Cow Parades

Spring and summer afternoons on the farm include bringing the cows in from the field. It has been sunny around the farm recently, so The Herdsman and I decided we would venture out recently and help with the herding duties. Really, we just wanted to go for a walk and say "hi" to some cows. They are cute, aren't they?

It also helps that the cute handsome Farmer also participates in the herding process.

As we are still counting the Herdsman's age in weeks, he and I stayed behind the gate and really just watched the cow parade and enjoyed the scenery.

We also were the object of curiosity.

Despite it being a beautiful day and we were able to say hello to all our cow friends up close and personal (see above photo), The Herdsman slept through his duties once again.

And so while The Herdsman slept, The Farmer and I watched the cow parade. 

The Farmer insisted on taking a few photos, and I think these next three are payback for all my a**less chaps comments. 

Yeah, this one especially...definitely payback for the multiple a**less chaps posts.

Now you may notice it is a bit muddy in the cow parade lane.

I normally wear my boots for herding duties, but I decided on this day it would be OK to wear my ankle slip-on boots. 

This was a poor decision on my part. 

These ankle boots were purchased when I was eight months pregnant as I was having tough time getting my boots on. We purchased the ankle version one size too big so I could just slip them on without much difficulty.

However, now these ankle boots feel like clown shoes. They are just a tad too big and my ankles, well, they are no longer swollen. As such they are a bit too easy to slip on - and off.

Case in point...

Yes, that is my footprint in the mud after my right clown boot got stuck in the mud.

And this is my bare sock-foot after my left foot followed suit and stepped right out of the clown boots.

This reminded me of the first time I helped bring the cows in with The Farmer. I was nervous, hoping to pass this very important test of farm life. I was wearing appropriate foot attire - knee-high rubber boots - but as we walked through a huge mud bog near the front gate (there's no way around it), my boot sank...up to mid-calf.

I was stuck.

While we have no photos of the incident, imagine me standing there in a huge vat of mud with one foot buried a good 12 inches in the sloppy, sticky, gooey tar-like substance. And since this was my first time herding the cows I had a lot to prove I was up to the task. Instead I was motionless, teetering on the brink of falling head-first into this pile of muck. And just to be clear, it's not all mud when you are on a dairy farm.

And despite my impending self-inflicted mud-pie face all I could think was "The hat!" Because yes, I had accidentally worn one of The Farmer's good hats out into the field. Who knew that amongst his 834 baseball caps he had good ones and bad ones? But yes, he does! I had forgotten my hat that trip and thus naively picked one out of The Farmer's closet. And yes, I picked a cute one. If I'm going to wear a hat and try to impress The Farmer with my rookie herding skills I'm gonna look cute! However, it turns out this particular cute hat was The Farmer's new/nice/going-to-town hat. 

Oops.

When The Farmer saw said hat on my head he gave a stern warning..."Just don't get it dirty."

So as The Farmer pulled me out of the mud bog - yes, I needed rescuing and the fairy-tale-damsel-in-distress sort of rescuing is not really be-still-my-heart-inducing, but rather borders on mortification - all I could think was how to prevent the hat from impending mud-bog doom. I was sure I would not be invited back to the farm should a minute speck of brown goo appear on the hat upon post-herding inspection. Farming is messy business but there is no excuse for  ruining the going-to-town hat.

Fortunately, the cute/new/nice/going-to-town hat survived intact. My boot was rescued from the mud. I was invited back. 

And The Farmer bought me my own hat.

Look Who Came To Dinner

We grilled out the other evening.

Look who stopped by for dinner...

We didn't have the heart to tell them what we were grilling. They might not return.

Ever.

The Grass Is Greener

This is Dotty.

She has the entire field at her disposal...

And yet she proves that yes, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

Monday Moo Report #54: Ramona

Meet Ramona Quimby, Age 8.

Ramona the Brave.

Or in her case...Ramona the Pest.

Now it does drive me crazy that not all calves have names. The Farmer knows this and while I think more have received names since my arrival in his life (thankyouverymuch), I think he not-so-secretly also loves to torment me with calves (and cows) without names.

Number 755 above? Yeah...No Name. (I should have a Name-That-Calf Contest.)

But I'll admit that his reasoning of "you need to see who they are first" makes sense at times. Yes, I was wrong...in Ramona's case, at least. She got her name last week after she met up with this fence.

Twice.

Notice anything unique about this fence?

It has an extra post next to the roadside fence.

That post wasn't there last week. It wasn't there when Ramona got her head stuck between the (real/original) post and the fence.

Twice.

Ramona (the Pest) seemed apropos. 

The Farmer was right...sometimes you just have to wait to find out who they are.

Just don't tell him I said so.

Monday Moo Report #91: Quest

Yes, her name may be a bit odd. I mean, her fellow calves have names like Brandi and Leona and Breanna. So why Quest?

Check out her forehead. 

She seems to have a QUESTion mark right smack in the middle of her forehead. In essence she named herself.

Friday Farm Photos #19

From the Penthouse deck last summer. I miss this view...

The Monday Moo Report: Jiggles

Meet #661. 

Otherwise known as #28. 

Otherwise known as Jiggles.

She really wasn't interested in posing for the camera as she had better things to do this morning...such as eat! And boy does she like to do that!

Contrary to what you might think, she was not given her moniker because of any moonlighting she does at the local - um - evening establishment for those wishing to - um - see some good - um - dancing. 

(Let's move on...)

Now her name does come from the fact that she does like to dance. She has some good moves.

She struts her stuff and jiggles for you...when she wants more grain. Yes, I did mention she likes to eat? Well, in #28's case this means that when she is finished with her grain during milking she will move and jiggle around in her stall until you feed her another bit of grain. She can make quite the ruckus to ensure her demands are met.

So, alas, no posing for the camera. She's busy doing her favorite thing in the world.

Let's not disturb her.

Magic Words

There are lots of magic words.

I love you.
Please.
Thank you.
You are welcome.
You won the lottery.

But who knew that five magic words in my life would also be "The cows went out today."

On my walk to the barnyard this morning things looked a bit different.

See? Those black and white specks in the distance?

The cows went out today. 

Ooh! I was happy to see them, but not as much as they were happy to be out there.

Nor as happy as The Farmer was that the cows went out this morning. Because the cows being out means they can feed themselves. Of course, this means I'm out of a job as I drove the SkidSteer every morning to help feed them. I think I'll be OK. It's good to take a hiatus...until next year.

Since I didn't have a job this morning I came over to the barnyard to take photos of the "cows jumping around". Yes, cows jump around. Not quite over the moon but they do jump. Especially when they get to finally go outside.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any photos of jumping cows. They'd all settled down by the time I arrived. Because, well, they have a lot of grass to eat! And some, I'm sure are determined to eat it all today. 

Just don't tell the heifers that their friends are out in the pasture. There might be a stampede.

(Don't worry...they get to go out this afternoon.)

Oh, and my quote of the morning? "There's poop in new places." 

Yes, yes there is. So watch where you walk out by the hay barn.

The cows went out today.

This Is What Happens When You Email Me

I am the recipient of numerous texts that merely state "It's a boy!" or "Girl" or "Twins". You'd think I married a doctor. But no, I just married a farmer. A Farmer who probably knows more about females than I care to acknowledge. Because yes, he surrounds himself with 160 females on a daily basis.

Not all cows are named, which drives me a little bit crazy. OK...a lot bit crazy.

Why does Rolo have a name, but her friend #652 does not? And Sylvia? But no #702 beyond the numbers?

But The Farmer has started humoring me and more are getting names.

I embrace this.

I realize he is humoring me.

And revel in naming them.

Usually my reply to his texts are a suggestion of a name. One that pops into my head at the moment. And at 4:00 in the morning (The Farmer, unfortunately, ignores the clock with these texts) he - and I - are often baffled by what comes out of my head.

A number of my friend's kids have calves named after them. Andrew. Tomas. Oscar. Gerin. Zoe.

And I do too.

I once got a text that said "Girl that begins with V". My replies were all shot down (they'd already been taken, but he didn't share THAT information until later) until I enlisted the help of friends. I think we came up with Velma.

Why V? Because, despite the lack of names for some calves/cows, other family lines have rules. Letters of the alphabet. Sounds like. Goes with.

So "Me First"'s calf becomes "Elua", which is "two" in Hawaiian. Me First, by the way, always likes to be first.

And this past Friday, Wally arrived.

Why Wally?

Well, Wally - my colleague at work - had just emailed me. And so that's what popped in my head. And I was fairly certain we hadn't had a Wally just yet. 

Wally, my colleague, I don't think believes me that he now has a calf named after him.

Perhaps he will now.

Don't you wish you had emailed me last Friday afternoon?

Meet Annalea, the other Swiss Brunette

When The Farmer first suggested naming a calf after me I wasn't so sure. But then I realized it's a compliment, not a rude commentary on you.

So...

Meet Annalea, the Brown Swiss calf. She was born earlier this spring.

All The Farmer's Brown Swiss are named using a naming convention, with one rule being the names all end in "A". They are also named in alphabetical order (the librarian's daughter in me loves this), with a specific number of letters. The first Brown Swiss was 4 letters, starting and ending in an "A". 

Note to self: Ask The Farmer what the name of the first calf was. I just realized I don't know.

When Annalea was born she needed 7 letters in her name, the name needed to start with an "A", and, of course end in an "A".

The next Brown Swiss will be 7 letters starting with the letter "B". Then "C". And so on and so forth.

Suggestions? We have one due in a month or so. But we don't name the boys, so we just need girl names.

The calf born before Annalea is Zahrra. 6 letters, starting with "Z".

Before her? Yolana.

I need to take their pictures, but they are away at Summer Camp. No, really. Summer Camp.

Back to Annalea...

Like her namesake, she's not always the most photogenic.

And yes, when she graduates to a milking cow, The Farmer has promised me she gets chain tag #1. Because who doesn't want to be #1?

Oh, and meet her neighbors.

They don't have names, which drives me crazy. But eventually The Farmer names them, when inspiration hits. Sometimes it's within hours, sometimes days, sometimes years. And sometimes they are just known by their chain tag. Sorta like a social security number. But not.