That is not a cat...
I wake this morning to a scratching noise outside my door.
I wake this morning to a scratching noise outside my door.
The cat, I think.
Hungry for her breakfast and subsequent walk in the garden with me.
She can wait.
I close my eyes (and mind to her) and reflect on the dreams still wafting through my head.
The scratching continues, then turns into a loud repetitive - thunk, thunk, thunk.
That is not a cat.
I leap out of bed, doona going sideways, and fling open my door.
There, staring back at me, only metres from the verandah, are ten large, very black Angus steers.
Wow. Good morning.
I immediately think of my garden and the damage this four tonne bulk with legs could do.
If I hunt them from this position, they will surely go left, around the house, straight into the garden.
But if I can get through the sliding door on the verandah, through the house and out the front door, I might be able to get them back out the gate.
The gate that had inadvertently been left open by a son departing for work.
Pyjama clad, I dash down the ramp at the front of the house.
A quick glance right at the garden to survey.
Yes, they had already visited.
I could see from the mashed recently installed garden bed.
As I round the house I meet them face to face again. They are young and flighty and turn on their haunches to go back in the direction they came.
Thunder across the lawn and out the front gate.
It seems my garden has escaped with minimal damage.
Yes, they have trampled across the newest garden (it wasn’t doing that great to start with).
Squashed 10 pots of wisteria I’d been attempting to grow.
But the main part of my garden has survived.
The cat has now joined me and is bumping against my legs.
It’s time for breakfast.
This morning’s excitement reminds me of a time in Ireland, running Magners Farm, when the cattle got out on to the main road to our village and I had to bring them back in.
The hedges were minimal. The electric fence protecting them running on a weak solar battery (it was Ireland - not a lot of sun).
The cattle ducked their heads and escaped my holistic planned grazing plan. Through the hedge and out onto the road.
They were moving at pace, I wouldn’t catch them on foot. Robbie my Irish Cob (horse) was in his stable, the saddle and bridle at the ready.
I tacked him up in a hurry. Tightened the girth, fastened my helmet and leapt on his back.
Out on to the road, then left up the boreen in the direction they had taken.
Now I was galloping after them, over a stone bridge with no vision of oncoming traffic (there wasn’t any).
Instead of stopping and heading for home, they took on the speed of startled gazelle, cantering and jumping up the road, with me, bent over Robbie’s neck, trying to get in front of them.
Eventually, we outran them, they turned into a laneway and I was able to send them back in the direction of home.
Catastrophe averted and a camp drafters dream realised.
Another time the cattle escaped in the middle of the night. (Joel Salatin always says, keep your boundary fences in good order - it’s advice worth listening to…).
I woke to hear crunching gravel past my bedroom window and then on inspection saw them trotting up the road on the way to town.
In my pyjamas I ran out to see them disappearing up a laneway.
With the help of Imogen and Billy (woken by my midnight screams) we were able to return them safely on foot to their paddock.
A different country. Different breeds of cattle.
Eventually the same result.
Thanks for reading this far,
Kylie x
Charming tale! I was the kid that always left the gate open letting our horses into our neighbor’s corn and pole beans. We had kind forgiving neighbors who would let me make it up to them by stringing and snapping some beans, shucking corn too
Very glad your bedroom door was closed. Waking up surrounded by Bovines might ruin your day more than hearing them outside your door !