The great escape

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

It was chilly when I stepped outside to do the morning chores. It was really more than chilly. It was freezing, only 20 degrees, but I was bundled warm in my winter chore clothes. I actually began to work up a sweat as I tugged hay off a round bale to pile in the pasture feeders.

I usually feed the cattle first, but for some reason I fed the horses before the cattle. After I’d pushed the hay down into the horse feeder and had scattered a scoop of sweet feed into the bottom tray, I looked to make sure that the gate out to the pasture was closed. It was. 

The horses began to munch away, and after a few pats down their backs, I turned to leave their paddock. I was almost to the gate when I felt a solid push against my rump. I was surprised with the force that was strong enough to propel me a few steps forward. The horses never pay me any attention when they eat. They are too focused on their feed, and when they do, it is with a gentle nudge.

I turned to look behind me, and there was my sweet highland cow, Frodo, wagging his head and reaching out his tongue for a treat. He seemed to be wondering how I could have possibly ignored him and fed the horses first. The only problem was that I had no treats and he was just about standing on my toes.

Frodo has now grown into a big fellow, though he is still small for a cow. He easily weighs 600 lbs. He knows the routine well. I usually enter his small feeding paddock first and brush him and Bilbo while they are eating. He leans into my strokes as he contentedly laps up feed. This is the way things are supposed to be, but not this morning, so he had pushed his way through the gate into the horse paddock to let me know. 

I usually only pull the gate out to the pasture shut and don't lock it with its chain. With the cows in their paddock, the sheep are the only creatures in the pasture, and they are content to wait patiently for their turn by the pasture feeder. So here I was confronted with 600 pounds of Frodo, wondering about the change in routine and happily looking for a non-existent treat.

I extended my hand and let him lick it. His long scratchy tongue raked across my fingers. I backed toward the gate. Frodo followed right on my feet and still licking my fingers. I slip through the gate with Frodo still intent on my hand.

Once outside the pasture, I secured that gate with its chain and ran around to the cattle paddock. I opened their gate, entered, and noisily scattered their feed into the cattle trough. Frodo came bounding out of the horse paddock as only a cow can bound, and went straight for his feed. Bilbo was right by his side. I closed the gate leading back out to the pasture and then exited their paddock, securely shutting the gate behind me.

Feeding the sheep was easy. No problems there at all.

Once all the pasture critters had finished their morning feed, I opened the horse and cattle paddocks, and everyone gathered around the water trough for a good long drink. I returned up the hill to start the rest of my day.

Greg and I decided to head out to the hardware store and gather up supplies for our next project. As we drove down the road, I looked out across the pasture at our little herd. Three sheep, two horses, no cattle. My eyes scanned the three-acre enclosure, still no cattle. Greg slowed, then stopped. We got out and walked up to the fence and then we saw them, under the hay shelter, contentedly munching away. The horses and sheep were obliviously grazing on the far side of the pasture.

Greg and I did not even speak. We knew what to do. I filled a scoop with sweet feed and walked it over to Greg, who stood inside the paddock, gate wide open. The cattle looked up as I opened their can of feed. They looked at the scoop in my hand. They looked back the hay. Their choice was clear. They left the hay and ambled over to the gate while I handed the scoop to Greg to scatter the feed in their trough. They set right to munching and Greg returned to the gate, closing it behind him and latching it securely.

After only a second of detective reasoning, Greg had it all figured out. I don't usually close the paddock gates that lead back out to the pasture. Once fed, the critters can enter and leave the paddocks throughout the day as they please, but the outside gates, that lead from the paddocks to the wide-open farm beyond, I not only secure with gate chains, but with a carabiner at the end of the chain, which I hook onto the fencing at one side of the gate. 

Apparently, the spring in the carabiner of this particular gate had broken after years of use. Greg showed me how it would not stay closed and simply hung open. Our sweet cattle had nudged the chain up over its catch, the carabiner had swung free, and the boys had strolled out into the world.

I wondered if they hadn’t gone far because they just gained their freedom when we arrived home from our errands, or perhaps they had been free for hours and had realized that unlimited access to hay was simply too good to pass up, or maybe they were just home boys after all. I will never know, but I do know that I will forever and always from this day forward periodically replace the gate carabiners before the springs weaken and break.

Such a wonderful life I live. I am always learning and always thankful, and I so love my shaggy cattle. Yes, boys, both routine and securely locked gates are important, but thankfully your taste of freedom was brief. It really was a great escape.