The Close Call ...

It was early summer on the farm and the fruit trees were green and laden with the fragrant blooms that would soon become tasty treats. The barnyard was messy after an early morning rain and I was excited to be going to the barn with my Father. The early morning was my favourite time, before anyone else was awake. Spending time with Father in the barn, in the gardens, really anywhere was wonderful for me. I was the baby of the family and the only girl. He never said much but he always had a little smile for me and my contentedness comes from him; of that, I am sure.



This morning was like many others. Bootsie, the Collie cow dog had rounded up the cows for milking and they were filing into the barn, one by one. My station was the centre aisle, in front of the cows faces as they stood in their stanchions. That is where they put their heads between two wooden posts and one moved over towards the other to latch around their necks so they would be tied as they were milked. Father latched them starting from the back of the barn to the doorway. But, in the third spot from the door he came to a very old cow that had been in his herd for the longest time and he scratched her head and said "not you bossy! you can stand free because you know your job is not to move and to eat your hay in front of you". Some of the younger cows needed calming down and needed the security of the latched stanchion. All was as it should be - I was playing in the center aisle, telling my stories to the big black and white faces that mooed, and stared and chewed. It was heaven.



Once the cows were secure, Father was just about to begin the milking process when a huge commotion on his side of the barn startled me - he was shouting , the younger cows were swaying and dancing from side to side in fear. This was not at all what it was usually like - usually milking time was calm and peaceful, the cats mewed for milk, the cows munched on their hay and I played where it was safe for me to be. I ran over to peer through the cows and was horrified to see that the big bull had come into the barn, nostrils flaring, pushing and screaming at the tied cows. He had been locked in another paddock, away from the cows and the milking. He had broken free. He was massive - his head was as big as my Father's chest, and my Father was a very big man in his younger day. He had huge, sharp horns and a big shiny ring in his nose. He stomped and snorted and made the most horrifying sounds. I was scared.



Father had hold of his horns, the cows were stomping and swaying in their stancions - all except old Bossy. She was eating her hay and standing very still watching the calamity as it unfolded. All of a sudden Father lost his grip on the bull's horns and his balance and the bull backed up to take a run at him with horns lowered, aimed at his midsection. I was screaming with fear. No one could hear us. Just as the bull was about to plunge a horn into my Father , as he was clambering for a better position and foothold, Bossy backed out of her stall and with her teeth bared, grabbed the bull by the tail, bit down hard and pulled backwards, slowly taking one... two... then three steps back. The bull was so surprised that, as he turned to see who was inflicting such pain on him, Father was able to grab hold of the ring in his nose, give it a twist and get the huge, angry beast under control.



As Father led the bull to a stall in the other barn, I watched Bossy put herself back in her place for milking and continue her eating. She waited patiently for her turn to be milked. I waited for Fathers safe return to us. She was a favourite cow of Fathers always, before and after she saved his life that chilly morning.