Well, I went on a run today. And for those of you who know my policy on running, you know something capable of killing me was following close behind.
Normally when we check on cows, we can tell where Helena's calf is just by watching her react to seeing us. But this morning she acknowledged our presence, then just kept on eating, We scanned the pen for him, but there was no calf to be had. Helena showed no interest in us at all, so we entered the lot and started looking for any indication of what could have happened to him.
Between not knowing where he was, and Helena's lackadaisical behavior, John and I both started getting that sinking feeling that something had happened him over the night. Then out of nowhere, the switch was flipped.
Helena suddenly realized she didn't know where her calf was either, and it was some how completely our fault. The next thing I heard was "GO GO GO GO GO!" followed by the deepest, most horrify bellow I have ever heard in my life.
Not even looking back, I made it to the top of the fence on one side of the lot; John made it to the top of another while Helena stood pawing in the middle, trying to decide whose ass she was going to kick first. Eventually she gave up (more like "put a pin in it") and went back to the hay. After the adrenaline left my body, I melted down from the fence, and paused to contemplate the benefits of a life in town.
We then regrouped and decided we'd better check the field, just in case he'd slipped out through the fence. Sure enough - John found him comfortably snoozing in the tall grass outside of the pen. And of course as soon as Helena realized we did, in fact, have her calf, the threats of violence started all over again. But we got him tucked back under the fence and reunited with his mother without so much as a "Please/thank you/ go to hell." Actually, I guess there was a "go to hell." Ungrateful wench.
I take back everything I've ever said about Patsy Cline. Turns out - SHE isn't so crazy after all. :/
