The Tape Measure

When Dan was small, I got interested in sewing. I now sew clothes for my granddaughters, quilts, etc. To do this, I need cloth. So I carry a tape measure. It’s a wee, little thing that lives in the bottom of my purse. I whip it out whenever I come across a cloth fragment on sale to see if it will fit my current quilting project – whichever one that is.

So this round little metal disc housing the tape itself has been my constant companion for many years. Today I decided to use it to measure the grass. Yes, folks, the grass.

Dan had asked me yesterday to go to paddock #2 (where the steers are) and see if the grass was too short and if it was to move the steers to paddock #4. Now I don’t know what ‘too short’ means to Dan, or even to me. So I decided to measure it and report back to Dan for the definitive answer.

I went down into the garage to don my poor, bedraggled purple wellies. Constant farm use has taken its toll and my wellies are cracked, split and no longer waterproof. But they are all I have. I put out a hand to steady myself as I slip into the boot and touch a nice, big metal tape measure. Aha, I thought. Just the thing. I can drop it to the ground to measure and not have to hold my cloth tape in the wet, muddy grass.

So off I go. Through paddock #4 and into paddock #3. When I approach paddock #2 even I can tell that the grass is pretty well cropped down. But I measure just to make sure. It’s about 13 mm. So I set about opening the gates through which to usher the steers.

But the gate between #4 and #3 won’t stay open. So I get out my trusty old friend, the wee tape measure, and loop it loosely over the gate and the fence to hold the gate open. Then off I trot to open the gate between #2 and #3. Oh, did I remember to tell you that it has rained like crazy for days. Well, it has. And the paddocks are potholed mud pools. My porous wellies squelch through the mud and occasionally I have to bend down and pull my foot and boot up through the mud which seems to have become infatuated with my purple boots and wants them to stay.

I find the steers and try to urge them to come to the nice fresh grass but no dice. I give up and retrace my steps back into paddock #3. At this point 3 of the steers decide to join me and trot obediently into #4. Another one stops dead in the gateway and begins eating. The last bellows mournfully and again can’t figure out how to get through a gate.

I go back to help him but before I can get there, he spies my tape measure. And starts eating it!! Visions of having killed my first cow flash through my head. Then I begin postulating my explanations for the vet and more importantly, for Dan. “Well, you see, it was this way.” Since I can’t come up with a reasonable scenario, I take off after the steer who has playfully clumped his way halfway down paddock #2.

I alternate between slipping in the mud, pulling my boots out of the mud, and trying to get close enough to the steer to pull the tape measure out of his mouth. Luckily for me, the metal disc is the end that is not in the mouth. I get closer and closer. The steer looks up, sees me and scampers off again. Finally, he starts rubbing his head against the fence and the tape gets tangled in the wire. He leaves and I grab the soggy remains of my long time companion.

But I’m not out of the woods yet. The steer in the gateway decides to come see what all the fuss is about and has re-entered paddock #2. Thankfully, the last steer wanders off in the right direction and the explorer follows. I eventually manage to get all 5 into #4 and then retrace my steps to shut all the gates.

Now all I have to do is traverse #4 to the gate to the road, go back to the house, and clean all the mud off my clothes (I am pure mud from knee to boot and beyond). Oops, not yet. The herd has decided to congregate right in my path. I don’t care. I stomp up to them and they run up the hill away from me. Fine by me! But then they follow me, and slipping in the mud, scramble halfway down the hillside and come charging mere inches from me.

I figure I have had it and am just beginning to cover my head and roll in a ball when, with Herculean strength, the steers dig deep into the mud and propel themselves up the hill again. Believe it or not, they repeat this process twice before I manage to escape. That will teach me to tick off cows that outweigh me 10 to 1. Okay, 5 to 1.