The Steer Joins The Escapees My son John raises a few steers each year. He has several right now. One of them is a pugnacious little Hereford he has named Stuart. Stuart was acquired last fall with the others as a young calf and is now a half-grown steer with an attitude. He likes to snort, paw, challenge people, and head-butt them. Wouldn’t you know that I would end up living around a bovine version of Fuzzy? Stuart likes his own way and is the definite ringleader. The others fall meekly into line, grazing where he wants to graze, resting where he wants to rest, and patrolling their field to keep intruders out. There is a long dirt lane, fenced on either side, running between the north side of John’s property and the property to the north of that, which gives access to open land behind both pieces. The cow pasture has a huge gate that opens into this lane. The fencing is good-looking steel pipe. No cow had ever esc aped from it. It was very sturdy and seemingly cow proof. Unless you are unfortunate enough to have a Stuart. Yesterday Dustin and Josh were at their respective schools and John was out with a client when Julia arrived to help with some chores. We were up at John’s house near the front of the property, which fronts a well-traveled highway, when Julia’s daughter Christy called. I went out to the kitchen to get a drink while she took the call, and when I glanced casually out the window toward the cow pasture I saw something I couldn’t have seen. Stuart was not in his field. He was in the neighbor’s field. He couldn’t possibly have jumped that very sturdy four-rail pipe fence. No way. He couldn’t have gone through it, either. I could see clearly that the gate was not open. I blinked hard and took another look. Stuart was definitely cavorting around in the neighbor’s field. The other steers were clustered by the shut and locked gate, mooing in distress at the sight of their friend having a lovely time in presumably greener pastures while they were stranded in the same old boring field. Horrible visions shot through my mind. The neighbor’s field was never used and was not solidly fenced. Stuart could go down the lane to the highway and get killed. Whoever was in the car that hit him could also get killed. If HE got out, maybe the others could get out. I needed help and I needed it fast. I screeched for Julia while I speed-dialed John’s number. Both got my gabbled emergency message at the same time. John said he would be home immediately. At the same time a truck pulled in off the highway and a strange man stood at the locked gate to the property waving and pointing frantically. Julia raced out on to the porch and waved back that we were coming while I snatched my keys and leaped into the Audi to try to block the way to the highway. Julia opened the gate and dove into the stranger’s truck when he offered assistance. By the time I got there and started maneuvering the Audi to provide the maximum possible obstruction for Stuart, Julia was marching purposefully into the neighbors’ field and the stranger, whose name turned out to be Scott, was rapidly inspecting the gate and fence and shooing the other interested steers away. He showed me what had happened. That little wretch of a steer had rubbed himself against the fencing just west of the gate and knocked down a rail, squeezed through it somehow, and headed for life on the lam. While Scott repaired the fence, told me how to prevent this from happening again, and wrestled with the tight lock on the gate and the numerous very tight knots that were tied with the intention of remaining tied forever, I recalled that John had described Stuart as totally unafraid of people and prone to short charges and head butts. By the time I did remember this, Julia was too far into the neighbors’ pasture to hear me if I shouted. Another truck pulled in and another kind strange man got out to both help block the lane and help round up the escaped steer. Stuart walked and jogged around that huge open space for a few minutes until he was certain he was right and that this presumptuous human was, indeed, following him. He stopped, turned to face Julia, braced his legs, and lowered his head. Take one more step, lady, his stance said, and you’ve had it. Not fazed one bit, Julia snatched up a big dead bush, brandished it at his nose, advanced to within five feet of him, yelled, and flapped her arms. This was a new one on Stuart, but he wasn’t going to give ground. He lowered his head. Julia yelled at him again, jumped up and down, and I heard something about “steak.” I am not saying Stuart understood, but he turned around, bawled, and began trotting back in our direction. Scott rapidly assigned me to man the gate to our field. The other man moved in quickly to block any attempt to get to the road, and Scott stepped into position to haze Stuart into his own pasture, after making sure the other Herefords had been chased to the far end of the pasture. His plan worked perfectly. Stuart tried to go west to find the way blocked, tried to go south and was cut off by Scott, and tried to go back the way he had come only to come face to face with the branch-waving Julia. He bawled again, saw me open the gate, and threw in the towel. He trotted meekly past me into his pasture. I slammed the gate so fast I nearly got his tail. Accepting my profuse and heartfelt thanks, the two men left. I called John and told him Stuart was captured, and Julia and I went back to the house. But for much of the rest of the afternoon, Stuart walked up and down that fence line, probing it with his nose, looking for another way out.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Jan 2015 06:01:54 +0000
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