This I know to be true - Steve really doesn't like it when the cows are accidentally let out to roam the countryside.
I have proof he doesn't like it.
Once again, I had to help milk the cows the second weekend of deer season. Sunday morning I was up bright and early, and milked all the cows with Steve and Joey. Russell was hunting.
That milking went off without a hitch. No roaming cows; leaking bulk tank; no nothing.
But, Sunday afternoon I pulled a big one.
I can't remember the last time I milked in the afternoon, which was blatantly obvious.
Steve directed me to help him set up the milk house and then go up to bring the cows down from the barn. While I was doing that, he would set up the milking parlor and start milking while I did the outside chores.
I was down with that. I like being outside.
I walked up to the compost barn and noticed that all the cows were ready to get out and be milked. I would have to say 90 percent of them were standing near the gate waiting to be let out. Creatures of habit.
I opened all the proper gates and started walking them down to the parlor.
While walking to the west end of the barn, I realized I forgot to close some of the proper gates. I looked to the east and I knew, by the actions of the remaining cows that I just committed a major flubber.
Those cows were standing still, looking out over the fence line, ears perked up as perked can be, and bellowing to beat the band.
That, definitely, is not a good sign. The ears always give it away.
I realized I forgot to close the gates to keep the cows in the walk lane.
My well-known farm whistle is deafening. I put my fingers up to my mouth and let it rip. I didn't hear an answer from Steve, so I let another one fly.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah!"
Ooh, I could tell he was mad at me just by the way he answered my whistle.
The man continued to whine, whine, whine, while we were trying to herd approximately 70 cows back into the barn.
Oh, those cows were having fun. I was enjoying watching them. Some were head-butting the large round bales of corn stalks. Others were running up the enormous pile of bedding we have stock piled. Others were sneaking into the hay shed and catching a quick bite of the greenest, best-smelling hay they had seen in a while.
Yes, the cows were having a blast.
My husband was not.
I wasn't upset that I accidentally let the cows out to romp-n-roam. They were enjoying themselves.
Steve was whining because they are, "so wound up it's going to be impossible to get them back into the barn."
Eventually, we herded the wild beasts into the holding area to be milked.
I noticed the cows seemed to be crapping a bit more than usual and, negligently, I said something about it.
"Well, I would imagine they are still not settled down from being so wound up before milking," Steve said with a sly smile.
Thank goodness his disgust never lasts very long.
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