It seems a few weeks back some cows escaped from a farm in the south part of our county. I’m not sure of the details, maybe the Chik-Fil-A billboards were starting to worry them, maybe their “uttermilk” was being shipped to Ben & Jerry’s, but regardless, they saw a downed fence, cried “Freedom”, and decided to make a break for it. They were wildly successful. Something like 50 or 60 of them wandering the streets and suburbs near Almo.
We learned this information from my youngest brother-in-law who is one of the deputy sheriffs in the county, as they spent many hours working with Animal Control trying to round up the AWOL cattle. They, unlike the cows, were NOT successful. Consequently, my brother-in-law was busy over the next few nights answering phone calls from people with unexpected bovine yard invasions.
“Uh, Mabel, call 9-1-1, thar’s a cow on the porch and I’ont thank she’s sellin’ Avon.”
After a week or so, the farmers from whom these cows absconded informed the officers they should just “eliminate” any of the ones left roaming lest they become traffic hazards.
Upon hearing this, my husband, ever the opportunist, devises a plan.
Free cows = Open Season
Cow Hunting. Or, cow herding, really, as he has no intent to kill, (unless, of course, the cows draw first blood.)
His plan is only to capture these free-range Bessies, and thereby begin his own cattle farm (or dairy farm - again, I didn’t get all the details). Of course, we don’t own a farm, but that’s a minor detail to the cowboy. His modus operandi involves his dad, both his brothers, one friend, at least 3 ATV’s, a farm trailer and, of course, his mustangs.
There were more details to this ingenious scheme, but while he was recounting them to me, my brain wandered off to my happy place.