I remember her former owner, a young, dedicated dairy farmer, telling me I was the only one he would trust her with as he gave her a cuddle before she left their farm last July. One of her Jersey bull mates must have also been friendly as she produced a healthy Jersey calf at my farm this February.
Any time you were walking through the farm 333 would catch up with you and give you a gentle nudge until you stopped and scratched her behind the ears. You could almost hear her purring.
We arrived at the runoff after a late afternoon tea and were sure we had found Petty, as I had named her, at the top of the hill. I had left the ute window wound right down and went forth, camera in one hand, pigtail standard in the other to assist in the climb. Just as we got to the top of the hill I could see the eartag and realised it was the wrong cow.
We sat down for a breather and looked out over the green, fertile valley remarking about the abundance of grass when we were interrupted by the shrill blast of a car horn down below. There was Petty with her head stuck in the window of my ute where she was chewing on the sun visor, looking at her reflection in the rear vision mirror and pressing her neck on the horn.
We almost rolled down the hill with laughter until I saw what a mess she had made of the visor. But it was worth it for the laugh.
I was lucky she didn’t have horns like the cow in this story. Two back country farmers had a house cow they put in their barn each evening but her horns scraped across an overhead beam, frightening her. So the farmers decided to cut a piece out of the beam to accommodate the cow’s horns.
While they were working a neighbour called over and suggested they take a shovel and dig the entrance down a little bit. The farmers thanked the neighbour and he drove off then one farmer said to the other, “Some stupid neighbour we have! It’s not her feet that are too long it’s her horns.’
I had booked a stock truck for the Wednesday before Easter, requesting it call at midday. The transport company asked for the cows to be yarded by 11am sharp so I rang around and gathered a gang to help me starting at 9am. I still had to sort and mark the cows and start them on their 3km journey, as there was a slip on the road and I had to use a neighbour’s yards.
My brother was visiting from Taranaki, maintaining he just came for a bit of sunshine.
But it rained every day he was here and on Wednesday it poured down. With cows down the race I started to spray yellow for the Opotiki lot and blue for the others.
But there was one missing. The herd profile was a sodden lump in my hand and the in-calf list no better. With time running out I told the eight bikies that had arrived to follow me and we would hopefully be up and away.
Two cows jumped over the electric tape and headed for the hills with two motorbikes in hot pursuit. What a hoot. They were real cowboys, lapping up the rain and mud as it splattered over them.
I hardly looked back, except to glance at the lead cow, which was Petty. I was so relieved.
We were making good time and the cows were well bunched up until we came to an intersection where one lot went one way, the rest the other. With much yelling and tooting we rounded them up again only to be confronted with the last obstacle – the concrete tarsealed bridge.
But here the two-month-old calf bolted forward and lead them all over. Another 10 minutes and they were all yarded so didn’t we do well?
It was only 10.30am, time for me to say goodbye to Petty and tell her about her new home, at a pedigree stud, where she will be queen of the cows.
By midday there was no sign of the transport. Finally at 12.30pm the truck arrived and we bade the cows farewell.
We were wet through and all I wanted was lunch and a nana nap, but brother Jim reminded me I was going to show him through Te Turu Taumatua, the Tuhoe Headquarters in Taneatua (Dairy Exporter, May, page 114). Having worked with wood for 58 years he really appreciated all the native timbers that had been used there.
I was all for heading home when Jim suggested we head for the nearest liquor store and get a big bottle of gin. That was the best suggestion anyone had made all day.
Arriving home, I lit the wood fire stoked with bartered manuka, made cheese on toast and cracked open the bottle. We settled down each on a separate settee and using only the little computer between our ears Jim recalled what and where most of the kids we went to school with were. That took us back many decades.
Ah, life was good.
