That Useless Cat Again

Posted on Saturday 11 August 2007 at 11:09

I sat down to upload my Humble O post for Monday, and heard a rustle. It was in the homeschool room. There is no mistaking that sound--it's the sound of an invading army, which, unchecked, will take over the entire house.

I went to the door and called, "Kittykittykitty!" I expected either that slaphappy grey furball, Tommy, or nothing at all.

I got Cloudia.

This is a surprise because she's turned half-wild over the summer. One or two of the kids can get close to her, but not I. However, she purred at me and I was able to scoop her up and bring her inside.

She wandered around mewling pointlessly for several minutes, and then things got quiet. It occurred to me that I might want to put her back outside before she found her way to my bedroom and jumped on Dave. If you want to see a tornado indoors, just let a cat jump on The Man. Especially without prior warning.

Cloudia was not headed for my bedroom. A rush of rustling paper and a patter of disturbed books caught my attention, and I turned. A tiny grey form ripped across the open doorway, closely followed by a lithe, stripedy hunter.

She did in fact catch the mouse, but apparently it didn't provide enough of a challenge. So, that useless cat decided to give it a fighting chance. In order to do this, she dragged it beneath my feet and let it go.

The mouse ran. I yanked my feet into my chair. The cat chased. She caught the mouse, took it to the homeschool room, and then brought it back out, still unsatisfied. She placed it under my feet again, and again she let it go. This time, the mouse got the dodge on her and ducked around the garbage can. She stayed waiting for it to reappear, while my vision caught a grey blur streaking under the woodstove at the other side of the room.

That dang cat. Like last time, I should've finished the job myself.

How we have grown.

Don't Have a Cow, Man.

Posted on Monday 18 June 2007 at 10:55

The cold, rainy weather continues, and has forced TYDOS not to begin this week. I'm starting to get paranoid. The crops are up, but our early items suffered damage from heavy rain and temperature fluctuations.

I have started to get the hang of the cow. I still hate morning milking, but I'm slowly starting to change my waking patterns. Dave continues to "rescue" me from the cow whenever he can. The kids have nicknamed Cow Patty the Jersey Devil. This may be because we had another fight Sunday morning.

She came into the barn with globs of wet cow patties all over her milking side. So I milked her from the wrong side, which is not completely foreign to her. But she's "high-strung." (Read: Brat.) She tried to inch away from me, and hit the end of her tail tie. Because we switched from twine to a sturdy piece of rope, she couldn't just pull away. This antagonized her. She swung back right on top of me and knocked me over, making me grateful we keep a pretty meticulous milking pen. However, I managed not to spill the pail. I put the fear of death in her and finished the milking. Me, one. Cow, zero.

As soon as I let her out of the head gate, she kept trying to turn her back end to me. Now, I grew up with horses. Hard-mouthed, badly-behaved ones. I know better than to be naive about that kind of behaviour, so I dodged the rear end with an eye to the kicking extensions. I grabbed the brush and started to brush the cow. She can't resist a nice scratch. I worked my way up to her head and got her halter. She tossed and fretted all the way out of the barn. Me, two. Cow, zero.

We had 11 gallons of milk sitting in our fridges today. We gave 4 to my dad for his orphan lambs; I made 2 gallons' worth of curds (quick cheese) from the evening milking; I made a good pound of butter; and I'm in the middle of making 2 gallons of yogurt. When I say, "Don't have a cow, man," I'm starting to mean it in the Bart Simpson sense, not the you're-gonna-be-hamburger sense.

I Hate Cows

Posted on Sunday 10 June 2007 at 08:54

I'll probably get over it , but for this weekend, I am pretending Cow Patty, Stewpid and T-Bone do not exist. I shall now hereby whine and get it out of my system:

I hate smelling like a cow all the time.

I hate getting peed on by a high-strung Jersey.

Ditto for the poo.

I hate getting kicked by a high-strung Jersey.

I hate having to chase down calves that jump the fence and don't even have the decency to put their halter on first so I can catch them.

I hate getting up at 7:00 a.m.

I hate having sore hands.

I hate having my carpal tunnel start acting up again.

I hate not being able to enjoy a full visit with family because we have to go home and milk.

I hate not having room in my fridge for real food.

I hate milk.

I might be done now. I'll let ya know on Monday night, when my tour of duty in the barn resumes.

Dave's Cow Collection

Posted on Thursday 31 May 2007 at 10:53

On Saturday, Dave is bringing home another bull calf, a Holstein, for a beef animal. He called me after looking at the animal on the way to work: "They've also got some heifers for sale...."

"What do you want them for?"

"To breed them, to get more calves," he says, as if it's obvious.

I clear my throat emphatically, imagining the last of our savings account draining away as Dave the Not-Rancher builds his - or should I say "my"? - herd. "Let's not get carried away, here."

"Well, I'm getting the bull calf, anyway."

I hope the critter's well-behaved, because y'all know my rule about ornery beef: Serve immediately.

We've had trouble thinking of things to do with all the milk. This morning when we came in from the barn, we had 10 gallons in the house. My mom came by and got 3 gallons to feed to their orphaned lambs down at the sheep farm. I made a gallon's worth of cheese (just curds, really, but the kids like it). Yesterday, I made yogurt. It's probably time to make ice cream again. I have 2 litres of cream sitting in the fridge as well, so I guess it's butter time.

We have a routine pretty well established: We go out with whichever kid is the appointed barn helper. The kid ropes Stew, who is in the pen while Cow Patty's outside. The kids leads/hauls Stew around the corner so Cow Patty will see him and go into the pen to get to him. Once he's tied, I open the back door of the barn and holler, "Where's my cow?"

Cow Patty comes galumphing along, if she's not already waiting at the door. I say, "Here, cow," and go into the barn. She follows along behind, no prompting needed.

Once she's in the pen, Stew gets moved over by the head gate, so he's in front of her while she's being milked. We brush the manure off the cow and give her udder a wash. My fearless barn helper lures Cow Patty into the head gate with a handful of chop. I tie her tail while she's trying to reach the chop pail the kid is holding just out of reach. I sit down with the milk pail, and my barn helper dumps chop all over the cow's head while she starts wolfing it down like a greedy pig.

Cow Patty is really quite decent. She leads with a hand on the halter, and will eventually start walking even if she doesn't want to - though I have to pull with my full weight, which is not insubstantial. She has tried to pull a dancing cow routine on me a couple of times when she's tired of milking, but responds constructively to a sharp word or a wee clonk on the side.

The cutest part is the kids. They love leading Stew around. He's gotten pretty good at following, too. Especially if the kids smell at all like the milk they've just fed him. We give him his share by pail at the end of the milking; then the kids lead him the long way through the barn and outside. They goof around with him out there while I lead Cow Patty along the same route, then out her door to the pasture.

I love watching my rather small-framed 7-year-old handle that calf. She bosses him with complete confidence. If he won't follow, she throws the rope over her shoulder, digs her boots in, and hauls on him till he moves. If he slips his neck lead, she's right on him, getting that loop back around him before he even knows what's up. she has no fear of pail-feeding him, even though he can be somewhat obstreperous. I was watching her maneuver around Stew to give Patty the chop this evening, and she's definitely got her method figured out.

And, unlike Spazzerific, she cannot be accused of leading Stew down "the wrong path." 

Cow Soap Opera

Posted on Wednesday 23 May 2007 at 04:46

I'm sure if Cow Patty could write her own version of her first week with us, it would sound something like this:

Thursday: The saga of how these twerpy people dragged me away from my home and I nearly fell out of their half-rotten plywood trailer.

Friday: Ugh. That dumb woman does not know how to milk, and I'm stuck with her all weekend.

Saturday: The owly man is even worse. I kicked because the dumb woman made me so sore, and he threw a total tantrum, kicked me right back and roped me to the rail.

Sunday: Well, at least the dumb woman made a herbal balm and put it on my chapped teats. She's still hopeless, though. And, can you believe it??? NO CHOP. Good grief, and they expect me to let down the milk.

Monday: Well, my kicking technique is improving. I knocked the owly man's milk pail over when he came to milk me after his night shift. Of course, then he hobbled me and insisted he wasn't leaving till I replaced the milk I spilled. But he made up for it when he installed my own radio for me, so I can listen to the country station, just like back at home.

Tuesday: Holy cow! These people are crazy! I don't know where they took Baby, but then both of them sat down to milk at the same time, one on each side! It made me so antsy, not knowing where Baby was the whole time. But at least they finally got some chop.

Wednesday morning: I spent the night outdoors. The grass is so refreshing. That dumb woman delayed and delayed with the morning milking, and then she swore like a sailor when I took the wrong turn to get to Baby and got stuck behind the far pen. She roped me, and when I went to see Baby, she locked me up in that barbaric jail again. I tried not to let her catch me in the squeeze gate, and she called me another name.

Wednesday afternoon: I figured out what they've been doing with Baby. It's absolutely pernicious! He needs to get new friends. I did not approve the ones he's been running around with. I saw him over the fence with the boy who sings to me, and I managed to push the wire down, but by the time I got there they'd hidden him from me again. I ran after them all the way to the house, but they disappeared inside, screaming like a pack of banshees.

Stewpid on the Garden Bridge (thank you, Spazzerific)

Cow Patty, in Jail Again