Whenever we are outside working with the cows, Steve makes the comment, "Come on, you naughty Jerseys."
In fact, he says it so often that I tune it out every time he starts whining about my cinnamon brown, big black-eyed, super-cute Jersey cows.
I don't know, but it's almost getting to the point where I am going to have to start listening to Steve and believing that my Jerseys really are trouble-makers.
Let me start at the very beginning.
Remember last year, at about this time, I wrote about how MooLatte escaped from the birthing barn just hours after she was brought into this world. Remember we searched high and low for one-and-a-half days for the cute little brown-eyed Jersey calf.
Eventually, Moo was found lying in a field just west of our house, curled up in a little ball in the dark black dirt. The absence of a crop on that field made searching for her a little less stressful, but I still worried incessantly about what would happen to her.
After that experience, I swore I would never lose another Jersey calf for as long as I live.
Last Friday morning, Popo, also known as Pony but the "ny" rubbed offer her name tag, had her baby heifer calf. I had been waiting for weeks.
I had her name all picked out Pogo.
Popos's Aug. 18 due date came and went without nary a consideration of having her baby. For some reason she waited until the 19th of August.
Pogo is such an appropriate name for this heifer calf.
Friday morning I walked into the calving pen to make sure Popo really did have a girl. Popo wasn't real happy to see me in there. She was a little aggressive, but not anything that would scare me out of the pen.
But then the dogs came in the pen and she let out a horrendous, ear-splitting moo. At that very second, Pogo jumped straight up into the air and took off running the opposite way like she was jumping on a pogo stick. She was moving so fast Steve said she ran head first into the gate. I didn't notice because I was jumping over the rail on the feed bunk.
Steve and I chose to let Pogo be alone to recuperate from such trauma and to bring the cows down for the milking. When we came back past the calving barn, Pogo was gone.
Poof! Just gone.
I warned everyone in the area, "We are not going anywhere until we find that calf."
If looks could divorce a mother from her husband and sons, I would be living on the street. There was no way I was going to go to the Twin Cities for the weekend not knowing where that Pogo was hiding. Good grief, the fields are filled with 10-foot tall field corn.
After the dirty looks, my threat brought on an all-out calf search. If we had a search-and-rescue helicopter, it would have been in the air.
Just before Russell was leaving for football practice, he chose to walk around the pasture fence.
Such a smart move! I told him he was my hero.
Russell picked her up in his arms, carried her from the far pasture to the calf domes by our garage and locked her in there using pipes, bars and gates.
He was quite positive she wasn't going to get out of the calf dome.
He wanted desperately to go to the Twins game against the Yankees.
I vowed to Steve that from now on I will make sure the front doors on the calving barn are closed so any new Jersey calf doesn't bolt like lightning in search of a dirt pile to curl up on or greener pastures.
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