Wahoo – the third Paddock has been sold. Not a moment too soon as the Princely treasure chamber was down to the last few coins. I was seriously starting to wonder about how we would buy essentials like Shiraz and chocolate. Anyway, I’ve been down there giving it a tidy up and was feeling nostalgic about Lyn the Cow.
About a week after we moved to the Paddock (and about 2 weeks after I had hung up the corporate suit), there was an ad in the local paper – ‘For Sale, Lyn, Jersey, suitable as a house cow. Save me from the meatworks.’
So I went and met the farmer. Lyn was elderly, but still milking and he thought she was pregnant (that last bit is what they say to increase the value, but she wasn’t). Anyway, I parted with $200 and suddenly owned a cow. The Responsible Adult was amazed and thought that perhaps I hadn’t thought things through. Of course I hadn’t, it was total impulse. If I thought about stuff before I did it, then I might be the Responsible Adult. Here’s a picture:
She looks lovely, doesn’t she? Well she was a real bitch. Bone idle. All she had to do was eat grass all day and walk up to the bails in the morning and afternoons. But would she walk up to the bails? Not unless I chased her all round the paddock, up hills, down dales, through the lantana. But after a couple of weeks and much discussion with more experienced paddock workers, I found that so long as I provided some wheat, mulberry leaves and molasses, she would wander up to the bails. Usually on the late side. I can tell you, there were many times when I chatted her about how I might arrange for a trip to MacDonald’s where she would be the two all beef patties with lettuce cheese and tomato on a sesame seed bun. Particularly after the time when I learned that the reason a cow puts its head down is not to signify submission, but to head but you. But over time, I came to quite like her and I quite liked the milk right away.
If you are ever tempted to impulse buy a house cow, then go ahead. There’s nothing like sitting on an upturned bucket, leaning into a great big animal while collecting milk. Eventually, I started grooming her after milking and I like to think that she became fond of me also. But I would just be kidding myself – if the wheat, mulberry leaves and molasses stopped coming, so would Lyn.
Anyhow, Lyn was saved from the meatworks and eventually died of old age. While I was busy trying to work out how to get a digging machine down to the particularly inaccessible part of the paddock she chose to spend her final hours, nature did its job and she just dissapeared into the humus.
But, the main point is that the third paddock has been sold and I have mowed and weeded it for the last time. Yahoo – time to research tropical island holidays.