Last week we had to evacuate because of a wildfire less than a mile from our property. I’ve played out — and dreaded — this scenario in my mind dozens of times and now it had arrived. But it was not as I had imagined before — now I had cows.
I was alone at the time. Dozens of channels in my mind alerted at once. The animals! Paperwork and keepsakes in the house! Where will we go? The animals! How long do I have? The livestock trailers! The animals!
I hooked up our good truck to my big horse trailer. I collected my horses from where they were grazing at pasture. All the time I was panicking about everything I was not doing.
I went to hook up our beat up old farm truck to my smaller, older horse trailer, but found I had been softened and weakened by the advent of backup cameras. In my increasing panic and with lack of practice, I could not connect the old truck to the old trailer without another set of eyes. Luckily, my neighbor was able to come help guide me in.
Then she helped me load the cows in the smaller trailer. Cows are not like horses; they are somewhat trained to lead with a halter, but only somewhat. And they are not accustomed to trailer rides. With a great deal of encouragement, we got mama and the two calves into the trailer and closed the door.
Next we caught the chickens. One by one we accosted them, as they grew more panicked at each of our tries. Somehow we got them all and shoved them in our old, plastic dog kennel and got the kennel hefted into the back of the truck.
Compared to the rest, loading my horses into their trailer was a dream. They were used to the procedure and cooperated smoothly.
I ran to the house and collected our box of legal papers, some underwear and socks, my expensive guitar, my dog’s bed. I snatched semi-randomly at whatever I could.
Finally, my husband arrived home. The dog and I drove off in one truck and trailer and he followed in the other. We headed to a friend’s place who offered shelter for the entire menagerie.
The fire never grew and was quickly contained. Our property was not touched. We reversed ourselves and got everyone back home the following morning.
Yesterday, when I brought the cow and horses in from grazing at pasture, the two calves were nowhere to be found. Mama called for them. I hiked a circuit where they should have been. Nothing. Mama kept calling. This was a scenario I had never pictured.
My first instinct was to saddle my horse and ride out with my lasso rope to find them. That would be the right and normal instinct if you were a cowboy. I’m not. I’ve flirted with cowboyism but never claimed to achieve it. Yet, I had a horse I could rely on, a lasso rope I could do something with, and confidence that together we could do what we needed to do.
In this case, the calves showed up before I could get saddled up, bawling at the gate to get back to mom. I patted my horse on the shoulder, infinitely grateful for what I knew he could have done for us.
It’s one thing to collect some livestock and make friends with them. It’s another to be prepared for the unexpected. That’s the rule of livestock, the unexpected. You can’t foresee every eventuality. You can’t practice all the things that will happen. All you can do is gain general skills and reliable equipment. Build good and mutually helpful relationships. Flirt with and practice whatever comes your way. I never know what I will need my truck or my horse to do, but I rest easier knowing that they will probably be up for it.
On Elk Meadow Road 