The other day was a cold and windy day when we cleaned out the barn. When we clean, I go down through each pen and pick out whatever bedding isn’t clean with a manure fork and throw it into our scrape alley, then we swing the gates and lock the steers back so that Ben can go through with the skid steer and push all the manure and old bedding down to our manure storage area. In order to do this, the beef cattle need to be outdoors instead of hanging around the end of the barn in the way. They are allowed the whole back half of the barn as their area to come and go as they please literally all the time EXCEPT for when we are cleaning.
Of course, about 1 minute after we got to work, they all traipsed inside, loitered around their water tub and took up space.
I stopped what I was doing, shooed them out so that we could finish cleaning in a timely fashion without their “help”, then got back to work picking the pens thinking about how Murphy's Law is such a prominent part of daily farming.
After I took about the first forkful of manure out of the pen I started cleaning (again) an abnormal sound from outside where the cows are supposed to be caught my ear. Maybe not a sound, maybe something abnormal about the way the light was moving when I looked out through the opaque curtain/wall at the back of the pen I was in. Either way, something was abnormal (abnormal things are things that you learn to quickly address because usually they mean someone is being naughty). I dropped what I was doing and ducked out of the pen to go investigate.
Ben met me at the door (because even from the loud skid steer he caught that something was off) and we both went to check on the cows outside. At first, nothing seemed amiss. As we watched, the entire herd was in the process of hiking up to the treeline at the top of the hill at the very back corner of their paddock. Young goons in the lead and old ladies in the rear. Once the majority of them reached the apex of their ascent, as a group they all wheeled around and started racing toward the barn. They fanned out, so that they were running almost in fighter jet formation. Their heads were down, their tails up, some were bucking, some where snorting, all except Mumma (who was trotting at least) were galloping back at us. The day was windy and cold, and the snow was billowing up from under their heels.They came flying down the hill toward us, and just before smashing into the fence, they banked left to follow the fenceline along the edge of their paddock.
Ben and I watched this bizarre display for several minutes (mostly wanting to make sure that none of them crashed through the fence). They raced back and forth and around and around the field for probably 5 solid minutes. Everyone except old Mumma. She was part of the action, but stayed on the inside of the group so she only had to trot slowly in a circle in order to stay involved. They bucked and kicked and threw up their heels. They made tracks across every inch of new snow in their paddock. The air was full of sparkling snow that whisked away in the cold clear wind.
Ben and I went back inside to keep working once we decided that they were not (at least they didn't look like they would) go crashing through the fence. Later on, we talked about their strange behavior and we came up with a theory. We think that because they wanted to play inside during the only few minutes that they weren't allowed to they were throwing a group tantrum. They raced around and acted bratty to prove the point that they didn't like being told what to do. As soon as we were done cleaning and they were allowed back in the barn, they acted just fine...figures.
I guess the moral of the story is that no matter how well you know your cows, you can't always predict their behavior. Sometimes they do crazy stuff because it seemed like a good idea at the time...
Of course, about 1 minute after we got to work, they all traipsed inside, loitered around their water tub and took up space.
I stopped what I was doing, shooed them out so that we could finish cleaning in a timely fashion without their “help”, then got back to work picking the pens thinking about how Murphy's Law is such a prominent part of daily farming.
After I took about the first forkful of manure out of the pen I started cleaning (again) an abnormal sound from outside where the cows are supposed to be caught my ear. Maybe not a sound, maybe something abnormal about the way the light was moving when I looked out through the opaque curtain/wall at the back of the pen I was in. Either way, something was abnormal (abnormal things are things that you learn to quickly address because usually they mean someone is being naughty). I dropped what I was doing and ducked out of the pen to go investigate.
Ben met me at the door (because even from the loud skid steer he caught that something was off) and we both went to check on the cows outside. At first, nothing seemed amiss. As we watched, the entire herd was in the process of hiking up to the treeline at the top of the hill at the very back corner of their paddock. Young goons in the lead and old ladies in the rear. Once the majority of them reached the apex of their ascent, as a group they all wheeled around and started racing toward the barn. They fanned out, so that they were running almost in fighter jet formation. Their heads were down, their tails up, some were bucking, some where snorting, all except Mumma (who was trotting at least) were galloping back at us. The day was windy and cold, and the snow was billowing up from under their heels.They came flying down the hill toward us, and just before smashing into the fence, they banked left to follow the fenceline along the edge of their paddock.
Ben and I watched this bizarre display for several minutes (mostly wanting to make sure that none of them crashed through the fence). They raced back and forth and around and around the field for probably 5 solid minutes. Everyone except old Mumma. She was part of the action, but stayed on the inside of the group so she only had to trot slowly in a circle in order to stay involved. They bucked and kicked and threw up their heels. They made tracks across every inch of new snow in their paddock. The air was full of sparkling snow that whisked away in the cold clear wind.
Ben and I went back inside to keep working once we decided that they were not (at least they didn't look like they would) go crashing through the fence. Later on, we talked about their strange behavior and we came up with a theory. We think that because they wanted to play inside during the only few minutes that they weren't allowed to they were throwing a group tantrum. They raced around and acted bratty to prove the point that they didn't like being told what to do. As soon as we were done cleaning and they were allowed back in the barn, they acted just fine...figures.
I guess the moral of the story is that no matter how well you know your cows, you can't always predict their behavior. Sometimes they do crazy stuff because it seemed like a good idea at the time...