wheeler.
Now, I am not the most adept ATV driver even under the best of circumstances. So imagine the scene as I turned into the pasture and approached the belligerent cows, worried that at any moment they would decide to embark on a full-on rumspringa. I was flustered. I was in a rush. And I was therefore completely blindsided by the abrupt dip in the terrain that stopped my 4-wheeler short and sent me somersaulting over the handlebars and into the tall grass in front of me.
As I landed with a thud, I could hardly believe what had just happened. I don’t normally do things that cause me to get thrown off of other things. I’m cautious to a fault, and launching off a moving vehicle is not at all in my wheelhouse. But thankfully, although my arm and thigh were sore from hitting the handlebars on my way down, I wasn’t even hurt badly enough to cry—which is a shame, since I love a good cry.
Picking myself up and dusting myself off, I noticed my sunglasses on the ground and made a mental note to grab them before heading off to tend to the cow situation, but I was so flustered by my fall that I hopped back on the 4-wheeler and immediately ran right over them. See? I cannot emphasize enough how much I do NOT keep my cool under stress.
As dark purple bruises started to form on my arm and leg, I—much more cautiously now—managed to shoo the three cows away from the point of escape. But their runaway comrade was another story entirely. He was in a neighbor’s pasture, so I couldn’t get access to him with my 4-wheeler. I hopped the fence and tried herding him on foot, but that just made him run further away and also pointed out to me just how out of shape I am.
In the end, it was a bucket of grain that did the trick. “Shake a bucket of grain,” I remembered our rancher friend Todd once telling us, “and those cows will follow you anywhere.” I headed to the barn, filled up a bucket, and started yelling: “Here cow! Come and get it!” I shook that bucket of grain like I was Santa Claus with a handful of jingle bells on Christmas Eve. The escaped cow saw his friends inching towards the bucket of treats and started looking for a way back through the fence. “It’s over there, you dummy!” I yelled, pointing to the spot where he’d breached the fence in the first place. He pretended not to understand me. Finally, he figured out a way back into the pasture, and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that back-up—in the form of my two high-schoolers—would be home any minute. No more cowgirl antics for this bruised mama. I’m handing the reins over to the young ‘uns.