We got the halter on her. She’s finally grown into it. I know. It’s probably on wrong! But it’s on. (She still has the collar on, too. I haven’t taken it off yet because I trust it with the lead more than the halter at this point.)
I kept Glory Bee penned for awhile, taming the shrew, trying to calm her down so she could be handled more easily.
She learned to enjoy my scratches and she ate my hair. I’m not sure she learned much else. Then I decided to move her out to the goat yard.
She visits with mommy twice a day at milking time. Sometimes they’re difficult to separate because Beulah Petunia gets started licking Glory Bee’s behind and I think she’ll never stop. I don’t know what kind of weird mother cow ritual that is, but I figure it must do something good for the baby and that BP’s slightly grotesque behavior is instinctual.
Or else BP is just weird.
Which is entirely possible.
I must be doing something wrong because taking Glory Bee for a walk is like strolling with a Tasmanian devil. I keep her in the goat yard during the day and the milk stand pen at night. Getting her back and forth is an experience. She always looks like this when she’s being taken for a walk:
I’d have a new picture of that, instead of this same old one, except walking her involves so much wrangling that taking new pictures of her stubborn face is the last thing on my mind. Walking with Glory Bee always means a risk of bodily harm and an exciting cowboy-ish adventure, and it takes five billion hours out of my day. It takes up almost as much time as the time when BP is licking Glory Bee’s butt and I’m standing there, waiting to get BP out of the milk stand pen, and saying, “BP! Come ON.” (We interrupt this mother-daughter butt-licking moment to say, BP, WE HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO.)
From the corner of the goat yard, Glory Bee can look across the chicken yard and see mommy in the corner of Beulah Petunia Land. Glory Bee runs like a wild horse around the goat yard then stands in quiet moments mooing at BP then runs like a wild horse around the goat yard again.
The goats have been reserving judgment, taking a backseat like they’re watching a show.
Or some fearsome alien creature.
Nutmeg: “What is that?”
Fanta: “We don’t know….”
Sprite: “Let us pray.”
Clover: “I like her. From afar.”
Glory Bee is bigger than Jack and Poky.
Jack always looks big until he gets next to a cow.
Then everyone takes their corners. The goats and donkeys:
Will this she-devil ever be assimilated into goat-donkey society?
Will I ever not get a halter on any new relatively large creature born on this farm within two minutes of birth ever again?
NO. (I can answer that one.)
Let. That. Be. A. Lesson. To. You.
P.S. I love that calf.