On Being a
Farm Wife
(and other
hazards)
Joyce Bupp
Why me?
Why have they singled out me
for all this attention?
After all, I*m just one of the
herd members in the milking
string. I try to do my job. Stay
healthy. Eat lots. Milk well. Not
get tangled in any fences or bruise
my udder or shove the other girls
around.
Of course, even though I am
fair size for may age I’m only
two some of the older cows are
lots bigger and heavier and can
push their weight around a lot bet-
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ter than me, anyway. I learned my
place in the bovine pecking order
early on, believe me. Some of
those old mamas can ram you
pretty hard if they want your spot
at the feed bunk.
So there I am, standing with the
rest of the herd in the bam some
time ago. just munching away on
my cud and waiting for my turn to
be milked so I could be mote com
fortable and lay down to rest And
a couple of strange humans come
walking down through the bam,
pointing at and talking about some
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of my buddies.
Then they stopped at me.
“Go away. Bug off. What’s
your problem?” I wanted to moo
to them. But you can’t tell a hu
man anything, so I just swished
my tail and shook my head in irri
tation. After they pointed and ges
tured and eyeballed me for a
while, they left. Good riddance.
Hoped I’d seen the last of this
pestiness
But,
A couple of weeks later, one of
my humans comes and slips this
rope thing around my head. Tugs
on it ’til I follow him to the end of
the bam. And then get this!
he ties me there. All by myself.
The indignity. At least there was a
pile of silage there that I could
munch on. After while, they took
the rope thing off and sent me
back to the herd. Go figure.
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way.
And did the same senseless
thing again the next day. And the
next. Let me tell you. this was get
ting old. But I didn’t kick or butt
or try to run away, or anything like
that See, I try to get along.
Then, they did it again. Only,
this time, they took this noisy
thing they held in their hand and
began to cut my hair. A little here,
a little there, more off the top of
my head. I hate to admit it. but it
did improve my looks.
And if that wasn’t enough, then
they started to spray me with cold
water all over. And it was chilly. I
shivered. But the sun was warm
and I dried off soon. Afterward, it
actually felt kinda’ good. But I
didn’t smell like a cow anymore.
Then they led me off into a
nice, flat grassy spot behind the
house. I remembered having run
through there one time, when a
bunch of us youngsters blocked a
hole in the fence and sneaked
through. This time, it was daylight
and there were a bunch of strange
humans around. They brushed me
until my coat glistened in the sun
shine, clipped at me some more,
and get this gave me a fake
tail to make mine look fuller. Go
figure.
Then this bunch of strangers all
crowded around me and made me
stand in one spot, just so. They
ND
kept putting my feet in certain
positions and holding my head in
the air. Every time I tried to relax
or move a little, they put me back
in that same position. Then, they
would all jump back and some
clown up front would yell and
make funny noises, trying to get
my attention. What a bore!
And while all this was going on,
the guy who seemed to be in
charge kept slipping behind some
piece of equipment that clicked
every now and then. He did it a
couple of times. But I must admit,
I did look pretty. No one ever told
me what was going on. but I over
heard a couple of snatches of hu
man mumblings about taking my
picture because my father was
showing a lot of promise as a bull.
Bulls. Who needs ’em, anyway?
We girls are the ones who do all
the work.
But, since I got back to the bam,
a couple of my bovine buds have
been teasing me about wanting my
autograph. Keep it up, I told ’em,
and you’re gonna’ get an auto
graph. A hoofprint on the flank.
Sigh. The stuff we photo moo
dels have to put up with ...