The day the bull got out
Before the advent of artificial insemination of dairy cows, every farm kept a bull. Artificial insemination was a wonderful advance in the history of dairy farming for it not only provided the opportunity for the farmer to upgrade the quality of his animals by offering choices of sires for the future herd members, but it also created a much safer environment for the farm family. All bulls of the dairy breed, no matter how gentle and well mannered they may seem, are huge, potentially dangerous critters. They can be dangerous simply due to their size alone, even if they have no mal-intent towards their human
care givers.
On our farm we had a very large Holstein bull. We called him Mac. Mac dwelt in a box stall at one end of the barn near the door where the ladies (my Dad's cows) entered and exited. Most of the time Mac paid little attention to their comings and goings unless one of them should switch her tail and give him the "Hey there big fella" eye. His huge head would look out over the stall gate and he would respond with a snort.
When my Dad handled Mac--Mac was never let out alone--Dad
would attach a long steel pole with a heavy snap on one end to the ring in Mac's nose. Dad would lead Mac to the awaiting lady and as long as Mac walked quietly and performed as expected by both Dad and the cow, the pole did not hurt Mac's nose. Should there be a problem with Mac's attitude and he tried to charge or get away, that pole and ring gave Dad the power he needed to control Mac.
But Mac was a good bull. He knew his job and he respected my Dad.
One day Dad took the truck and went to town on an errand. This in itself was unusual. Mother was the errand runner. Dad seldom left the farm during the daytime, unless it was to get a haircut. Anyway, Dad was not there. My Grandma, who lived with us, was hanging out the washing on the lines behind the house. There was a lovely brisk breeze and the clothes were flapping wildly. Grandma heard a sound coming from the barn.
Turning she saw Mac coming slowly across the yard. About that time Mac saw the flapping clothes. They were not red--didn't have to be to get this bull's interest. After most of his life spent ambling about in his small space, Mac must have been pretty bored.
He snorted and charged towards the enticing, billowing bed sheets. Poor Grandma, a very spry 70's something gal, could have won the senior 50 yard dash that day as she sped for the porch and in the back door. Fortunately Mac did not have horns, so the sheets did not suffer tears. They did need to be washed again though as he swept them from the line, clothes pins flying, and stomped them to the grass.
This was the day before cell phones. The only thing Mother and Grandma could do was wait inside for Dad to return.
After a bit, Mac got bored with the sheets. Most of them lay on the ground now anyway, no longer moving, so no more fun. So Mac walked back toward the barn. Attached to the side of the barn was an open-fronted shed where the sawdust for bedding the stalls was kept. That looked very interesting to the curious bull. He entered the shed, sniffed at the sawdust, then pawed at it. Some flew up at his face and he must have taken this as a challenge, for he began to roar and attack the mountain of dust.
He bellowed and charged over and over totally destroying the once neat mountain, while Mother and Grandma watched out the window in horror.
About the time Mac was beginning to tire of the game, in drove Dad. The first thing he saw was the mess of sawdust which Mac had thrown out into the yard. Then he saw Mac. Dad drove to the front entrance of the barn where he parked the truck and was able to enter the barn from the truck door. He got the steel pole from it's hook and went outside carefully approaching the bull. Mac stood quietly as Dad spoke to him. He lowered his head for Dad to attach the snap to his nose ring. Dad scratched him between his eyes in the place Mac loved to be rubbed. Then the two walked slowly back to the barn. Dad put Mac into his stall and secured him.
Once Dad knew that no one was hurt and no real damage done, he was very relieved. I never did learn how Mac got out. There was a new lock on his gate, so maybe Mac had inadvertently dis-covered how to open the old one.
Mother and Grandma were most enthusiastic when the age of artificial insemination was introduced to the area farms, and no need to house a bull.
I doubt the female cows felt the same way.
care givers.
On our farm we had a very large Holstein bull. We called him Mac. Mac dwelt in a box stall at one end of the barn near the door where the ladies (my Dad's cows) entered and exited. Most of the time Mac paid little attention to their comings and goings unless one of them should switch her tail and give him the "Hey there big fella" eye. His huge head would look out over the stall gate and he would respond with a snort.
When my Dad handled Mac--Mac was never let out alone--Dad
would attach a long steel pole with a heavy snap on one end to the ring in Mac's nose. Dad would lead Mac to the awaiting lady and as long as Mac walked quietly and performed as expected by both Dad and the cow, the pole did not hurt Mac's nose. Should there be a problem with Mac's attitude and he tried to charge or get away, that pole and ring gave Dad the power he needed to control Mac.
But Mac was a good bull. He knew his job and he respected my Dad.
One day Dad took the truck and went to town on an errand. This in itself was unusual. Mother was the errand runner. Dad seldom left the farm during the daytime, unless it was to get a haircut. Anyway, Dad was not there. My Grandma, who lived with us, was hanging out the washing on the lines behind the house. There was a lovely brisk breeze and the clothes were flapping wildly. Grandma heard a sound coming from the barn.
Turning she saw Mac coming slowly across the yard. About that time Mac saw the flapping clothes. They were not red--didn't have to be to get this bull's interest. After most of his life spent ambling about in his small space, Mac must have been pretty bored.
He snorted and charged towards the enticing, billowing bed sheets. Poor Grandma, a very spry 70's something gal, could have won the senior 50 yard dash that day as she sped for the porch and in the back door. Fortunately Mac did not have horns, so the sheets did not suffer tears. They did need to be washed again though as he swept them from the line, clothes pins flying, and stomped them to the grass.
This was the day before cell phones. The only thing Mother and Grandma could do was wait inside for Dad to return.
After a bit, Mac got bored with the sheets. Most of them lay on the ground now anyway, no longer moving, so no more fun. So Mac walked back toward the barn. Attached to the side of the barn was an open-fronted shed where the sawdust for bedding the stalls was kept. That looked very interesting to the curious bull. He entered the shed, sniffed at the sawdust, then pawed at it. Some flew up at his face and he must have taken this as a challenge, for he began to roar and attack the mountain of dust.
He bellowed and charged over and over totally destroying the once neat mountain, while Mother and Grandma watched out the window in horror.
About the time Mac was beginning to tire of the game, in drove Dad. The first thing he saw was the mess of sawdust which Mac had thrown out into the yard. Then he saw Mac. Dad drove to the front entrance of the barn where he parked the truck and was able to enter the barn from the truck door. He got the steel pole from it's hook and went outside carefully approaching the bull. Mac stood quietly as Dad spoke to him. He lowered his head for Dad to attach the snap to his nose ring. Dad scratched him between his eyes in the place Mac loved to be rubbed. Then the two walked slowly back to the barn. Dad put Mac into his stall and secured him.
Once Dad knew that no one was hurt and no real damage done, he was very relieved. I never did learn how Mac got out. There was a new lock on his gate, so maybe Mac had inadvertently dis-covered how to open the old one.
Mother and Grandma were most enthusiastic when the age of artificial insemination was introduced to the area farms, and no need to house a bull.
I doubt the female cows felt the same way.
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