Games with Cows

Nov
17

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With our unseasonable winter blast back under control, I took the cows back across the road today, back to grass, off the hay supply. Whenever I move the cows, I always teeter back and forth over whether to use a lead on Glory Bee or not when walking her across the road. Sometimes the lead is just an invitation to a battle of wills. What? The woman wants me to go somewhere! I Shall Not! And sometimes, of course, the lead is a measure of comfort and control that lets me know I’ve got my cow in hand. Though, oftentimes I find it does work better to forget the lead and just say, “Hey, Glory Bee! Come on, this is going to be so exciting!” And I take off walking briskly. What? The woman must have something exciting to show me! I can’t let her get away! And Glory Bee is on my heels like she’d rather die than let me out of her sight.


Today I went for the mind game, no lead, and it worked perfectly. Mind you, it’s always a gamble! But today….. Today, mark one down for the farmer.

*****

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Posted by Suzanne McMinn on November 17, 2013  

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Comments

4 Responses | RSS feed for comments on this post

  1. 11-17
    3:34
    pm

    I don’t know if you grain your cows or not, but a rattle of the grain bucket can usually get our cows to move. Of course they also hear it when I am feeding the goats. The cows then stand on their side of the fence glaring at the goats. Oh, and don’t make any noise with the chicken feed bucket or that will cause a goat stampede! I think there is a common thread in my story. HA! :eating:

  2. 11-17
    7:59
    pm

    Thqts how we move all 29 of our beef cows from field to field. They see the bucket and come running, just get out of the way and open the gate.

  3. 11-18
    1:47
    pm

    What no home made Glory Be cow biscuit treats at the end of the long cattle drive???? Carrots any one??

  4. 11-18
    2:57
    pm

    The chop pail always got our cows to come to the fence or move where we wanted them to go.

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The Slanted Little House

"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....






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