Freedom fighters

If you follow me on Instagram (if not, why not?) then you know that we have bought cows. But not just any old cows: Miniature Zebus.

Rich grew up on a dairy farm, and he wanted to get a few cows for as long as I have known him. I didn't grow up on a farm, and was less excited about the idea (i.e. my initial reaction was "over my dead body!"). But a dream is a dream, and I certainly don't want to stand in the way of the dream of the person who is most important to me. 

We looked at a few "normal" cows, and I resigned myself to the fact that I'd just have to get used to their big cow pies all over the place, their massive bodies and strong smell. 

But then, inspiration struck. Rich showed me some photos online of miniature cattle - and my heart melted. I mean, just look at this cute little calf! 

We made a deal: Let's get cows, but we'll get mini ones.

We brought them home last Friday, and I fell head over heels in love with them.  

The little brown guy is a 6-month old calf, and the cow on the right is his mom. We don't have names for them yet, we need to do some brainstorming. 

They are pretty tame, but since they don't know us yet, they are hesitant to get petted. But we'll get there!

Funny story: We picked them up with our horse trailer, and kept them there the first night. The trailer is super roomy and comfy for these little guys, and Rich planned on keeping them in there for a day, to clip their feet, check them out properly, and to get to know them a bit better before letting them out. 

Here is how that played out: 

Me: "Can you go into the trailer and stand next to them, so I can take a picture of them and show how tiny they are?"

Rich: "Ok, sure." (Let the record show that HE WAS COMPLETELY FINE WITH IT. He could have said no, but he didn't.)

Me: "Yippieh!" *runs into the house and gets camera*

Rich climbed in, and we took this picture:

He then took his measuring tape out and measured (41", in case you're curious):

What happened next was probably inevitable. 

Picture the scene: A wide-open door. A comparatively small fool, both hands occupied with the camera, the only obstacle between captivity and freedom. 

Our crafty little zebu saw her opportunity, and she didn't waste it: She bolted. I was so surprised, I stepped back instead of forward, which in hindsight, I have to admit was a mistake. Her freedom-loving sister didn't hesitate, and followed her promptly. The only one left behind was our little boy, who was just as taken aback by the swift turn of events as I was. 

"Let him go," Rich said resignedly, as I tried to quite literally close the barn door after the cows had gotten out. 

There was much excitement in the first half hour, because our horses have never seen cows. They galloped up and down in their fields, a tad agitated by these strange new creatures. But after that, they settled down, and so have the cows. They are still on the lose, having claimed their spot by the paints, and they let us come really close, to almost touching distance. 

The dogs have acquainted themselves as well:

The corgi, as usual, doesn't give a sh*t. Only interested in her own agenda. 

Tom Snow just making sure. Yes, Tom, they are. 

Looks like we have cows now. 

Free-ranging ones, no less. 😄

P.S. I got bitch-slapped last week. And it wasn't the first time. Want to find out more? Sign up right here ↓

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