It's Spring. Let the Cows Out.

Across the Fence #390

While we were out for a ride one evening last week, before it got dark, we saw several cows running and chasing each other in a field. It brought back a lot of memories. 

We always kept our 22 cows in the barn during the winter months. Most farmers did the same thing. The cows were confined to their stalls and stanchions for five months, sometimes more, depending on how harsh the winter was. That’s a long time to be “locked up.” 

When the barnyard had finally dried up and the nights stayed above freezing, the cows were set free. After being confined for such a long time they had a hard time getting their legs going again and would stumble on their way out of the barn. I can’t imagine how stiff they must have been at first. I get stiff after riding in a car for two hours and look like an old man getting out of the car. Wait a minute, I am an old man! Anyway, I have a lot of empathy for how those poor cows must have felt when we unlocked the stanchions.

As soon as the cows were out the door they started to jump around and kick up their heels. They would do a lot of stumbling around at first, but it didn’t take long before they headed down the cow lane, running and still kicking up their heels, with their tails in the air. Their udders would be swinging from side to side. They would follow each other down the lane and out to the pasture. They’d turn around and come running back down the lane to the barnyard again. Then the head-butting and fighting would begin. It was time to determine the leadership and pecking-order of the herd for another year. It was always fun to stand in the doorway of the barn and watch the cows frolick when they were finally let outside in the spring. 

It wasn’t as much fun trying to get them back inside again. It took a few days to get them back into the routine of heading for the same stall when it was milking time. There were always a few younger cows that tried to take the stall of an older cow, but she would have no part of that and would push her way into the stall alongside the younger cow and force the intruder out. Everyone had their place and there was definitely a pecking order. 

Another problem during those first few days of putting the cows outside on new pasture, instead of eating old, baled hay, was the resulting loose bowels. You had to be on your guard when you were walking behind them while you were milking. If a cow coughed, woe to anyone who was within six feet of them. It was like a liquid explosion. Milking was always an adventure when the cows were on fresh pasture. 

There was another problem while milking. You grabbed the milking machine, pushed the cow over, and settled down beside her. Just as you were about to slip the teat cups on—wham—you got a manure-soaked tail across your face. You haven’t lived until you’ve had that wonderful experience. I know many of you can relate to the wet tail in the face. 

I think milking parlors on large dairy operations and clipped tails have alleviated that adventure for farmers these days. But I wonder with those clipped tails, how the poor cows keep the biting bugs and pesky flies off? They were always a problem around the barn in the summertime. We had a hand-pump sprayer filled with DDT. After the cows were in their stalls, one of us would go down the aisle behind the cows and spray them before we started milking. I can still see and taste that cloud of DDT hanging in the air. I guess we didn’t realize at the time, what a dangerous chemical we were dealing with and breathing in. It certainly did a good job of killing all the flies and other pesky bugs.  

Another ritual of spring was the great cattle drive.  It certainly didn’t compare to the great cattle drives out west, but it was always an adventure. We usually had around ten heifers that spent the summer in the back forty pasture, where they would remain until fall. We had to herd them from their pen next to the barn, down the road, and into the lane that led to the pasture. There was a job for everyone to successfully accomplish the big drive. Even Ma and Grandma Inga took part. They guarded the road next to the pen while Dad herded the heifers out of the pen and went behind them, usually accompanied by the dog. David and I went ahead to open the gate in the back forty and try to chase them into the lane. I always dreaded the “heifer drive.” They didn’t always go where they were supposed to go and Dad didn’t appreciate it if they got by us and continued running down the road. At least those were the days when there were still fences along the fields. I was always glad when the great cattle drive was over. 

Spring was always an interesting time when the cows and heifers were let out to pasture and they were free at last.

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