And the Cow Jumped Over the...Barbed Wire?

Though living on a farm has its lovely little joys, I must say I was reminded this week as to why I will be very thankful when I no longer live on one. At least, when I don't live on one populated by cows. And ridiculously stupid cows at that.

For those of you who have never been to my home, we live on a forty acre farm that our landlords rent out to owners of cows to allow their cows to graze before leading them off to the Happy Hunting Grounds (otherwise known as Longhorn Steakhouse). Our wonderful friends who lived here before us brilliantly put a fence up around the house for a semblance of privacy. Before that, the cows could literally walk right up to the window and scare you to death. While they can still do that on the living room end of the house (I can't tell you how many times I've opened the window while sitting on the sofa and found myself being stared at by a cow), it was not pleasant to be awakened in the middle of the night by mooing by your bed. This fence is rather ghetto and is made up of a mixture of fence rails and barbed wire. It runs around the perimeter of the side yard and back yard and finishes by the barbed wire wrapping around the humongous rusty old water tower that hovers above our house like something out of War of the Worlds. (And which is populated by a family of noisy owls and gives me numerous nightmares regarding renter's insurance).

This past Wednesday, my lovely friend Jenn and I were sitting on the couch and getting ready to watch some American Idol when I happened to look out the back window. There was a cow inside the barbed wire, munching on the grass. Not a big deal…the cow wanted a late night snack…wait…INSIDE the barbed wire? I jumped up and looked closer: sure enough, that cow had somehow slipped under the barbed wire and was in my backyard! 

The best shot of the barbed wire I had.

(By the way, that barbed wire is in three strands, placed no more than two feet apart and about two feet off the ground; that cow must have army crawled under it…kinda wish I could have seen that part). But now I had the irritating issue of a large, lowing, cow as white as the moon in my backyard. At least the front fence was closed…Or was it? I suddenly recalled seeing it hanging open on many occasions (so help me, my cats have opposable thumbs and unlatch that thing when we’re not looking).

I raced around to the front gate and slammed it closed, just as the cow came thundering up. I said a prayer of thanks as I imagined myself chasing this lumbering cow down Big A Road, waving at it stupidly. But how to get it back in the pasture? I went around to the back fence and fought with the latches that secured the fence rails in place but couldn’t get them to budge. The cow stood as far away from me as possible, standing by the fence I had so recently slammed in its face; I’m sure it felt like it was in the slammer. I had a fleeting thought of, “Well, Jon’s at his night class, but he’ll be back later, and he’ll be able to figure out what to do with this animal,” when I looked in the yard and realized why that would not work: our satellite was in the cow’s line of vision like radar. Yeah, we had to get that thing out of there pronto. Don’t mess with my American Idol.

I went back inside and walked out on the back porch. Thinking I might be able to befriend it (hey, I’ve seen Charlotte’s Web), I carefully and quietly tip-toed to the corner of the house so I could peek around and see how friendly this cow looked. Maybe it would sweetly follow me to the barbed wire, and I could somehow convince it to go back to freedom. Yeah, right. As I peeked around the corner of the house, I couldn’t see it at first. I thought it may have somehow hopped the brick wall back into the pasture, but I suddenly realized it was so white, it was blending in with my white house (cut me some slack: it was nine o’clock at night). When my eyes finally focused on it, I let out a little “Oh!” That doggone animal’s ears perked up, she (or was it a he?) let out a moo like a battle cry, and hightailed it…straight at me!!! I haven’t run that fast in awhile; don’t laugh: cows are huge animals.

My sideyard - where the animal hid in wait for my unsuspecting noggin to creep around the side of the house.

We finally got in touch with our good friend Jason, who, like a real trooper, came over straightaway…armed with a machete. I reminded Jason we were not making burgers. He assured me it was for smacking-on-the-rump-purposes only. I’ll be darned if Jason didn’t have that fence open in two seconds flat after I had fought with it for fifteen minutes. Now there was a huge, five-foot gap in the fence for the cow to lumbering…well, lumber through, but now we had to convince ol’ Bessie to actually go THROUGH it. She lumbered over to the farthest corner of my backyard, and Jason bravely walked over to her, making all those good Western noises like they do on Bonanza. The cow wasn’t cooperating. Jenn & I were great help, by the way: I steadied the flashlight while she kept the fence propped open. Hey, we had done all we could. It was time for man-power.

In the blink of an eye, that cow bolted, and we all breathed a sigh of relief that it was going to head out…except it headed straight towards my satellite. I halfway closed my eyes, expecting to see that dish go flying straight up to the moon, Alice, and wondering how I could explain to Dish Network that they should come and replace it at no charge. But the cow didn’t stop there: she headed straight at Jenn, who I must admit, stood her ground and didn’t budge. (I would have run like a sissy). The cow ran straight past Jenn, straight past the hole in the fence the size of Manhattan, and suddenly swan dived through the barbed wire again…through a hole that was less than two feet tall. (Sometime get Jenn to do her impression of the cow diving; it’s pretty accurate and awfully funny). So my yard was my own again, the satellite was still intact, and I got a good story out of it. Just watch out next time you come over: the cow left a few land mines in her brief stay with us.