Any chore Bill asks me to do with an explanation that begins “All you have to do is…” and ends with “…Should be a piece of cake!” is a potential farm fiasco. I learned this the hard way—no surprise!—a few years ago. The chore he assured me would take only twenty minutes morphed into an epic adventure of over two hours! This saga, “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie,” became one of the longest chapters in my book. Here’s a shortened version of what went down then.
It was November. Bill was working cattle and hauling them to the ranch where they would spend the winter. I was still working full-time and not yet a Cattle-Working Apprentice. These were his instructions for the chore he asked me to do late one afternoon:
“I need to load out the cows and calves in Bobbie’s pasture first thing tomorrow morning, but I can’t load from Bobbie’s so they need to be moved over to John’s pasture. Take the little truck and go over to John’s pasture. Drive to his back fence and go through the little gate to Bobbie’s pasture and look for the cows and calves. They’re probably at the bale feeder by the pond. Rattle a bucket of range cubes to get their attention, and when they start to follow you, drive the truck back through the little gate. Once they’re all in John’s pasture, shut the gate and you’re done. Should take about twenty minutes max. Piece of cake!”
Then he added, “Oh, and take a five-gallon bucket of grain. When the first few cows go through the gate to John’s pasture, dump grain on the ground to keep them occupied so they won’t be tempted to go back through. Then grab the bucket of range cubes, walk back to Bobbie’s pasture and round up any stragglers.”
Twenty minutes, huh? I loaded the two buckets in the back, Cricket jumped in the cab to ride shotgun and off we went.
I’d been to these pastures previously with Bill to check cows and calves, but never on a solo mission. Plus, I’d never herded more than one or two cows by myself. Supposedly simple tasks were about to become monumental obstacles.
There were gates, three of them. Two were heavy tubular steel swing gates that I lugged open and shut to enter John’s pasture. The third gate that Bill referred to as the “little gate,” the one between the two pastures, was a bona fide antique: four strands of barbed wire strung between three small hedge posts. Here’s a picture of a similar gate in one of our pastures. This gate has fence stays instead of hedge posts to keep the barbed wire from sagging.
It was November. Bill was working cattle and hauling them to the ranch where they would spend the winter. I was still working full-time and not yet a Cattle-Working Apprentice. These were his instructions for the chore he asked me to do late one afternoon:
“I need to load out the cows and calves in Bobbie’s pasture first thing tomorrow morning, but I can’t load from Bobbie’s so they need to be moved over to John’s pasture. Take the little truck and go over to John’s pasture. Drive to his back fence and go through the little gate to Bobbie’s pasture and look for the cows and calves. They’re probably at the bale feeder by the pond. Rattle a bucket of range cubes to get their attention, and when they start to follow you, drive the truck back through the little gate. Once they’re all in John’s pasture, shut the gate and you’re done. Should take about twenty minutes max. Piece of cake!”
Then he added, “Oh, and take a five-gallon bucket of grain. When the first few cows go through the gate to John’s pasture, dump grain on the ground to keep them occupied so they won’t be tempted to go back through. Then grab the bucket of range cubes, walk back to Bobbie’s pasture and round up any stragglers.”
Twenty minutes, huh? I loaded the two buckets in the back, Cricket jumped in the cab to ride shotgun and off we went.
I’d been to these pastures previously with Bill to check cows and calves, but never on a solo mission. Plus, I’d never herded more than one or two cows by myself. Supposedly simple tasks were about to become monumental obstacles.
There were gates, three of them. Two were heavy tubular steel swing gates that I lugged open and shut to enter John’s pasture. The third gate that Bill referred to as the “little gate,” the one between the two pastures, was a bona fide antique: four strands of barbed wire strung between three small hedge posts. Here’s a picture of a similar gate in one of our pastures. This gate has fence stays instead of hedge posts to keep the barbed wire from sagging.
Opening the gate wasn’t too difficult. The challenge was closing it. I had to pick up the end post and drag the gate across the opening, pull it tight, position the bottom end of the post in a wire loop near the ground, then pull the post even tighter and muscle the top loop down over the top end of the post. The first picture below shows a gate post on the left and a fence post on the right. The second pic shows the bottom wire loop and the third pic, the top loop.
I struggled with this gate not just once but twice because, after the cows and calves were transferred from Bobbie’s to John’s, I didn’t realize until we were more than halfway across John’s pasture that two calves were missing. I had counted cows, but the herd headed across the pasture before I could count calves. This meant going back to the other pasture to find the calves who probably realized they were alone and frantically searching for their mamas, aunts and cousins. Then I had to herd the panic-stricken little calves to the gate, through it and toward the rest of the cows and calves. The sun had set and dusk was rapidly changing to dark. When I tried to find the lever to turn on the truck lights, I washed the windshield instead!
There were other obstacles: A deeply rutted area in my driving path that, if not navigated carefully and with four-wheel drive finesse, would result in getting high-centered. Four-wheel drive is useless if the tires don’t touch the ground. On one trip through this area, referred to in my book as the “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” I dropped the front end of the truck into a hole. In attempting to engage four-wheel drive I pulled up on the emergency brake lever instead, then couldn’t figure out how to disengage it. Blaspheming ensued!
After I fought with the old gate and navigated through the “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” the cows found the buckets of the left-over grain and range cubes in the truck bed and ransacked it, upsetting the buckets, rocking the truck and making me run a bovine gauntlet to get in and out of the cab.
That epic adventure, which started out as a “piece of cake” and quickly degenerated into a piece of…um…cow pie, was a defining moment—a two-hour moment—in my life as a farm wife.
Fast-forward to this year. Late the afternoon of the first day of working cattle, as Bill was leaving for the ranch with a trailer-load, he stopped and asked me, “Can you run over to John’s and Bobbie’s pastures and move the cows and calves so I can load them from John’s tomorrow morning?” Again, the instructions started with “All you have to do is…” and ended with “…Should be a piece of cake!” There it was: “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie” déjà vu!
The instructions were mostly the same as before. But this year’s potential epic adventure rerun would be simpler. Bill had replaced the barbed wire gate with a hinged one made of tubular steel with a chain and clip fastener, similar to the one pictured below.
There were other obstacles: A deeply rutted area in my driving path that, if not navigated carefully and with four-wheel drive finesse, would result in getting high-centered. Four-wheel drive is useless if the tires don’t touch the ground. On one trip through this area, referred to in my book as the “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” I dropped the front end of the truck into a hole. In attempting to engage four-wheel drive I pulled up on the emergency brake lever instead, then couldn’t figure out how to disengage it. Blaspheming ensued!
After I fought with the old gate and navigated through the “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” the cows found the buckets of the left-over grain and range cubes in the truck bed and ransacked it, upsetting the buckets, rocking the truck and making me run a bovine gauntlet to get in and out of the cab.
That epic adventure, which started out as a “piece of cake” and quickly degenerated into a piece of…um…cow pie, was a defining moment—a two-hour moment—in my life as a farm wife.
Fast-forward to this year. Late the afternoon of the first day of working cattle, as Bill was leaving for the ranch with a trailer-load, he stopped and asked me, “Can you run over to John’s and Bobbie’s pastures and move the cows and calves so I can load them from John’s tomorrow morning?” Again, the instructions started with “All you have to do is…” and ended with “…Should be a piece of cake!” There it was: “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie” déjà vu!
The instructions were mostly the same as before. But this year’s potential epic adventure rerun would be simpler. Bill had replaced the barbed wire gate with a hinged one made of tubular steel with a chain and clip fastener, similar to the one pictured below.
He also had bladed and smoothed the hazardous rutted area.
When I arrived at the new gate between the two pastures, the cows and calves were all near the fence. I shook the bucket of range cubes and they came running, including all the calves. No stragglers. As per instructions, I led them across John’s pasture to the catch pen, poured grain in the feed bunk and tossed flakes of hay on the ground. Bill would come over the next morning and call them back to the catch pen. Expecting to be fed, they would respond with great gusto!
This year’s “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie” potential farm fiasco only took about thirty minutes: no “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” no old barbed wire gate, no stragglers, no ransacking the bed of the truck to get to the grain and no blaspheming! Hallelujah!
He also had bladed and smoothed the hazardous rutted area.
When I arrived at the new gate between the two pastures, the cows and calves were all near the fence. I shook the bucket of range cubes and they came running, including all the calves. No stragglers. As per instructions, I led them across John’s pasture to the catch pen, poured grain in the feed bunk and tossed flakes of hay on the ground. Bill would come over the next morning and call them back to the catch pen. Expecting to be fed, they would respond with great gusto!
This year’s “From Piece of Cake to Piece of Cow Pie” potential farm fiasco only took about thirty minutes: no “Valley of the Shadow of Deep Ruts,” no old barbed wire gate, no stragglers, no ransacking the bed of the truck to get to the grain and no blaspheming! Hallelujah!
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