84-Uinca*ter Farming, Saturday, August 22, 1987
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hazards
Joyce Hupp
How innocent and pastoral a
scene the following always
appears to be.
Sunshine washes over a pasture
of green grass, picturesquely
sliced by the mandatory gurgling
brook. Somewhere in the picture is
a row or cluster of oaks or poplars
or hickories. And at the foot of the
trees, a couple of dozen half
dozing cows ruminate, meditate
and rest the day away.
Brings a smile to your face just
to think about a scene like that,
doesn’t it?
Unless you know the facts,
ma’am. Then it’s not so pretty.
What appears to be picturesque.
pastoral rural artistry is actually a
hotbed of bovine revolution in
planning. For what passes for Bos
sy, Bessie and company licking
and grooming one another’s heads
is in reality the passing from
Dairy Farm Mom
(Continued from Page B 2)
being involved in other activities.
She is 4-H organizational director
for the South Mountain and Cedar
Valley clubs which means she
works with 60-70 kids. She leads a
support group for widows, is a
member of Lebanon Farm
Women, county secretary for 4-H
leaders, and active in church and
many other community activities.
This busy family is currently
involved in six 4-H clubs. About
23 kids are part of the tractor club
that meets weekly at their farm.
During Lebanon’s annual farm-
muzzle to ear the secret orders of
attack.
“Pssst, pass it on. Tonight we
hit’em.”
Your clue is in the tails. (Just de
tails, ma’am, just de-tails.)
Watch’em carefully.
See’em sway. See’em swish.
See’em appear to delicately
swoosh flies from the backs of one
another. 411 just a coverup,
ma’am.
Flies have nothing to do with
this swaying and swishing. This is
carefully choreographed, thor
oughly rehearsed, battle attack
plans for another round of De-Tail
Wars.
The first volley is fired as the
first milker is hung on the first cow
in the lineup. With speed bom of
conviction and aim honed with
practice, a sloppy tail whips
around the face of the milking
city week celebration, Fran
exchanged a day in the country for
a day in the country. That day she
accompanied her city hostess in all
her daily duties. In the morning she
took an areobics classk and then
went out for lunch. During the
afternoon, she helped write a col
umn which her hostess completes
weekly.
Fran enjoyed it, but she makes it
no secret that she prefers her rural
family lifestyle. And her whole
family agrees that opening up your
home and your heart to others
brings satisfaction that can’t be
beat.
farmwife, marking her check with
brown slashes.
Veterans of De-Tail Wars
enhance their weaponry with
“hunks.” Hunks are petrified balls
of mud and manure, mixed in bogs
under those oak or poplar or hick
ory trees, and applied liberally to
tail switches. Repeated immersion
of tail hairs in the bogs assure
adequate size to the hunks, and
sun-curing guarantees their
indestructability.
Hunks enhance brown, sloppy
tail-splashed cheeks with contrast
ing patterns of red welts at our
place, one fighter in De-Tail Wars
recently established a new level of
tail-inflicted face pain by whip
ping a hunked tail smack at the
mouth of the eldest offspring, new
ly fitted with dental braces.
Other known bovine battle plans
utilize super-long, wispy tail hairs
to pry loose contact lenses, and
deposit them Below in the manure
gutter.
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Some bovine warriors turn their
past losses in De-Tail Wars into
battle assets. One switch-less tail
battler hereabouts, known as Hat
tie, uses her blunt, bald, bobbed
tail like a club. On the end of the
tail bone, replacing the lost switch
hairs, a protective armor has
grown. Hattie has perfected the
uncanny ability to rap her callused
tail dirt) on the soft spot just
behond one’s ear. After a fly, of
course.
Likewise consider her herdmate
Pearl. Pearl’s tail sports a dandy
kink about halfway to the switch,
like the crooked nose of a boxer
K.O.’ed once too often. A handi
cap? Not the slightest Healed tail
bone breaks possess infinitely
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more temper and hardness in the
scar knot than that found in the
original. Sort of like a set of brass
knuckles on a fist. It leaves a simi
lar effect upon the nose of anyone
unfortunate enough to get bush
whacked by Pearl’s tail kink.
Often stallmates team up during
De-Tail skirmishes, either alter
nately whapping the face of the
milker, or synchronizing move
ments to smack both sides of the
head with precision liming.
Next time you’re tempted to
admire a scene of cows clustered
under shade trees in a meadow,
please keep one thought in mind.
Someone has to be responsible
for all those little DeTails.
See this red welt here behind my
ear