A few of the ringleaders plotting their move.
Pjs were finally on, teeth brushed, faced washed and lubed up with all the helpful night cream a body can hold. 10:51PM I climbed into bed with Netflix to lull me to sleep. Just got the pillows in the right position to watch TV and Farmer comes back to the bedroom.
“Cows out.” 2 words that held so much “magic.”
In one swift move I paused the TV, untangled myself from the perfectly placed pillows and blankets and hit the floor running.
Jeans, sweatshirts, coats, hats, gloves and boots right over top the PJs were applied. We grabbed flashlights and we’re off into the winter wonderland where the cloudy moonshine shimmered on the crusty snow.
On the 1 minute back up and drive to the barn I was filled in. Son #2 said cows were out – a lot of them. Cows meaning the big ones, the ones that were milking, like 300 of them. And they were taking the long version tour of the farm.
Black and white cows in the dark running through snow covered yards is sort of fun in a Where’s Waldo kind of way.
At the first curve I saw DIL trying to get a single cow and I jumped out to help while Farmer kept going to assess. He switched gears when he saw the cow which we will call Bossie swing back from where he came. So, he turned the truck around to help block her.
This situation went on for eternity – I’d say 45 seconds. Time is so elusive when you are running in 6 inches of snow with boots that were created to be ankle weights.
So, we have a pickup, my DIL and me, an old lady chasing a cow in between two buildings trying to get her to go past and way back down by the big barn. She would slow down and walk like she was going to be cooperative and then, nope, she would swing around and take off running again. Her name was changed to Dang Cow!
Studly, young, robust grandson shows up and now we have enough to keep her going in the right direction – sort of. I’m totally convinced the cold air being sucked into my lungs at a rate that would have set off my Apple watch probably was the only saving grace to having a heart attack. I think the ice crystals that were lining the insides of my lungs helped a bunch.
We got her past one set of barns and now into the scary open where she decided to Barry Sanders us. I’ve come to the conclusions chasing cows in the snow and ice with heavy clothes and boots would be great training for promising ball carriers. That cow could swing her head and be 5 feet away before your brain could get your feet to go where your eyes were. Back and forth faster than a mad cat’s tail wagging.
By this time, she’s a little riled up – in fact if she wasn’t milked before she escaped she probably was gonna give butter with all the running around she was doing.
We continue to encourage her to keep moving and she continues to say, “No thanks, I prefer over here.” Her name was changed to Hamburger.
Finally, after 20 minutes or so one truck, a spry DIL, a studdly Grandson and well an old farm wife gets her back to where she needed to go. We think. At this point we really couldn’t care less.
Meanwhile Son #2 and a couple of others were taking care of the other 299.
Us four, we left the 299 in search of the 1. Just like Jesus . . . without the snow, the boots, the huffing and puffing and probably a few less words that were muttered under our breath.
