Life Along the Way----Collisions with Cows

It is true what they say about seeing stars. 

My folks have had cattle, mainly Brangus, on their property for about 40 years. Some of the memorable ones had names---Hornhead, for instance was not a Brangus, but a weird gray speckled heifer with horns that spanned close to 3 feet. She delivered many calves over her life and most had a remnant of her dapple and her nutty personality. She was a bully, as she was the only cow with horns and she moved the others away from the new hay bale quite easily. She died after many years of calving and Pop saved her horns. They stare at you now in the barn, daring you to cross them.

On the other side of that coin was Betsy. She could only be described as a pet. She came running to humans whenever we approached and loved big hugs. She was especially fond of my sister when she was very young; I remember Betsy following her around in the pasture on many occasions. Betsy also delivered many calves and a number of them had her gentle nature, unafraid of humans but never quite approaching the pet quality of their sweet mama. 

My first collision with a cow was a close one. Pop and I were worming the cattle and I was moving one down the corral into the head catcher. As soon as Pop closed it on her neck she kicked the ever loving stew out of me. She hoofed me on the inner thigh just missing my chance to sing 1^st soprano in the church choir for the rest of my life. As usual, Pop declared it my fault and said, “Boy, quit stirring up the cows!” 

I limped around for about a week with a black and purple bruise on my left inner thigh and made a note to myself: “Before the head catcher slams, back off you idiot.” 

Of course this injury was minor compared to my ‘encounter’ with Black Jack.  A Brangus bull who was the Big Man on Campus, he knew his place and his place was good. Big Boy swaggered through the Bahia grass like he owned every seed pod on every stalk of grass and his harem of heifers were lucky to share the pasture with him.  Black Jack’s motto was based on the immortal words of James Brown: “I’m single and ready to mingle. I look good, I smell good, and I FEEL GOOD!

I suppose the general public has a fear of bulls due to movies, bullfighting, ETC, but my experience was far from that, although my most memorable injury came from Black Jack. 

He loved to have his head scratched. He would nod with approval anytime you put your hand between his eyes and scratched. He also loved it when you pushed on his head; he would push back with great power, and would always win, gently easing my hand and my body backward.

So, I get the bright idea that I am going to put my head against his head, in one of those, "Hey y’all, watch this!" moves.  Instead of the 'pushing game', old Black Jack decided that this was like a scratch and nodded with approval. I might as well have run head long into an anvil. The nod resulted first in my teeth clacking together so hard I thought they were all broken. The next thing I felt was a major excruciation to my forehead and finally a visual of the Milky Way in broad daylight. I looked at my Dad, who was laughing, as far as I could tell, but the Big Dipper was in the way. It is true what they say about seeing stars.  

I did my best, ‘that didn’t hurt’ but it was totally unconvincing. My vision eventually cleared, but I made another note to self: Newton’s Third Law of Motion is true. There is no point in testing it with a 2400 pound bull. 

One more cow collision story: My Dad and I have an ability to attract rather odd individuals. Now don’t misread this like we don’t have our own oddities. Remember I am the guy who rides a bike with a dog trotting on either side of me on leash. 

One day, I was down at the farm and a couple of locals were buying a bull from Pop. One feller begins to tell me just how ornery these ol’ Brangus can be.

"Me and the wife dang near give out a while back chasin’ one of them heifers ‘round our place!" he said.

"Yeah? Tell me about it!” My Dad looked at me and rolled his eyes.

"We couldn’t git that durn cow in the corral, so we figured we’d just chase her around with the 4-wheeler until she was tard. I tol' the wife to git on and bring the lasso. Well, we worked her all the way down to the river bottom and figured we had her cornered, so the wife, she gits off the 4-wheeler and starts swingin' the lasso, but you know wut happened!?’

"NO! Wut happened!?" I asked. ( My Dad is shaking his head.)

"That ol’ heifer started pawing at the ground and snortin' and the next thing ya know, she’s fixin’ to act like we was in a bull fightin’ ring! I tol’ the wife to git the heck outta the way, I wuz gonna take care of some bidness. So the dang cow charges me and I fire up the 4-wheeler and head right fer her. She smashes her haid into the front gun rack the first time and the fender the second. That did it. After that, she wuz tuckered out and the wife threw a rope over her haid and we tied her to the 4 wheeler and took her on back to the barn."

"Man! I bet that 4 wheeler was messed UP!"  I replied.

"Naw, not too bad. The wife got a ‘lectric drill and we drilled some little holes in the plastic and got some war (wire) and stitched that fender back together. Looks good a new...."

Country folk are smart. They match pound for pound with Newton’s 3^rd Law, with a little stubbornness to boot.  At least they weren’t the ones seeing stars.