Explorers

"Are the cows coming?"

I was half way over the ricketty gate, in a vulnerable position.

"No, they're still the other side of the hill."

"OK. Well, if they do come, and if that one with the horns is a bull, just save yourself. You're small and quick. I will distract them by flailing my arms about and getting trampled."

McColleague laughed, her eyes scanning the horizon as she calculated the sprinting distance between us and the next gate.

"I reckon we should be all right," she asserted.

McColleague and I had been on quite an adventure, exploring the estate on foot for the last four hours, through fields, woods, streams and parkland.

We found a little shelter in the woods.

It is where the community service kids have their base camp, brewing up tea over the fire when they are not clearing away fallen trees and maintaining the footpaths.

I particularly liked their sign over the door.

I am tempted to make it my own office.

We left the shelter behind us and moved on. We had a moment of indecision when faced with a herd of cows on the horizon. Should we walk through them, or go round on the other side of the hedge? We opted for the latter. As we walked up the hill we could see the cows on the other side of the hedge. They were only youngsters, half grown. We felt somewhat foolish. Turns out they weren't far away, they were just small.

We did a lot of clambering over stiles and fences. Eventually I managed to hurt myself on some barbed wire. "Watch out for the barbed wire," I said, giving my wound a lick.

"Ow!"

I was too late. I untangled McColleague and compared injuries. Mine was worse.

OK, so it was just a scratch. McColleague swallowed a fly too. It was a survival type exercise, all right.

Home was in sight when we encountered the final field, the cattle thundering toward us, eager to see what the two humans were up to on the other side of the fence. "I think there is a bull in this field," I said. "That one's got horns, anyway."

We decided to try to find another way past, and stood for some time peering over the ricketty gate at the expanse of apparently cow-free field before us. "I think we'll definitely be all right, climbing over this," I stated, confidently.

And, as it turns out, we were, despite the fact the electric fence keeping them from us just stopped halfway along. I decided not to draw attention to that fact and just walked a little faster. "I really need some tea," I said. "Come on.

The Further Adventures of Little Brown Calf and Chums

Little Brown Calf has formed a gang of four. They really should be in the cow sheds. That's where they started the day, anyway.

My presence was tolerated while I took a few pictures of them enjoying the long grass of the orchard, then I got a tad too close and they kicked up their heels and took off up the road, towards the main gates. Fortunately I'd just closed them, so they couldn't make it onto the main road.

Moments later the farmer arrived so was able to chase them back down to the sheds again. He called in, with my beef box. I know, I know, those calves are so adorable and here I am happily stashing the body parts of their shedmates into the freezer, but, in my defence, they really do taste as good as they look. And I can vouch for their free ranging, happy life.

The Adventures of Little Brown Calf

It is that time of year again, when the calves refuse to stay in the barns a moment longer and squeeze through gaps too small for their mothers to follow.

This little fellow keeps catching me by surprise. I glance out of the window and think "Feck! That's a big dog!" Then I realise it's a calf and relax again.

First thing this morning he was busy chasing ducks around the moat. An hour or so later I spotted him with two of his bovine brethren, a tiny herd in the midst of the huge field they had found their way into.

I continued on my way and met the farmer. "Your calves are in the big field!" I cheerily informed him.

He was unsurprised. It transpires that this is a calf with a genetic tendency to explore.

"You know who his mother is?"

I pondered. Only one cow it could be.

"Is it Jumping Cow?"

"The very same!"

That explains a lot. Jumping Cow did much as her name suggests. She would simply leap over the fence, racing horse style, and head down to the ticket office. I'm not quite sure why she liked the ticket office so much, but that's where she'd go. Quite a talking point for the visitors.

There is also Cow Who Can Open Gates With Her Tongue. Now that is impressive. But inconvenient, when you want to keep the herd in the shed. Such behaviour always leads to a bout of cow whispering.

The Cow Whisperer

I stood at the gates, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. I’d driven up to the entrance to unlock the gates and had heard something new and interesting. Ah! There!

Peering over the hedge I could see the Farmer on his quad bike, attempting to round up his herd of cows. He was not doing terribly well. The cows were forming breakaway groups and scattering to all four corners of the meadow, instead of going through the gate into the next field as intended.

“You fucking bastard cows!”

My grin broadened. The Farmer was entirely oblivious to me, his attention focussed on his unruly herd.

“Fucking move. MOVE! You fucking, fucking bastards!”

Reluctantly I returned to my car and continued on my way, much as I would have enjoyed watching and listening to more.

Later that day I encountered the Farmer down at the house. “Hello!” I beamed. “I heard you earlier, moving your cows!”

He laughed. “Ah, yes, then you would have heard me cow whispering.”

“Cow whispering,” I repeated, delighted.

“It’s an art,” he affirmed.

“Well, the school group I was in charge of was really impressed.”

There was a moment, just a moment, when he thought this may have been true. Then he saw my grin and knew I was just teasing. Still, I missed a trick there. It would have been so much fun to fake a child’s drawing of the Farmer on his quad bike, with some lovely accompanying text in clumsy lettering, saying “we did go to the farm and we did see ducks and lambs and trees and flowers and fucking bastard cows”.

Until the Cows Come Home

This is the time of year when the cows are put into the sheds for the winter. The cows dislike this. It curtails their freedom. The cowsheds are very very close to the house. The cows spend a lot of time protesting mightily at their confinement. They make a lot of noise. It sounds like they throw themselves bodily at the sides of the shed. Every so often they get lucky and manage to bust their way out. They then run riot, revelling in their freedom, kicking up their heels, mooing and bellowing, churning great hoof marks into the lawns and defecating in huge cow-patty sprays. They can be quite an intimidating herd of bovine hooligans. The ground literally shakes.

If they do this during the day time I can usually either get Farmer himself to come and round them up again or Lovely Warden will find himself a stout stick (“you can do anything if you’ve got a stick”, he informed me. “Makes you feel manly.”) and shoo them back to the shed.

Last night, however, neither were available. The tell-tale signs of cow escape (cowscepades?) were in evidence. They suddenly sounded much, much nearer. And much much louder. There was that Jurassic Park-style vibration effect, with small ripples appearing in my tea as several tons of beef made its way into the gardens. A quick peek outside confirmed the diagnosis. The cows were out.

Lovely Warden had long since gone home for the day, and, as I later discovered, Farmer was having a rare night out and had left his phone behind. It was therefore left to my husband to go and find a stout stick and persuade them to get back to the barns. I like the range of noises people find appropriate to make at cows when trying to direct them. The combination of stick swishing and “Hieee! Hooo!” did the trick, and the cows were safely contained once more.

Tonight we were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Farmer had brought a present to say thank you for our herdmanship. Some scouring pads, to get the mud off our boots, some carrots to help us to see better in the dark, a bottle of wine and a brace of pheasants. Fantastic! We must be sure to let the cows out next time we are stuck for something for dinner!