Yesterday afternoon, I walked into the big meadow bottom ruled by Beulah Petunia to discover this:
AND NO COW!!!!
My cow was missing! I contemplated panicking. What do you do if your cow is missing? Who do you call? Do you drive up and down the road looking for your cow? What if you don’t find it on the road? Do you put up flyers in the local stores? Do you call the sheriff? (“Hello, I want to report a missing cow.”)
She’s pregnant! What if she’s all alone and she has her calf? Well, okay, so she’s probably going to have her calf alone anyway, but that’s NOT THE POINT. I want my cow!
So then I decide that this is not happening. I mean, where’s she going to go anyway? It’s not even that easy to amble off around here–our farm is hilly and surrounded by more hills and thick woods. BP isn’t that agile. And she spends most of her life sitting on the creek bank chewing her cud. How much ambition could she have to go anywhere? So I called for Beulah Petunia just like when I’m going to milk her.
And I heard something in the woods.
It was a chicken. Then I heard something else….. Something…..
….that was NOT a chicken!
There she was, on an old logging track that runs along the far side of the creek outside the fenceline, up against our hillside. Sort of like a child who runs away and only goes to the back yard.
Beulah Petunia: “But I was born to be wild.”
I moved her into the middle field, shutting the gate on the field with the damaged fence until that can be fixed.
She ate some hay and contemplated her behavior.
I have a feeling she didn’t feel bad about the whole thing one little bit, especially the part where I had to push, pull, and drag her back to the field.
Latest photos of her baby bump:
Notice how big she is on the right side.
No sooner did I come back to the house and sit down on the porch to relax after all that pushing, pulling, dragging, and panicking than I heard something suspiciously like a baby goat IN THE GOAT YARD. I looked over the porch to find this:
That’s Sailor, racing around in the yard as if he doesn’t belong tucked safely in the pen with his mama.
So I ran down the porch steps, into the goat yard, and tackled Sailor. Then I fought off four goats and two donkeys who wanted to come into the goat pen with me, grabbed the other one (Pirate) and stole them both away from Clover. I tucked the babies back in the goat house until we can fix the place where the babies are getting out of the goat pen.
Clover chomped on some fresh grass, enjoying a few moments of freedom before demanding to be let into the goat house with her babies so she could act like a responsible mother.
Clover: “Children are such a burden.”
And then I sat down on the porch again and waited for the next disaster.
A few minutes after that, the local, state, and federal authorities descended. (Luckily that wasn’t a disaster. If you missed that one, you can see it here.)
And then one of the guineas got into the garden and couldn’t figure out how to get out and I had to chase it up and down rows of corn until I could rescue it. And then another guinea went too far down the hill and got so upset when I put the other guineas (including the one that had been stuck in the garden) and the chickens up for the night that I had to go down the hill and get it and drive it back up in my car. Because it couldn’t find the way back up. Because guineas are the most delightfully dumb creatures I’ve ever seen.
It was a busy day.