The Animal Revolt Continues

The family was going to get here at the farm late on Friday so Dan asked me to shift the steers from Paddock #2 to Paddock #3. I said that I would ‘give it a go’. I am trying to learn New Zealand speak; normally I would have said that I would try.

Here’s the setup (American for the picture). The steers and the 3 lambs are in Paddock #2. The flock is in Paddock #4. Paddock #3 between the two is empty. My mission was to move the steers into # 3 so they could fatten up on the good grass even more before the home kill guy shows up to prepare two of them for our freezer. I am trying to avoid saying kill them so we can eat them but that's the reality of it.

The lambs were to stay in #2 because they were to be given to the home kill guy on Tuesday so we didn’t want them mixed with the flock and then have to separate them out again. They are skittish and not easily corralled.

How skittish I didn’t know until I hiked my way through Paddock #4, Paddock #3 and opened the gate between #2 and #3. I never thought the lambs would come anywhere near me. They never do. Correction: they never did. This time they charged the gate – and me – and ran as fast as fast could be to the final fence separating them from their Mommys and dear old Dad, better known as RAMbo.

I was furious. I tried to herd them back into #2 but no dice. They ran with carefree abandon and I finally gave up. It was getting dark and I still had the steers to move. Usually this would be simple but lately they have been rambunctious. Perhaps they recognized the home kill guy when he came out and gave them the once over. I only know that our previously placid animals were definitely jittery.

I went through the gate and called down to them. They stood there looking up at me. I begged them. I threatened them. I coaxed them. They didn't move. Finally I started down the hill to get behind them and push them up. They moved. In the wrong direction and away from the fence and gate. Muttering a promise to myself that next cattle auction I would buy steers with a double digit IQ, I trotted after them.

All the way down the hill we went. And lo and behold, there was the bottom gate which I had forgotten about because we never use it.  I opened it. I do have a double digit IQ, not much more than that but at least I could figure out to open the bottom gate if that is where the steers were. This was all taking a lot of time and I had a dinner to cook. Friday night meals are special in our house and I had planned a doozy. But this would only happen if I could be there.

Okay, finally 4 of the steers wander slowly, slowly through the gate and start munching on the ‘good’ grass. Steer 5 stops dead in the gateway and begins eating. I am trapped behind the gate and if I push the gate, he’ll back out into the wrong paddock. So I’m stuck. But I’m not alone. Steer 6 has his nose plastered against the fence a scant 4 feet from the gate. He is looking piteously at his buddies on the other side who are happily eating away. He never figures out that all he has to do is take one sideways step and he is at the gate. Again – double digits, I don’t think so.

The last steer has wandered off into some alternate universe halfway across the paddock. This can’t be good so I decide to leave the gate and climb the fence and go round up the two brain dead ones and push them toward the gate. Then the one in the gate will have to move and I can get back to the kitchen.

Now remember I never claimed a triple digit IQ and this plan proves it. I was making all sorts of assumptions about bovine behavior. I know I got my PhD in human behavior but cows are different. Not harder; just different. First of all, Nirvana cow scares piteous cow who then bolts up the hill. Dumbo in the gateway turns around and joins him in this headlong race to the top. Nirvana cow follows.

I resignedly shut the bottom gate and follow the errant three to the top. They race back down the hill. This gets old real fast. I repeat the previous sentence one more time and then give up. I stamp my way across the upper paddocks, miss the gate into #4 (in my defense it is pretty darn dark by now) and have to climb yet another fence.

I finally got back to the kitchen. Dinner was late; the lamb was undercooked and I began to campaign for turning 3 steers instead of 2 over to the home kill guy on Tuesday. I leave you to figure out which 3 I nominated to become T-bones.