---Cows in the pasture, Cows on Parade---

(Updated 9/21/99)

"Cows/ do nothing but browze and drowze/ and now and then moo./ That's all they do. ..."

From the poem "Cows" by Richard Armour

By Paulette Tobin

Whenever I read this poem I think it must have been written by someone who never got any closer to a cow than the pasture fence. The cows I knew on the farm were a good deal more spirited and much more liable to run amok and cause endless chaos than to "browze and drowze." But more on that later.

I've been thinking a lot about cows lately, believe it or not, because Emily and I went to Chicago last month where we saw Cows on Parade, an outdoor art exhibit of more than 300 life-size fiberglass cows transformed into beautiful and whimsical works of art. I know, I know. It sounds really weird, but trust me, it was wonderful and I'm not the only one who thinks so. Scattered throughout downtown Chicago, the cows - with their gorgeous colors, pun-filled themes and tributes to famous artists -- have drawn big crowds not to mention worldwide media attention.

I think it's the sense of humor, the knowing wink behind it all that may be the exhibit's most appealing quality. A cow called "Give the lady what she wants," laden with shopping bags and packages, stands in front of Marshall Field department store. "Wait Cow" stands upright near the Signature Room wearing a waiter's jacket and apron and offering a platter of seafood with the caption, "May I suggest the fish?" A cow called "Doublemoo" has two heads and is the same color as a package of Doublemint gum. It stands - naturally - in front of the Wrigley building. (To see the virtual parade of cows, check out www.cowsonparade.net)

Emily and I spent a weekend in Chicago with my sister, June; brother, Dave; and niece, Lori, and we loved all the cows, perhaps because we had all grown up on the farm. If I were going to have a cow, I'd certainly prefer one made of fiberglass to the real thing. It would be less messy and easier to take care of than a real cow, and certainly worth a lot more money.

Being around the fiberglass cows reminded us of some experiences with real cows that we had known. Some of my earliest memories are of being in the barn when my parents would milk by hand. My job was to carry water to wash the separator and to feed the pail calves. I only milked a cow one time but I still remember how warm she was when I leaned my cheek against her so I could get close enough to get a good firm grip. She smelled so sweet and musky.

We never had more than a dozen milk cows. My parents raised mostly Hereford, Angus and Charlois cross, so we had cows and calves in multitudes of colors. We used to drive them to summer pasture, sometimes to the Beck land just west of Highway 47. This is when we found just how dumb and obstinate cattle could be. I remember the times when the whole herd would march along very smartly until they got to the highway. Even then most would cross without incident. But there was always one that would absolutely refuse to cross the pavement. We would run up and down and chase her until we were all exhausted trying to get her to the other side. Even dumber were the milk cows that would suddenly take it in their minds to try to jump a barbed wire fence, which their immense udders never quite cleared. Over the years my mother doctored many a poor dumb Holstein who had fancied herself a high jumper.

Then there were the times we had to sort cattle in the corral for branding, vaccinations or to sell. I was always getting yelled at for reasons beyond my control. For instance, one time my job was running the gate. I had to open it to let out the cattle Dad wanted to let out, but close it before any other cattle escaped. To get the picture, think how big a yearling steer is, not to mention a full-grown cow, and then try to imagine how you would keep a gate closed when either one of those beasts was charging it. It didn't help either when Dad screamed, "Let the black one out," and 30 out of the 40 cattle in the corral were black.

I do have some fond memories of cows, especially of the summer evenings when we drove the pickup out to check cattle in the farthest pasture. We all knew that we were raising our cattle for food, but we couldn't help be sad when we sold the calves and the cows stood bawling by the corral for two days, or when the old cows went off to market. These were beasts that had lived with us for years, some of which seemed to have their own distinctive personality. They threw good calves and gave us food and milk and made our living for us. I've read that the Indians, when they killed the buffalo, would say a prayer asking forgiveness for taking the animal's life and saying thanks for the life-giving bounty it provided. That's how I felt about our cows.

Another thing I liked about the cattle business was going to auctions at the Eureka sales barn with my Dad. Which brings me to my favorite cow story of all time - the one that my brother, Gerry, and his son, Clayton, tell about the cow they saw at the Bowdle sales barn a few years ago.

For those of you who have never been in a sales barn, there is a straw-filled ring in the middle where the animals stand while they are being sold. On one side of the ring sit the buyers and sellers in bleacher-type seats, and on the other side is a raised booth in which sits the auctioneer and the clerk. In the back of the booth there's a door, often a swinging door, for the auctioneer to enter and exit the booth. Behind the booth are the pens in which the cattle and other animals are held until they are brought into the auction ring.

On this particular day, things had been going along just fine until Gerry and Clayton began to notice a commotion coming from behind the booth. Suddenly the head of a cow poked its way through the swinging doors in the back of the booth. Eyes rolling and head swinging back and forth, the clearly agitated cow jumped into the booth. The clerk leaped on top of the counter trying to protect his laptop computer. The auctioneer was backed into a corner.

Things seemed at a standoff until someone helpfully provided a shovel and suggested the auctioneer use it to encourage the cow to exit the booth. The auctioneer took the shovel and smacked the cow over the head with it. This turned out to be a big mistake. The cow let out a tremendous beller and began jumping and spinning, causing the auctioneer and clerk to leap for their lives. In its frenzy the cow pretty much totaled the booth, including knocking the telephone clean off the wall. To add insult to injury, it dumped a load of fresh manure all over the floor before it turned and bolted from the booth.

Does that sound like browzing and drowzing to you?