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Entered By: Mark
Entry Date: 2013-07-09 13:32:36
Subject: Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up
Message:
 

 to be cowboys... (Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings)

I'm here to tell you that these guys knew what they were talking about.

We have six cattle after our dominant cow gave birth a couple weeks. Yes, it was a boy, congrats, cigars all around. This mother cow is the only one we have a name for right now. We call her venada vaca (deer cow).

The story behind this is that we bought her a couple years ago as a young calf. The local Baptist Seminary was selling their calves and we were the buyers. We arrived at the seminary with nothing more than a few boys and a small pickup truck named "Alfredito - The Lover, Patriot" (another story, buried in our journals). We were able to grab the male calf pretty quickly, but the other, a female, ran and ran, and after a couple hours, it was still running. We chased it around 30 acres of open pasture and brush.

We called in an expert, Israel Holiday, who grew up raising cattle with his father. He even had one of those shaped ropes that real cowboys use. He came and struggled chasing this calf with us for a short while. At one point this 200 pound calf hit a cement post while escaping, and broke it in half. It didn't take too long for the cowboy to corner the calf and David was able to rope it's legs. Israel roped its neck, got it into the truck and it has lived here since.

A few weeks ago our deer cow gave birth to a little bull, half Brahman. I couldn't tell you what breed the deer cow is except that she is orange-ish, and mean. Since the birth, the mother doesn't think twice about charging, running over and stomping on anyone who gets within 20 meters of her calf. Last week she gave John a solid stomp and kick combo, before our man eating dog lit (another story, maybe not chronicled) into her.

Sunday the cows got out again and we had some corralling strategy which failed when one of the boys forgot how to keep a gate closed. I turned around to scold him when two of our cows got out again. After a short barrage of words, I turned around to continue our penning efforts. Just as I did, I felt an impact on my side and leg. Next thing I know I'm on my back with a leg in the barbed wire that we string our blackberry plants to. I can't say I ever saw anything but a flash of orange out of the corner of my eye. I got up madder than snot and scolded the boy again for opening the gate.

Turns out the mother cow used her horns to totally uplift me and spin me in the air, while slightly gashing my leg and another part of my anatomy which men do everything in their power to protect. The barbed wire did the damage to another side of my body.

It so happens that the same dog that got the cow off John did me a huge favor also. The boys say he lept up and latched on to the cows hind leg with his teeth, which ended the charge pretty abruptly.

So now I need to look up that song and play it fondly. Oh, and thank you Lord, for killer dogs.

Replies to this message
re: Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up  by Matt Tyndall on Thursday July 11, 2013




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