cows are morons

Cows are morons. Stupid, smelly, grass-eating, hay-coveting, follow-the-ass-in-front-of-you, "hey, let's hop over the fence because, well, that sounds like fun" hamburger makers. The young ones are pretty darn cute, but beyond the one month age I'm done. I don't like them, for all the reasons stated above (except the hamburger part), and because they're about 5 times my size and I'm afraid they'll decide to charge me. It's happened before people, hence my fear. I literally came within inches of becoming roadkill to a giant angry red cow. Laugh if you must, they just make me nervous. So, when all 50 of the cows decided to see if the grass was indeed greener on the other side of the fence for two days in a row this week, my daily annoyance intake level went off the charts. Why? Because it's my and my dad's job to get them back in the field! This whole operation wouldn't be so terrible, except I get so stressed because the cows always give us a hard time.

On Monday they got out and dad took the tractor to get some hay to lure them with and I took the Gator. Once we got to where they were not supposed to be, he parked the tractor and we took off together in the Gator. We had to chase them down, go this direction, that direction, drive super fast to get there before they got by us, hope I didn't fly out of the Gator, yell at them the whole time, sometimes get out and chase them on foot, hope they didn't get mad and charge me, and round them all up and get them through the tiny gate opening. Once that was accomplished we had to start the long arduous process of getting them to the barn, a mile away. Dad had the precious hay on his tractor and started driving away with it and usually the hay-coveters follow. What did they do? Stand there like dumb shits, and, "Moo!!!" So dad started going super slow calling them to follow, and I had to drive the Gator back and forth yelling at them to, "Go!!! Move!!! Get outta here!!!" And they just stared at me. Until I almost ran them over with my trusty vehicle and only then did they decide, "Ohhhh, right! I don't want to be hit with that." So, slowly but surely they all caught on to the idea that I did indeed want them to get a move on, and they started following my dad. The ones at the head of the pack kept going with their eyes on the hay and the ones in the back kept stopping to stare at me as if they were trying to figure out what species of cow I am, why I'm not as fat as them, and why I don't speak, "Moo!" So, the whole time I'm yelling at them to keep going, wondering if I can get away with murdering one of them, and trying not to completely lose my nerve. Thirty minutes later we made it to the barn and closed the flimsy barbed-wire gate behind them to keep them in the field by our house for the night so they couldn't go back and get out where they got out earlier. Only, we woke up to discover the next morning that they had trampled through the flimsy gate, found another field with greener grass on the other side, and my dad and I had to start the whole infuriating process all over again.

The bastards are now sitting in the steel enforced farm lock-up until all fence lines are secure. I wonder if I could kill them all and start my own hamburger joint. Bet ya' I'd make some MOO-lah! Ha. Ha-ha. Die...

he just HAD to do it, didn't he?!

My parents recently invested in a John Deere Gator. I think the main draw was so that my mom could go check out all the property in a comfortable manner, as opposed to her operating our decrepit old 4-wheeler. My dad wasn't quite sure what he was going to use it for, but he has actually found it to be quite useful. Seeing has how the old farm truck barely works (i.e. getting the automatic transmission to switch gears is a chore depending on whether or not it likes you that day, and to tell you the truth I always think the engine sounds like it wants to explode), the Gator is now the main tool with which my dad makes sure the farm is in working order.

It's quite thrilling to go bombin' around in. Especially when someone other than myself (dad, brother) is driving. In such cases I find myself hanging on for dear life, as there are no seat belts and due to the bumpy terrain we tend to be careening over one can easily fly out and be injured, as my mother sadly, yet thankfully, can attest to. My dad and I have been using it to chase down cows lately (check for a future entry on this tale), and my brother recently took me and his son on a ride all over the property. He drove slower due to his 3 year old being on board, however, this did not prevent him from trying very silly maneuvers with the damn thing. Such as, oh, I don't know, seeing how close he could get to the muddy edge of the water in the pond without getting stuck. It worked the first two tries, but in this case the third time was so not the charm.

I've mentioned how the giant family pond is drying up, and even though there are giant cracks on top, it is still very much wet underneath...as all the riders found out. I knew we were in for trouble about a minute prior to getting stuck because he attempted this...

...where we almost got stuck. Then right after that one, he tried to get too close to the water again and I fought for the wheel and tried to steer him in a different, less perilous direction, and of course he fought back for control and nearly got us stuck and then a few seconds later we ended up at the first picture. It was all good fun though. Small adrenaline rush actually. I should get a truck and if it were to actually rain here and cause a mud pit somewhere I might actually have to go drive around in it Gretchen Wilson style like in the Redneck Woman video. But you know I'd get stuck, and I'd have to go get the tractor to get myself unstuck, and really unstucking (okay, that's not a word...but who cares?) oneself is a two person job and I'm not quite sure who the second party would be. Any takers?

I don't believe it...

Remember the salamander mentioned in the previous posting whose tail detached from its body? Well, he got away and found solace under the refrigerator after the detachment, only to have the refrigerator moved the next day by the workers who had come to our house to install tile. Apparently he was slow moving and disoriented, I guess from having lost his tail or something, because my dad was able to catch him and take him outside. That was last week. Then last night, I found this curious looking creature on the kitchen window. Rather goofy looking, I'd say. He lived through a traumatic experience to tell his tale. Or, lack thereof.