Of Cabbages and Cows

Of Cabbages and Cows

“Come Margy, I am out to count cows. If you come with I promise not to run faster than you.”

Jack, my favourite ten year old Irish nephew, black sheep of the family, somewhat overweight, hugely under-rated and a wonderfully wicked sense of humour.

I laughed at this. Some time ago I told him about a friend's brother who was puzzled over continuous invitations to go surfing with the “jocks”. It was only a few years later he discovered he was the slowest swimmer in that shark infested surfer' haven.
In all honesty, cows are scary beasts. I have never lived down the fact that I assumed only bulls had horns, and that is how a farmer knew its sex. Come on now, who in their right mind will go behind a cow and lift its tail to see what sex it is?

My Irish husband, daughter and I arrived in Tipperary at the beginning of the dry weather. The fields were a carpet of green hiding knee hi mud and cow sh*t. Those beasts came at quite a speed when they saw us but I reached the security of the electric wire fence and triumphantly sneered at them from a safe and comfortable distance. Their innocent chocolate brown eyes under long blinking eyelashes did not fool me. They had evil thoughts. One swish of the tail at just the right moment ... I saw that once at a petting farm. “Barbie's” open Gucci bag was filled with more than just designer makeup and the scent sprayed on her in brown spots was not Dior either.

Moving the herds from one field to another was an eye-opener as to the friendliness and patience of the villagers. The avenue was blocked from the one field to the other, about a km, while the herd stampeded down the twisty, hedged and narrow “main” road. All hands were enlisted to block off any escape routes. (My hands remained in the jeep). This impromptu roadblock was the grandest opportunity for the locals to catch up on current events, leaving their cars to mingle and gossip.

Joe, my brother-in-law, part-time farmer and full time truck driver, came into the home roaring and swearing. Even with his Irish accent and extremely fast talking, I could understand the gist of his annoyance. A cow had calved during the night and no-one had noticed. “Aye, a fine bunch of assistants ye all are!” It was the cutest looking calf, not yet on its feet, its destiny already decided.