After all these years, I now think I am able to interpret the language of cows into understandable English. Ridicule me, believe me or ignore me, but the events of this morning have convinced me that I understood every word between a cow and her calf.
It was one of those cold, crisp, mid-February mornings that was both pleasant and biting at the same time. As I pulled into one pasture to unroll a bale of hay, I couldn’t help but stop and admire the number of baby calves that dotted the landscape, like so many cow pies – only bigger. As I unrolled the bale behind my truck, all the cows and their new babies began to arrive: the cows to eat, and their calves to use the fresh food as fresh bedding. When I had completed the chore, I turned to drive along the row of animals to perform the obligatory counting, to make sure everyone was there and to see if any new ones from the day before needed tagging. All were accounted for, if I included the cow standing by the north fence, bawling her lungs out.
I went and retrieved another bale before heading to the next pasture north. I drove through a gate that was about 100 yards from where the absent cow stood. Just as I expected, her baby (ear tag #13, unsurprisingly) had somehow managed to slip through the fence, that separated the two fields, and was getting acquainted with the new calves in that lot. I unrolled that bale right along the fence line, hoping I could persuade the errant calf to return.
“Maaaah, maaaah, maaaah!” the cow bellowed. But I distinctly heard, “Get your butt back over here where you belong, you little rascal!”
The calf answered, “Beeeh, beeeh,” as he ran and bucked with two or three of his newfound buddies. It was very obvious to me that he was replying, “Later, Mom. These guys are cool and, look, I can outrun every one of them.”
The insistent mother was having none of it as she paced along the fence. Her voice became deeper and louder as she stated, “Quit that running. You’re going to fall and hurt yourself. Get back over here, NOW.”
Not wanting to see the little guy get into more trouble, I exited from the warm cab of the truck and attempted to guide him toward the open gate that I had come through. “Bleeh,” he chortled as he sped around the old man. I’m pretty sure that was calf talk for, “I’m way faster than you and you can’t make me go home until I’m ready. Ha ha ha.”
He was right to declare himself faster than me, but he wasn’t faster than my truck and the two of us finally got the bull calf to the gate, where his mother met him with a voice of both relief and admonishment.
“Braah,” she scolded as she chased him back to the home herd and the unrolled bale of hay. “When I catch up to you, I’m gonna tan your backside.”
This newly acquired skill of understanding bovine language was so clear and obvious that I’m surprised I haven’t understood it before now. Everything was so completely understandable that I have plans to write a scientific paper on the breakthrough that will, no doubt, be welcomed in the animal science community with awards and fanfare.
On the other hand, I may have simply been having a flashback to my own childhood and hearing echoes of my own mother.
