Now Who’s the Boss?

It happened this week.

I knew as soon as Nathan took a full time job that this day would be coming.

The day the cows got out and I was home alone to deal with them.

I saw him first thing in the morning, a single cow wandering in the yard.

My first thought was to ignore him and surely he would just saunter back into the fence, right?

Wrong, The next time I looked there were two of them.

Maybe I could text Nate to come home at break and take care of them?

Maybe Jan could come home at lunch – what kind of trouble could they get into in four hours?

A lot.

The next time I looked one of the varmints was walking through my asparagus patch. My “just-starting-to-emerge-and-I-am-so-hungry-for-them” asparagus patch.

That awakened something deep inside me. I think it’s called revenge. Or vindication. Or maybe I just got mad. But I grabbed the closest hoodie, threw my bare feet in my gardening crocs and ran out the door in my jammies.

I had no plan in mind, other than to get them out of the asparagus quickly.

I said nothing – just walked like an avenger – right up to that varmint cow. I made eye contact and he took off running in the right direction!

His buddy took one look at me and followed.

And would believe – both varmints ran right back through the downed electric wire?! They both went right back into the pasture they were supposed to be in?!

It was a miracle.

I’m not sure if it was my outfit? My attitude? The “this mama means business” eye contact?

Or maybe – just maybe, I’m finally getting the respect I deserve.

I even fixed the downed electric fence – by myself – in my pj’s and crocs.

That should those those cows who’s boss.

Chester

Peter bought a house last fall and moved in just before Thanksgiving with his two roommates, Tim and Kev.

And Chester.

But Chester wasn’t invited.

Or welcome.

He was a freeloader of the worst kind.

Chester was a mouse.

A very smart mouse. He pretty much owned the place and went about at will, disregarding all manner of traps, both sticky and snap, and wouldn’t touch poison.

Chester became so famous for his ability to avoid getting caught, he even had a mention in our family Christmas letter.

Every night for months he would wander into the kitchen at the same time and make his rounds.

He got so cocky, he would walk into the living room while the guys were watching a movie and sit in the middle of the floor and watch with them.

This kind of attitude drove Peter and his roommates to take desperate measures.

They got a BB gun.

(I would not recommend this course of action.)

Then they sat, waiting to ambush that varmint.

Looking patiently for the perfect shot to take that freeloader out.

It took a few tries, for obviously hitting a small four legged moving target is harder than it looks, But they finally managed to wing him.

After all the excitement died down, they realized, to their dismay, that Chester had escaped.

They now had a wounded and angry mouse somewhere in the house. Desperate.

(Again, I would not recommend this course of action.)

They began to search for Chester. They looked everywhere.

The whole household was on alert. But no sign of the interloper was found.

Finally, days later, on a Tuesday evening at approximately 5:27, they found him.

He was under the ping pong table in the basement.

Dead.

While the official cause of death is unknown, a wound the size of a BB was detected on his back leg.

Rest in peace Chester.

You were a worthy opponent.

The Cow Whisperer

It’s never a good thing when the phone rings at 7:30 in the morning and you learn that your cows are out.

Your routine gets tossed to the side as you scramble into clothes, go to the bathroom (just in case), grab your coat and head out the door in the rain.

I was very thankful Nate was home to help as we drove down the gravel looking for the renegade critters. We quickly spotted them in the neighbor’s hay field and Nate hopped out to chase them home while I sat in the heated van thinking how well that had turned out for me!

My warm, dry wait quickly changed when a neighbor pulled up to tell me that there was another group heading down the gravel to the east.

I looked around for help, but saw only myself, so I headed out to round them up solo.

You may remember that several of my attempts to chase cows by myself have not ended well. But this time would be different. At least that’s what I told myself as I rounded the corner and saw the four varmints running down the road. I drove ahead of them, stopped the van and prepared for battle.

The goal was to get them turned up the dirt road that would lead straight to the pasture. Sounds easy right? Not. Those cows went every other way possible. I was almost in a panic when a young cowboy in a pick-up truck pulled up.

“Them your cows?”

I thought to myself. “Of course they’re my cows! Why else would I be standing on the side of the road in the rain wearing mismatched clothes and soaked to the skin at 7:30 in the morning?! ”

But I answered with a simple, “Yes!”

He replied, “Need some help?”

Help?! Oh glory yes! Yes, indeed!

He went from smart aleck to super hero with those three simple words.

Then he got out of his truck, stood at the end of the dirt road and pointed while making a strange sound like maybe a “yuuu-up”

And believe it or not, those renegade cows turned right into the road and trotted down as docile as anything!

A perfect stranger and they did whatever he wanted!

Was it the cowboy boots?

Maybe the “yuu-up”?

Or is it that they just don’t like me?

Whatever the reason, I was thankful!

Even more so when that Super hero walked the entire mile to the pasture with me in the rain! When they took off for the tree line instead of heading to the gate he simply said, “Bet that’s where they got out. Funny, they can usually find it right back.”

Maybe for you Mr. Cowboy, but if it was just me, we’d still be running in circles around the neighbor’s muddy field.

Sure enough, all four ran up to a spot in the fence and squeezed back through.

Then they headed back to the rest of the herd, but not before taking one more look back at me and the Cowboy.

And I’m pretty sure they winked.

Varmint cows.

Of Wood Chucks and Butternut Squash

Did you know that wood chuck’s love butternut squash?

I know this to be true because I sacrificed one to bait the live trap last week to catch the furry little varmint who was trying to move into the pole barn.

It worked! That wood chuck ate every piece of that butternut squash as he awaited his fate.

When my husband told me the news, I jokingly replied, “At least he had a good last meal!”

To which my husband responded, “I think I’ll just take him with me to work and let him go at the river.”

I won’t repeat my reply.

Fast forward to that afternoon. Nate and I went to help some new neighbors move in about ten miles away and Jan joined us later, after work. When we were finished, we sent Nate home alone so the two of us could ride home together.

I had a few minutes to sit in the suburban alone savoring the peace and quiet after the busy afternoon before Jan joined me.

We took off down the gravel road, and I proceeded to fill him in on every little detail of my day (as only a wife can) and was in the middle of a long – but very important story – when he suddenly stopped the Suburban on a bridge.

I paused mid-sentence and asked the obvious, “What are we doing?”

He pulled on his gloves as he said, “Letting your little furry friend go.”

What?! That creepy rodent of unusual size was sitting behind me the entire time?! I shuddered at the thought.

I don’t know what was worse – sitting there in blissful silence while a beady-eyed wood chuck sat menacingly behind me or if he had a made a noise and announced his presence.

I think the latter.

“I thought you were going to let him go this morning on the way to work?” l asked while he carefully grabbed the trap from behind me.

“I couldn’t find a good spot”, he replied as he carried the cage to the edge of the concrete bridge and opened it.

I won’t repeat my reply.

But I wasn’t happy as I sat in the Suburban and watched my husband try to get that critter to leave the cage.

After several minutes I had had enough. I grabbed an extra set of gloves, marched across that bridge, picking up a stick as I went and then -mumbling something about pesky varmints and husbands who should listen to their wives – I whacked the cage where his back side sat with a primal scream that sent that critter running.

“And you better not show up at our place again!” I yelled as he disappeared.

My husband laughed.

The laughing stopped two days when he looked out the window and saw a wood chuck hobble across our yard.

My husband said it might not be the same one – but then again – it might be limping with a sore backside from a ferocious whack!

I won’t repeat my reply.

But I did sacrifice another butternut squash to catch that furry nuisance.

And this time he didn’t get another chance.

At least he had a good final meal.

Calf Races

It’s Teen Pact week for Buddy!

While he is at the Iowa State Capitol running for office, passing legislation, playing ultimate Frisbee and hanging out with friends – I’m doing his chores at home.

So of course – a cow gets out.

I spotted it eating grass in the ditch on Tuesday. My first response was to call Buddy – who would have grabbed his boots and coat and calmly taken care of the situation.

But then I remembered that he was gone.

So I called Angel Girl – who thankfully had the day off from work.

“Can we do this ourselves?” I asked.

Angel Girl took one look and said, “It’s just a calf – no problem – I got this.”

“Do you need my help?”

She shrugs, “You can come out if you want to.”

By the time I went to the bathroom (at my age you don’t run anywhere with a full bladder), found shoes and socks and a hoodie, she had calmly walked out and with a few waves of her arms had that calf were he belonged.

Seriously.

In yoga pants, flip flops and a t-shirt.

I was impressed.

Fast forward 24 hours.

I look out the kitchen window and see that same varmint calf in the ditch.

What? I thought the fence was fixed?

Buddy’s gone. Angel Girl’s at work. It’s just me. But if they can do this, honestly, how hard can it be?

I went to the bathroom as a precautionary measure, found shoes and socks and a hoodie and walked calmly down the road just like the kids.

But that calf took one look at me and started running. The opposite direction. Fast.

Seriously? Do I look that scary in the morning? Maybe I should have combed my hair?

We run back and forth along the fence line a few times before he bolted for the yard. Under the clothesline, past the house, and through the garden with me in hot pursuit.

He hooked a right just as we got to the gate, ran back to the yard and we did the whole thing again.

Twice.

As we rounded the corner past the house for the third time I called it quits.

Varmint calf won.

I walked in the house and called my husband.

I can’t tell you what I said, but it worked.

He drove home.

He calmly walked to the ditch where he found the varmint calf resting, obviously exhausted after our race.

Then he waved his hands.

And that varmint calf miraculously found the hole in the fence and jumped back in.

Boom. Just like that.

I give up.

I think I’ll stick to quilting.

Broken Fences

b099e3ee-a45d-4f37-90c8-d3cf83e07397 The far back corner of our property has some of the worst fences we own. It’s wooded and overgrown with raspberry thickets and multi-flora roses.

The barbed wire is old and weak. The woven wire is saggy.

We patch and we fix, knowing that what we really need to do is rip the whole thing out and put in new. But it just never makes it to the top of the to-do list.

It’s the weak spot in our defenses.

A few weeks ago a neighbor got a new bull – a noisy, take-charge type – that has let the entire countryside know of his arrival. His arrogant bellowing was a challenge to our cows.

It didn’t take them long to find the weak spot and push their way through. Twice.

A cow round-up gives one ample time to think, and I pondered the profound as I drove the 4 wheel drive through the neighbor’s rainy pasture.

I have personal weak spots.

There are areas in my life where my defenses are low, and I am the most vulnerable.

And it’s at those weak spots that the bellowing of the world will be heard the loudest; that the siren call to see what was on the other side will be the most alluring.

It’s in those vulnerable areas, that I will be tempted to push my way through and wander in areas that I don’t belong, away from the protected pastures that God has prepared for me.

There is no way that I can silence the neighbor’s arrogant bull, and there is no way to silence the call of the world around me.

But I can identify those weak spots.

Use scriptures like barbed wire to protect myself.

And fix that fence.

Surprises

Life is full of surprises.

Some of them good.

Like having two of your kids surprise you with a visit.

Bringing flowers.

Filling the house with laughter and conversation and fun.

And surprise birthday parties for sweet friends at church.

Sharing memories, laughter, tears.

Singing. Hugging. Crying.

Praying for healing.

Such sweet times.

Other surprises are not so fun.

Like waking up on Sunday morning – after 3 inches of rain overnight – to a flooded basement and realizing that all the dirt work and the new gutters didn’t work.

Then getting more rain and more flooding.

And there are the surprises I’m not so sure about –

Like the box of orphan kitties Buddy brought home.

They sure are cute – in a very loud and needy way.

Their constant cry for love and attention is breaking this momma’s heart.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

Did you know there are thousands of different ways a kitty can get himself in trouble – especially without a mother? It’s a wonder any of them make it to adulthood.

But they are so adorable.

I actually sat down and held one. More than once.

Yep. Life is full of surprises.

Checking Cows

Every afternoon when Jan comes home from work, he grabs a snack while I grab a coat and we head out for a walk.

The official term for this jaunt in the winter afternoon is “walking the fence line” or “checking the cows”.

He can call it whatever he wants – but I call it the best part of my day!

It’s a perfect excuse to hold my honey’s hand and hike across the frozen pastures, catching up on the days activities.

And – since it’s also the one time during the year that I can walk freely anywhere on the property with no fear of poison ivy – I’ve been in and out of ravines and to every remote corner.

These walks, however, are not without their hazards. There are always thorn trees, the evil multiflora rose bushes and the dreaded blackberry vines to scratch you and impede your progress.

Not to mention the the occasional slip on steep banks or frozen cow pies to trip you up.

And I guess one of these days we’ll actually find the cows.

And they won’t be where they are supposed to be.

And the fence will be down.

And our peaceful walk hand in hand through the pasture will turn into a cow chase and a trudge back to the barn for fence supplies.

But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

‘Cause there’s something pretty wonderful about soaking up the late afternoon sunshine while walking hand in hand with my husband.

Frozen cow pies and all.

‘Possum Problems

Dear Dagmar,

Remember that bucket of kitchen scraps I set by the back door after lunch?

I fully intended to have Buddy or your Dad take them out to the chickens – really I did.

But things got kinda crazy making the food and getting things packed up for the 4H Christmas party and I forgot.

At least until Buddy and Angel Girl got home from helping at Awana’s.

Buddy walked up the steps and there, laid across the top step, with his head stuck between the railings – was a possum eating those scraps.

Buddy was startled.

But Angel Girl was traumatized.

Just think about it. You walk up to the step in the dark, humming Christmas carols and you see this –

She’s still shuddering hours later.

She ran into the dark, forgetting for a moment that Mr. Possum might have friends, and came in the house through the side door.

When your dad heard the excitement, he opened the back door to evaluate the situation. But quickly discerned that the possum was not stuck and could easily turn tail and run between his legs and into the kitchen.

Not wanting to explain to me why there was a possum in the kitchen, he wisely shut the door.

Meanwhile, Buddy was still outside ready to become the hero of the hour.

He bravely found a 4 foot stick, and while staring down the possum, he hooked the stick around the handle of the bucket and slowly moved it away from the steps.

He carried it to all the way to the compost pile.

Across the farm yard.

In the dark.

With who knows what matter of four legged critters roaming freely.

All that so that you wouldn’t have a shocking surprise waiting for you on the front step when you got home from work at midnight.

You’re welcome.

Love,

Mom

PS If you want to make Angel Girl jump and shudder just walk up behind her and hiss. Not that I have done that or anything.

Photo courtesy of Piccolo Namek

Buggy Issues

Have you ever noticed that listening to the crickets chirping outside your open window at night is a beautiful symphony of fall that will lull you to sleep?

But one cricket chirping incessantly under the freezer in the basement is so annoying it drives one almost to insanity?

And leads to extreme methods of extermination.

Or that a few fruit flies enjoying the ripening tomatoes on the counter can easily be ignored.

But if left unchecked – those few fruit flies can become an militant army in the midst of a covert invasion almost overnight.

Which leaves you fighting a losing battle armed with several fruit fly traps and massive amounts of apple cider vinegar.

But sometimes the most annoying bugs are the ones you don’t see – the ankle biters.

These are the seemingly invisible ones that attack you in the grass and the yard.

You don’t even know were there until the next morning when you when you discover your ankles and feet are covered with tiny little itchy bites.

These – my friends – are the pressing issues that bug me today.