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When I went over to take care of BP last night (by myself), she had company. And not the special kind. (Haven’t seen the bull with her since that one day.)

I have to admit that I’m afraid of large animals. Of any kind. Any animal that is way bigger than me. I get along with large animals I know, like BP and Glory Bee, but not other large animals. Strangers.
And here the paddock was teeming with Big Cows That I Don’t Know.
Especially this scary Halloween-face one.

How will I get to BP? What will I do? Where will I go? WAIL. (!)

There were all kinds of bunches of them!

Or, you know, at least six!

They all looked different. Like a cow freak show!

And most of ‘em had horns! But they were all girls. So I said, Suzanne, you’ve got to run ‘em out of there.
So I climbed in there and said, “Git,” real nice-like.

Then I started clapping my hands and screaming and they ran outta there!

And boy did I feel like a farmer.
Except for the screaming part.
And then I found BP.

I got her in the paddock and shut the gate so nobody could get at her food. And when I let her back out of the paddock, I could only hope the other girls weren’t mean to her for being “the special girl” with “the special food” who thinks she’s a princess or something.
We’re bringing her home this weekend!
Posted by Suzanne McMinn on June 18, 2011Registration is required to leave a comment on this site. You may register here. (You can use this same username on the forum as well.) Already registered? Login here.
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My grandfather kept one or two bulls and those we were never allowed to go near. Even my grandfather wouldn’t go into a field alone with a bull. He would take a cow dog and have at least one other adult with him to go anywhere near the bulls. I’ve know of several farmers that were severely injured and one neighbor was killed by a bull. In all of these cases they were moving a bull alone and the animal turned on them and either gored or crushed them. When I had cows I always used A.I. because I didn’t want to risk having a bull around my kids.
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My sister and I, at an early age, used to go get the cows in the evening, way up in the field and across the road. They were so anxious to get to the barn and be milked that they would go right along in a line all the way home. We didn’t hardly ever even have to touch them with our sticks. And NEVER make them run, that would make them not give the milk (or so we were told). Fun times!
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Granny Trace
http://www.grannytracescrapsandsquares.com
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I dont do large animals together..in a pen! You did good!
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You are a rare woman. I hope BP is done and ready to go home for your sake. We don’t need you dealing with Post Traumatic Cow Disorder.
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