Are cattle merely large, docile animals lounging contentedly in a field? Do those who raise and care for them live out their days in boredom and lackluster years of dullness? Certainly not! And I’ll prove it.
The incident I present took place a long time ago with my father and a well-known veterinarian in Lloydminster. Back then Dad was establishing a herd of purebred Charolais cattle and each live calf was pretty important.
There were no fancy stock trailers in those days. The only way to transport livestock was to run them up a chute and into the back of a truck fitted with stock racks. A precarious situation at best.
On this particular day, Dad motored into town with a cow in need of a caesarean. She was forced, against her better judgement, into the confines of his pickup, where she stomped suspiciously about with a wild look in her eyes. Two large feet protruded from her hind end; the calf too large for dad to deal with.
However, giving birth was secondary in her mind as Dad slowly backed up to the chute behind the clinic. She watched warily for a means of escape. Two men stood ready to guide the beast as Dad began to raise the end gate. One minute he was joking with the gang and the next he was flat on his back in the gravel as the cow lunged heavily over him and bolted off across the parking lot.
The young men and my father lustily gave chase and were able, with some difficulty and a lot of heavy breathing, to bring the crazed bovine back to the clinic. The wide back doors had been flung open and a gathering of roughly 20 men had assembled in a semi-circle to prevent her fleeing again.
She took one look at them, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she rushed, with renewed fortitude, right through the middle of them and out the other side, scattering men like bowling pins as she galloped onto the Yellowhead Highway. Cars screeched to a halt, horns blared, curses rose upon the afternoon air and the large contingent of men turned of one accord and raced across the highway after her.
There was a hotel across the road at that time and the cow dashed toward their office with a clattering of hooves, her eyes wide and glaring, nostrils flared and sides heaving. Dad’s friend, the veterinarian, who’d been watching these proceedings from the quiet repose of his window, now saw a glorious opportunity for a laugh. Quickly dialing the number of the hotel he spoke to the girl behind the desk.
“Do you have a room ready for Miss Bossy?” he asked. “She’s waiting at the window.” The woman screamed as she turned and beheld the demented beast lurch to a halt, inches from the glass.
It all ended well. Several of her pursuers held lassoes and they deftly caught the now exhausted cow. With a few men pulling and a few more pushing, they made their way once again across the highway, amid much fanfare from passing motorists and assorted onlookers, and into the clinic where a live calf was born. Docile? Cattle? I think not.
Helen lives on the family farm near Marshall, Sask., where she works as an author, columnist, and in education. Find her online at helentoews.com. There, you can learn more about her humorous Prairie Wool Books, or newly released fantasy series, Runestaff Chronicles.
