The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
February 5, 2013 column
We had just settled down on the couch for the evening. Austin was skyping a FFA regional officer meeting in the office. It was looking to be another quiet night at home with just the three of us.
Suddenly Austin appeared in the living room. He said three magic words… "heifers are out.”
Those three words can get you moving faster than any electric cattle prod.
Off the couch we flew to the mud room to put our farm clothes back on. Austin’s meeting had come to a quick end when he looked out the bay window to see three heifers staring back at him.
A warm day had left a cloud of moisture close to the ground that evening. We could barely see the haze of Al’s yard light a mile up the road.
The fog made the yard light in Jake’s yard to the west look like a small moon on the horizon. Luckily it had snowed the evening before. With no little ones around to play outside, the yard was in pristine condition, except for where the heifers walked. I felt like a big game hunter “tracking them” through the yard.
It appeared they only walked up to the bay window and the front door before circling back toward the yard and the other cattle.
We found three head in front of the old barn milling around a pile of hay bales.
This was going to be easy. As I looked in the back yard, I discovered more tracks and heard cattle rustling around in the tree row. Four more head were helping themselves to the open bags of silage and chopped barley.
As we corralled them into the switch cow lot, we heard more noises coming from the windbreak. We noticed shadows moving through the barren trees. How many cattle escaped?
I know this sounds crazy, but the foggy conditions and fresh snow made it easy to see our Holsteins in the dark.
The white sky and snow covered ground illuminated the heifers’ black markings.
From a distance you could spot an animal or two or three wandering around the fence line or cautiously stepping out into the open fields.
It was if they didn’t realize freedom was theirs. They couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to venture out into open space or stay close to the heifer lot.
Over 30 head of young heifers had escaped. The only animal smart enough to stay home was our big dry cow, Cookie.
As we tried to hold the heifers in a group, Austin worked to open a wire gate made from strands of electric wire, barbed wire and tree posts. My dad calls these homemade gates Missouri gates. I call them a pain when you need open access in a hurry.
Using the fenceline and a line of wrapped balage as a chute, we funneled the heifers toward the opening. All but one went in. Of course it was the wild one who decided to break away from the group and make a run for it.
Once she realized she was by herself, the other heifers called her back to the lot and she found the open gate without the other heifers finding their way back out.
With only one flashlight that worked between the three of us, we separated to walk the fence lines searching for the escape point.
Even in the dark, the fog reflected enough light off the snow to see a break in the fencing.
I followed the fence to the south where they had broken out the week before. It appeared Katie and Jonathon’s repair job was secure. No escapes on my side.
Mark found the hole in the fence next to the shed. The cold north winds had pushed the cattle to congregate in this sheltered area of the lot.
All it took was for one brave and curious heifer to discover the flimsy wire connecting the corner of the shed to the fenceline.
Mark jimmy-rigged the fence back in place for the night.
Hopefully the heifers’ adventure had worn them out and they wouldn’t go snooping around again. Fingers crossed we had all of them back home too.
Cattle roaming on a foggy night bring back tragic memories for Mark, his family and our neighborhood. His older sister Theresa was killed in a car/cow accident 39 years ago on a foggy night coming home from high school play practice.
Time does not fade the reality of that agonizing night; it only softens the sharp edges of pain.
This could have been a real disaster if the lights emanating the house had not beckoned the heifers to home. Austin said it was if the heifers peering in the bay window were drawn to the lights in the house.
Our old dog Vixie was sleeping in the garage to escape the cold damp evening. She wasn’t able to stand guard and sound the alarm. Thankfully, Austin discovered the break-out.
There seems to be something very compelling about the contrast of dark and light on a cold winter night.
The lights radiating from our homes serves as a beacon signal to travelers on the road or in the yard of warmth, peace and security. It is as if the light wraps you up in a heavy quilted comforter and gives you a loving hug.
Like bugs in the summer, we are drawn toward the lights of home on a cold winter night.
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As their four children pursue dairy careers off the family farm, Natalie and Mark are starting a new adventure of milking registered Holsteins just because they like good cows on their farm north of Rice, Minnesota.
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