The unexpected
happens. I’ve learned that the hard way, and I’ve accepted it. But even though
I’m “expecting the unexpected” in my day to day life, I still got a shock when
359 cows went through the gate and I saw the three hundred sixtieth cow upside
down on the ground. I’d seen the bull riding her, heard the clatter of rocks as
she fought to keep her footing on the muddy slope, but that happens, that’s
normal. I didn’t see her go down, hidden below the rest of the herd, but I did
see the bull still standing in the middle of the track, swinging his head back
and forth, forcing the cows to split into two streams on either side of him.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, idiot!” I shouted out, frustrated, because seriously?
He was slowing the herd’s progress, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t until the last of the cows went past him that I saw what was bothering him. The cow had obviously fallen to her knees, and gravity had done the rest – pulling her over onto her side and sending her sliding down the slope, where she ended up on her back, just leaned enough against the rocky hill that she couldn’t roll completely over, legs kicking helplessly in the air like a giant bug. Sparkie, always at my side, startled at this new sight as I approached. If I could just shove the cow all the way over, she’d be able to get her legs under her and stand up. But the bull wouldn’t have any of that. As I got closer he tossed his head, glaring at me, warning me to back off.
“Easy, big fella,” I said softly, “I’m trying to help.”
He blew air forcefully, threateningly, through his nostrils. I tried yelling at him, waving my arms, trying to scare him off. That usually works, but not this time. He was determined to protect his girl, unaware that I was trying to help. Time was ticking on, and with every minute the cow stayed upside down, the lower her chances of ever getting up again went. They’re so heavy that being in that position compromises their breathing. If they stay like that too long, they can get bloat, which puts pressure on their heart, leading to a slow and painful death. There was no way the bull was letting me help, so I needed backup. Daddy was at the other end of the next paddock over. I called Sparkie and ran, stumbling over the rocks hidden in the dry grass. It seemed to take forever to get to him, to tell Daddy the short version of the story.
“Better get her up as quickly as we can,” he told me, tense and urgent.
I already knew that. Why did he think I ran all the way down there to get him, instead of waiting for him to meet me at the gate as planned?
“The bull’s still there,” I warned, “Better take the stick.”
The stick was a four foot piece of black alkathene pipe, effective as both a walking stick and a protection device. Once Daddy had chased the bull off with a couple of whacks with the stick, we began our rescue mission. In the three minutes it took us to get back, she’d managed to swivel herself far enough around that simply rolling her over was no longer an option. If we did that now, she’d get hooked up in the barbed wire fence. Already her face was repeatedly connecting with the wire every time she thrashed. We tried to pull her around by brute force, trying to get her legs downhill, but even though she was a reasonably small cow, she was still too heavy for us to drag like that. Daddy cut the wires and pulled them out of the way, bending his brand new multi-tool in the process.
“We’ll try rolling her over,” he said.
Just grab her back legs, he said. It’ll be easy, he said. I’ve done this before. I had a really bad feeling about this, but I went in anyway, grabbing the cow’s back leg. But as soon as we started to lift, she panicked. I tried to leap back to avoid the flailing legs, but the sloped ground was slippery from the morning’s rain. My legs shot out from under me. I twisted away and went down, saw the blur of thrashing hooves dangerously close to my head. My left knee connected with something hard and pain shot through it, my hands flying out to brace myself. I grabbed a handful of mud and lurched to my feet.
“Are you ok? Did she kick you?” Daddy asked, standing at the head of the now motionless cow.
I shook my head, my heart racing. My hand shook as I rested it on Sparkie’s head. My little dog had moved from her down stay, either the excitement of the upside down cow or my rising anxiety overriding her training.
“I’m good. She didn’t get me,” I reassured Daddy, reaching down to rub my aching knee.
“Your knee ok?”
“Hit it on a rock.”
He stepped back, taking off his jacket. The exertion was warming us both up, and I’d long ago rolled up my sleeves.
“Take a break for a few minutes,” he said.
We took a break for all of thirty seconds before getting back in there. The cow’s thrashing had moved her tail uphill and her head down. Daddy grabbed the back legs while I pushed on her hips, my gumboots sliding in the mud until I found a rock to brace against. Slowly we got her spun around, now flat on her side, but she didn’t have the strength to sit up, thrashing uselessly before falling back.
“If you give her a bit of shove under the shoulder, she should be able to get up,” I suggested.
Daddy did, and with the extra shove the cow rolled, tucking her legs under her and pushing herself to her feet. Mud coated her left side, but she headed off back into the paddock at a fast pace like nothing had happened. Sparkie jumped up and started to head her off, but I called her back. The cow had had enough excitement for one day. We let Daddy round her up on the way to collect the motorbike we’d abandoned at the foot of the hill.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, idiot!” I shouted out, frustrated, because seriously?
He was slowing the herd’s progress, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t until the last of the cows went past him that I saw what was bothering him. The cow had obviously fallen to her knees, and gravity had done the rest – pulling her over onto her side and sending her sliding down the slope, where she ended up on her back, just leaned enough against the rocky hill that she couldn’t roll completely over, legs kicking helplessly in the air like a giant bug. Sparkie, always at my side, startled at this new sight as I approached. If I could just shove the cow all the way over, she’d be able to get her legs under her and stand up. But the bull wouldn’t have any of that. As I got closer he tossed his head, glaring at me, warning me to back off.
“Easy, big fella,” I said softly, “I’m trying to help.”
He blew air forcefully, threateningly, through his nostrils. I tried yelling at him, waving my arms, trying to scare him off. That usually works, but not this time. He was determined to protect his girl, unaware that I was trying to help. Time was ticking on, and with every minute the cow stayed upside down, the lower her chances of ever getting up again went. They’re so heavy that being in that position compromises their breathing. If they stay like that too long, they can get bloat, which puts pressure on their heart, leading to a slow and painful death. There was no way the bull was letting me help, so I needed backup. Daddy was at the other end of the next paddock over. I called Sparkie and ran, stumbling over the rocks hidden in the dry grass. It seemed to take forever to get to him, to tell Daddy the short version of the story.
“Better get her up as quickly as we can,” he told me, tense and urgent.
I already knew that. Why did he think I ran all the way down there to get him, instead of waiting for him to meet me at the gate as planned?
“The bull’s still there,” I warned, “Better take the stick.”
The stick was a four foot piece of black alkathene pipe, effective as both a walking stick and a protection device. Once Daddy had chased the bull off with a couple of whacks with the stick, we began our rescue mission. In the three minutes it took us to get back, she’d managed to swivel herself far enough around that simply rolling her over was no longer an option. If we did that now, she’d get hooked up in the barbed wire fence. Already her face was repeatedly connecting with the wire every time she thrashed. We tried to pull her around by brute force, trying to get her legs downhill, but even though she was a reasonably small cow, she was still too heavy for us to drag like that. Daddy cut the wires and pulled them out of the way, bending his brand new multi-tool in the process.
“We’ll try rolling her over,” he said.
Just grab her back legs, he said. It’ll be easy, he said. I’ve done this before. I had a really bad feeling about this, but I went in anyway, grabbing the cow’s back leg. But as soon as we started to lift, she panicked. I tried to leap back to avoid the flailing legs, but the sloped ground was slippery from the morning’s rain. My legs shot out from under me. I twisted away and went down, saw the blur of thrashing hooves dangerously close to my head. My left knee connected with something hard and pain shot through it, my hands flying out to brace myself. I grabbed a handful of mud and lurched to my feet.
“Are you ok? Did she kick you?” Daddy asked, standing at the head of the now motionless cow.
I shook my head, my heart racing. My hand shook as I rested it on Sparkie’s head. My little dog had moved from her down stay, either the excitement of the upside down cow or my rising anxiety overriding her training.
“I’m good. She didn’t get me,” I reassured Daddy, reaching down to rub my aching knee.
“Your knee ok?”
“Hit it on a rock.”
He stepped back, taking off his jacket. The exertion was warming us both up, and I’d long ago rolled up my sleeves.
“Take a break for a few minutes,” he said.
We took a break for all of thirty seconds before getting back in there. The cow’s thrashing had moved her tail uphill and her head down. Daddy grabbed the back legs while I pushed on her hips, my gumboots sliding in the mud until I found a rock to brace against. Slowly we got her spun around, now flat on her side, but she didn’t have the strength to sit up, thrashing uselessly before falling back.
“If you give her a bit of shove under the shoulder, she should be able to get up,” I suggested.
Daddy did, and with the extra shove the cow rolled, tucking her legs under her and pushing herself to her feet. Mud coated her left side, but she headed off back into the paddock at a fast pace like nothing had happened. Sparkie jumped up and started to head her off, but I called her back. The cow had had enough excitement for one day. We let Daddy round her up on the way to collect the motorbike we’d abandoned at the foot of the hill.