We pulled in the driveway, laughing and remembering the fun we had just moments before when the Hubs’ cell phone rang. He quickly shushed us and listened carefully to the caller.

“What? What’s wrong,” I asked as soon as he disconnected.

“The cows are out,” he grimly replied. “Everyone jump out and put your work boots on and then get back in the truck!”

We hurried to change our shoes and split up into two trucks, flying over the dirt road to the fenced-in pasture. Hubs went one way to check the locked gate where the cows had been and I went the other, towards the vegetable field. It took a few minutes to find the cows, but there they were, happily munching our corn stalks, squash plants, and the grass along the woods line.

The kids and I followed the road to the end of the field, turned the truck around and parked it. I could see the cows, see where they needed to go (which was 2 paddocks and a field away!), but I had no idea how to get them back in. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen those old western shows like Bonanza so I know a few horses and a couple of Cowboys can round anything up! Only problem was, we were fresh out of cowboys AND horses.?

Little did I know, we had nothing to worry about! My smokin’ hot third generation farmer, Hubs, had the brilliant idea to open a bag of grain in the back of his truck, back up to the cows, toss them some, and then they would just follow him back into the paddock. Absolutely brilliant. If only it had worked perfectly…

  The cows followed him until they came to the crossroads. Then they went the wrong way, straight towards ME so I did what any good farm wife would do, I drove my Excursion right towards them and imagined it was a horse!

I would like to say my “horse” rounded them up quite well but it didn’t exactly work out the way I imagined.? The cows scattered, half of them turning around back to Hubs’ truck and following him into the pasture. The others….well, they enjoyed romping and racing around us and finally running down the road to visit their distant cousins–the Black Angus herd. And I mean cousins in the sense that the Black Angus herd belongs to Hubs’ cousin, not that the cattle share any bloodlines.☺️

 Thankfully, while all this was happening, a friend of the family (I secretly call him The Foreman because he practically runs the farm when Hubs is working on his family farm) and his son were feeding the animals. Just before the cows scattered, they ran over to help corral them. Too late. So we regrouped and everyone stood in their designated areas to guide the cows in one direction, towards the paddock.

We managed to get all but two (those were down the road visiting their “cousins”) where they belonged. The Foreman (?), his son, and my father in law rounded up those last two on feet and four-wheeler. Finally, they were all home where they belonged, safe and sound.

All while these three innocent bystanders of our neighbors watched all the action.

Did I say innocent? I meant useless. Those three have never seen Bonanza and they had no idea what they were supposed to do. ?

Until next time,

The Farm Wyfe