Black, glassy eyes peered at me through five strands of cold steel wire. The sound of my old diesel truck alerted them to my presence and to their upcoming meal. The bovine masses huddled in front of the green gate I would need to pass through in order to deliver their hay, blocking my way. I pulled the nose of my truck up to the gate, leaving as little room as possible. I knew that a quick passage through the gate would be needed to keep the herd from sauntering out into the barn lot.
I paused for a second to take in what I was surrounded by. Two dozen or so cows and calves had crammed into a 30 foot radius of the gate. Every single one was there, each trying to inch themselves closer and closer to the gate. It was like they could sense the vulnerability of my defenses. Even in the best of conditions, cattle stay within a fence or pen because they want to, not because we force them to. If they so decided, there would be basically nothing I could do to stop them from rushing through the opening into the green but immature pasture on the other side. There was something in their eyes today that caused my mindset to shift. I realized that a quick open and close of the gate would not be enough today. The tension was palpable as they stood primed and ready to bust through.
I can hardly blame them. We’ve done this same dance dozens of times before when I’ve wanted to them to follow me through the gate to greener pastures. Sometimes, I’ve even had to chase a few stragglers who weren’t quite ready to leave. But this was different. The spring sun overhead had only started to bring the Ozark landscape back to life from its winter hibernation. I have no doubt that the short, tender, and verdant blades of grass behind me were ten times more appealing than the bale of year-old hay I was about to offer them. The small paddock the herd occupied at the time had been picked to the ground and was littered with cow patties and muddy puddles. If I was being forced to live in there, I know I would have wanted out as well.
However, as the keeper of the cattle I knew something that they could never understand. If I allowed them to follow their instincts and spread out across the rest of the pasture, it would be a short-term gain at the expense of an immense long-term loss. The grass is fragile this time of year. If I let them out now, they would stunt the grass’s growth and decimate the amount of food it would be able to supply this summer. Ultimately, this would lead to the cattle needing even more hay and more time surrounded by excrement and dirt with only years-old dead grass for sustenance. That is a mental calculus the bovine mind is just simply not capable of conceiving.
And so I stood there on the steel step of the truck with all this going through my head. I pondered my next course of action. I could just open the gate and drive through quickly, honking my horn and calling them to follow me as I drove through. I could go around to the other gate, but I would likely have the same problem there. I imagined a solution to this problem… an “airlock” made of cattle panels. You could drive into this mini pen and close a gate behind you before opening the gate into the field. Just like an airlock on a space ship on TV, this would prevent all of the cows from rushing through the gate into forbidden territory.
It was a nice thought, but I did not have the time or materials to make this happen. I decided to go with the first option. Open the gate, drive through honking and calling, and pray they follow. I climbed out of the truck and opened the gate. They were already trying to squeeze their way around me as soon as the latch came off. I made a few threatening gestures and stomped, which for a moment gave them pause. But, they know me too well. They trust me, or at least don’t take me as a threat, so they called my bluff. They were through the gate before I even got back in the truck. I never got so far as to start the honking and calling. What a disaster.
I was completely powerless at this point. With that delicious green grass at the tips of their tongues, no amount of calling, bribing, or threatening would get them all back through the gate. But, I couldn’t leave them there. So I waited. Luckily, the barn lot does not have water access of its own, and I knew it wouldn’t take them long to realize that the grass wasn’t truly that much greener on this side of the fence. After fifteen minutes, they were interested in me and my bale of hay once again! Honking and calling, I lead them all back through the gate once more. Remarkably, they all followed. I unrolled the bale of hay and headed straight through the gate, quickly, but the herd was coming my way, and fast, like a toddler that just heard you open up the candy jar. I slammed the truck in park on the other side of the gate and hopped out, all in one rushed, yet smooth motion. They were closing fast. Fifty yards. Thirty-five yards. Ten yards.
I wrapped the latching wire around the gate just as three or four big black cows ran up. Their hooves stretched out in front of them, skidding in the mud as they tried to avoid a face full of barbed wire. They looked at me with their noses pointed slightly down and an expression that suggested a feeling of betrayal. The closest cow let out a deep low that precipitated a cacophony of cattle calls from the entire herd. Pleased with this result, I hopped back in the truck and left.
A few minutes later, from my back porch I could see a few cows contently munching on the meal I provided for them. Others were laying down under trees chewing their cud. Weeks-old calves sprinted around the field, chased by an invisible wolf. It looked as though the restlessness had passed, at least for now.
I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that with some patience and a little luck I avoided what could have been a larger problem. Why didn’t I listen to my instincts? I perfectly predicted what they would do! Instead, I gambled and lost. I grabbed a Coke and sat down on the couch to continue my introspection. I was busy planning out the design for my “cattle-lock” inside my head as my eyes grew heavy. I was counting panels as I drifted off to sleep. “One, two, three, fff….”
A couple days later, black eyes peered at me through the cold steel wires…
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