Saturday night I felt a bit guilty for eating three full-sized graham crackers covered with left-over cheesecake filling before I sauntered upstairs to watch Netflix on my iPad.
I kind of swore that I wouldn’t partake in snacking before go up to relax in bed.
I puffed my pillows and settled into bed with my earphones in my ears.
I just about hit the ceiling when I felt some very strong fingers grab ahold of my foot. I was so enthralled in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, I was a bit freaked out.
Those hands were my husbands and I instantly knew it was going to be bad. He never grabs my feet any other time.
“There are beef cows and black and white Holsteins running around in your yard,” Steve said.
That’s like hearing, “Code blue!” “S.O.S.” or “Mayday!” or “He’s in v-tach!”
There’s no time to ask questions, or get answers for that matter, because Steve gives these long drawn-out answers. And by-god, those cows are ripping up my new grass seeding!
I quickly removed my pajamas and put on my smelly, dirty chores clothes. Grabbed my wool vest and was out the door before Steve even had socks on.
Yep. The cows were obliterating my new grass in front of the house. Oddly enough, the small electric-fence I created to keep the dogs off my lawn had trapped a big beef cow. She was on the inside of the fence and couldn’t figure out how to get on the outside of the fence. Cows can be so dumb.
I jumped on my super-sonic bicycle and started herding cows back toward the “escape tunnel.”
They ruined the fence right by the north-end of the barn.
Steve and I herded the all but one of the wild beasts into the correct pasture. Then we had to figure out how one other rogue cow trapped herself into another pasture area and bring her back to the other group.
Well, herding her worked as well as trying to catch a greased pig in a County Fair contest.
She managed to jump through a fence, and run through knee-high mud and manure and hide herself in the group of cows that are not being milked.
Steve, being the insane cow herder that he is, thought we should try to get her out of that group. I, being the sane cow herder, thought we should wait until morning.
I lost and I was headed into the mud and manure.
I stood in front of a vast mud hole. I pondered how I was going to cross and the only thought that came to my mind was to follow the cows’ tracks.
Well, that worked as slick as trying to catch two greased pigs at the County Fair.
Before I knew it, my rubber boots were making this awful sucking sound as I tried to take steps. My feet were coming out of my boots and my boots were disappearing in the brown goo.
By the time I weaseled my way out of my gooey mess, I had removed my boots and stuck my feet into the cold goo. My hands were also full of it, as I had to balance when I tried to pull my boots out of the mud.
They still stink.
Eventually I removed myself from the abysmal mud and started to walk to the milk house for a proper dousing in the large stainless steel sinks.
My feet were cold, manure and mud had squished between my toes and my hands were just as icky.
After I returned to the house, I thought, “Well, I don’t have to feel bad for snacking before I had gone to bed. I had worked it all off. In one hour I road my bike at super speed, ran around the grain bins like I was on a merry-go-round and used every muscle in my body to unstick myself from the manure-mud mixture.
Yep. I think I burned off the cheesecake filling.
It’s good to live on a farm.
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