Image courtesy of The Graphics Fairy
Yesterday’s storm rode in on epic winds, the kind where a cow flying past the window might be a shock, but not a surprise. The snow fell horizontally the better part of the afternoon. While we didn’t get that much in terms of accumulation, the 25+mph velocity put us in near whiteout conditions.
Like heck I was going to drive in that. I kept Oakley home instead of taking him to daycare. We amused ourselves with social media, turkey treats in puzzles, and a couple of episodes of “The Tudors.”
It’s still extremely windy today. I don’t think we’ll see flying cows. The average Holstein such as the beauty in the above picture weighs in at just under 1300 pounds. It takes a lot for one to get airborne.
On a stroll, perhaps. One windy morning during the first late winter-early spring after our move from the suburbs to the soybean field, Hubby and I sat eating our bagels for breakfast. We heard moo-ing somewhere outside, but couldn’t tell where it came from because of the wind. Not anything out of the ordinary, really, with several neighbors keeping cows. Suddenly Orion sprang to his feet and went on point.
The pretty black and white cow sauntered through the back yard, looking around, her face knit into puzzlement.
“Mooo? MOOO?” she called, unsure of where she was. She kept walking through our field, then the neighbors’, heading northward towards one of the main roads.
Hubby and I both watched, teeth frozen midbite into our bagels. Orion held his point, but shook.
He knew what to do per his hunters’ training from his previous owner. Hubby and I had never run into information what to do in the event of a strolling bovine in the various magazines we’d read during planning and construction. My impulse was to use Orion’s tie out line as a leash and lead her home.
All 1300+/- pounds of her.
Maybe not. I grabbed the phone book and called the nearest dairy farmer and the county farm bureau and left messages asking if anyone had lost a cow and giving her last known location.
No one returned my calls. If I listened to my messages and someone sounding that crazed had left one, I doubt that I’d return it, either.
My hope is that she stayed safe after her queenly walkabout. Did she return to her milking station and report to the girls on the outside world? Did she run off with a handsome bull? Or keep running until–
We won’t think about that last possibility. I’ll just keep the image of her enjoying her freedom as she traversed the fields, air redolent with the scents of new green growth, heading towards her true north.