Roundup Time

Yesterday, on my mowed path above the river, I found big tracks.  Deer and even herons use my path.  Ruling out an enormous elk, I deduced that there is a breach in the fence that ought to be fixed before the entire herd comes calling.

I back-tracked and found the cow had come from upriver, around the fallen tree.  It was rather a brushy course for a cow to navigate.  The tracks didn't cross the mud at the intermittent stream between the river and the house.  She'd gone up the overgrown path to the farthest field.

It wasn't the Far Side Cow, who mysteriously went missing from the herd last year.  She probably wandered up to Iowa, jumping fences as she went.


Unfortunately, the direction the tracks came from indicated this was was not the cow I encountered a few days ago.  Nor was it the cow and two calves  I wrote about a few days before that.  That cow  showed up at the birdbath a few days ago, while I was kneeling in the flower bed there, praying for better fencing for whoever is supposed to be pasturing those bovines.


Beau chased her.  She ran across the front yard, around the side, across the back and up the hills toward the pond.  She is now fenced out of the cow pond and can't reach the river on account of steep banks.  But from these fresh tracks she may have company.

When the grand-kids were here on Saturday, I gave the two youngest ones the game of following the tracks left in the soft ground.  Too easy, they said.

Other entertainment that I offered during their overnight stay was to help bait the trap with a banana to catch the big possum.

Instead, we caught a big raccoon, which was just as fun.  They all went with me in the car to release the critter.  There is no end to nature activities at Grammie's.

More Roundup!

Just before a nice gentle rain, I got these tomato plants and three pepper plants settled in at the remote garden.  The poison ivy wants to grow along the fence there, where it was so happily established until I showed up with my spray bottle and a nasty glint in my eye.

My ongoing campaign to keep the poison ivy from taking over the entire place continues.  Even though the scary stuff will keep me out of the woods until a hard frost,  am determined to not have it grow up my lawn chair.

In the patches were it is standing alone, it is already over five feet tall.  It offers delicate white berries for birds, who then obligingly drop the seeds along fences.  Never eradicated, it can be kept somewhat in check by repeated applications of Roundup.

Towering high over the path to the river is this mostly dead willow tree.  Those are not tree leaves, they are poison ivy.

So far this season, I haven't gotten any outbreaks of poison ivy, but just looking at it gives me an itchy trigger finger.

The Far Side Cow

One of the first things I do when I get up is check for livestock in the yard. At this time of year, though, the cows seem to know which side of the fence their breakfast is on. The cattle guy speeds by early with another round bale for his charges. He wears a black cowboy hat and is always on his cell phone.

When the spring rains come, the grass is greener on my side of the fence. Whenever they move the herd from the vast pasture across the road to the acreage on my side, there is always one or more cows or calves that get left behind. They wander through the open gate and mosey up to my place.

My lily bed between the driveway and the cattle fence is a favorite gathering place for stray cows. One night, I arrived home late to find several big brown cows standing around the birdbath there, like it was an office water cooler.

Several people have told me that there is always one cow who can't be fenced in. She wasn't brown like all the others in the herd. The bull was black, the calves were black, but this cow was black and white.

She had a pointy head that gave her a goofy expression, like one of Gary Larson's cartoons. I saw her hop nimbly over a low spot on the fence. When I yelled at her to stop eating the daylilies, she jumped back over the fence into the pasture. For such a big animal, she was surprisingly light on her feet.

The barbed wire fence runs along the side of my place until it reaches the back of my land, then takes a left turn to the river.

Foolishly believing that the cows were securely contained in their pastures, I took out the yard fences that kept me off my own property.

The Far Side Cow came wandering up from down by the river. At the low metal bird feeder in the back yard, she licked up the cracked corn. Thoughtfully scratching her head on the feeder, she completely demolished it.

Thinking to lure her to the road, I set out a big pan of cracked corn at the end of the driveway. She cleaned it up, drained the birdbath, then abruptly turned and ambled back to the inaccessible reaches of my land. She left permanent four-inch deep tracks through the iris bed and yard.

When I phoned the guy who owned the cattle, he told me it wasn't his cow; she'd just gotten in with his herd. I suspected that she gave him a calf every year from the bull, who could be seen fulfilling his duties assiduously.

Bad Fences Make Bad Neighbors

After a while, I noticed the cattle owner had stopped picking up the phone. I left messages that the renegade bovine was now bringing other cows and calves over to graze.

Reminding myself that I was not raising cows, I nonetheless walked the fence until I found the place where the barbed wire was only two feet high. I left word with directions to the bad spot.

The vet didn't know of anyone missing a cow.

Losing my patience at last, I left another message. I said that since it wasn't his cow, I intended to offer her on Craig's List to anyone who could round her up.

The fence was fixed the next day.

After that, I would see The Far Side Cow staring at me from across the fence. She didn't chew her cud or move her head. It was sort of unnerving. There was something accusitory in that look, like I'd been a poor sport.

Maybe I was wrong about that. Maybe she just wanted another pan of cracked corn.