Hands or Tails?

Recent heavy rains have done more than make grass grow. Bugs like this moisture, and they’re reproducing at record rates and sponsoring insect gatherings in town and out. Not only are humans swatting and smacking at bugs torturing fleshy landing pads on arms, legs, foreheads, and more, beasts are busy dodging biting and stinging creatures as well.

During a visit to Mom’s in Wakeeney, we decided to drive about to see what effect these downpours have had on roads, streams, pastures, and fields. We didn’t need to look long before we saw washed out rural routes and fields, brush hanging off highest fence lines or dangling from tree branches bordering creeks and streams, shallow ponds drowning once thriving wheat, and cow herds massed tightly into fence corners.

When I first saw those bovines grouped like junior high girls at their first dance, I thought about the old saying that cattle gathering in corners predicted impending storms. I was puzzled because I’d checked the weather channel that morning, and, while it’s not always accurate, it had forecast clear days ahead. Why, then, were these girls and their calves snuggled tight enough you couldn’t count them on a hot day?

I couldn’t imagine that they wanted to be positioned nose to tail or side to side so close that nothing could make its way through that herd without major rearranging. Then a fly bit me at the same time a mosquito announced its irritating presence with an obnoxious whine. Aha, those cows had united to protect themselves and one another from noisy, hungry, flying hordes.

While humans use hands to swat, flatten, or wave away these aggravations, cows don’t have that option. All they have is a tail—a nice switchy device with a knot of hair at the end, but it’s hardly adequate to address swarms of starving bugs. Their problem-solving strategy impressed me. No dumb animals here; these girls did not intend to be passive victims.

Such close proximity might have forced less than hygienic cattle to not only smell but absorb body odors emerging from various, slimy orifices. However, I doubt that’s a real concern for creatures that start life nursing directly underneath their mother’s tails. Nope, these gals and their babes got up close and personal, leaving tails free to swipe and slap each other’s pests.

While making sure I observed at a distance far enough away to avoid inviting their six-legged tormentors to land on me, I noted that mamas and babies chewed cuds, stomped feet, and swished perfectly designed fly swatters in such a rhythm that it kept those blood suckers from landing on them or any nearby bovine. An army of agitated insects hovered overhead in a hangry cloud. I’m sure if I’d been closer, I’d have heard audible complaints.

I enjoyed cruising the countryside to view Mother Nature’s recent activity. Even more, I appreciated watching the wrastling match between cattle and insects. It’s good to know that bovines can deal effectively with airborne forces possessing nasty stingers and sharp chompers. I’m definitely pleased that I come with hands that can use a flyswatter.

Late Season Cow Dipping

While calendars tell us summer is over and fall has begun, hordes of giant dragonflies ride still-warm breezes and wasps hover over ripe fruits. Summer birdsong tricks us into believing there’s plenty of time for a second round of ripe tomatoes and okra or many late season dips in a lake or pond. The reality is that frosty mornings are not far off. It won’t be long before summer tunes are silent, insects and birds will vanish, green leaves will turn to dry husks, and ice will crust ponds and lakes.

Driving to school in the shadow of a setting harvest moon on the final day of summer reminded me that morning sunrises would soon silhouette bare branches instead of peep through foliage. Currently, on my morning route, gold tones tint cottonwood leaves. Flocks of vultures congregate on elevators and tall antennae but no longer stretch wings to welcome sunrise. It’s too chilly. Mist or low lying clouds rise and float just above stubble fields and farm ponds, telling me ground and water temperatures differ from those of morning air. 

Despite signs that we are on the cusp of seasonal change, most of us enjoy the moment and postpone thoughts of icy roads and water tanks, snow covered driveways and sidewalks, and winter heat bills. We turn our faces to capture last warm rays and savor final cicada serenades. Some creatures literally immerse themselves in these last moments.

While cool temperatures created a smoke-on-the-water effect over a big pond on my morning path, by the time of my late afternoon return, those mists were long gone. The sun’s reflections glittered on the steel blue water as a heron stood sentinel on a dead tree branch. It was so pretty I stopped to take pictures.

Backlit by fall’s bright yellow sun, a herd of black cows crowded the water’s edge, mucking about in mud. Suddenly, one stepped into the pond and continued heading west. In the way that only cows know, the rest chose to follow their leader.

At first, the train of bovines waded in knee (do cows have knees?) deep. Slowly, water covered those ungainly bodies to the point I saw only ears and noses moving forward. Several times, even those dipped below the surface until I wondered who saved drowning cattle. Although I had been a lifeguard decades ago, I knew these huge beasts were beyond my rescue abilities.

Despite my concern, V’s of ripples continued moving across the pond until two black ovals and a big black squared reappeared from each. A bit at a time, the rest of those cumbersome forms emerged, shaking water droplets from their hides. Each spray reflected sunlight until it looked as if diamonds splintered off the black shapes.

I only watched the first members of the herd complete their swim across the deep pond before I drove off, smiling. It won’t be long before that water is too cold or too frozen for even thick hided Angus to cross. Watching cow dipping was a great way to enjoy my last day of summer 2013. 

How Many Critters Are Under That Tree?

All eyes in the stands focused on a bright yellow Volkswagen parked in the center of the Big top.  Both doors opened simultaneously, allowing two clowns wearing towering top hats and oversized, floppy shoes  to step into the spotlight.  Then two more clowns in bright, outsized  attire squeezed out, and then two more and two more and two more  like an out of control tube of toothpaste until there were 12 clowns crowding around that little  VW.  If those weren’t enough to dazzle the crowd, two more popped out. 

According to the internet, the actual record for clowns packed in an original Volkswagen is 17.  The circus I attended only had 14.  That feat generated a five minute round of applause and loud whistles that sent one little girl home wondering how 14 clowns packed themselves into that itty-bitty car.

I haven’t been so amazed by such an accomplishment until this summer.  Because of scorching heat, cattle and wildlife were desperate  for shade.  I marveled at how many large cows and little calves could pack themselves under a tiny cedar tree in the east pasture.  Several good sized cedars punctuate that plot, driving the herd  to divide into smaller groups to ooze into every inch of cool shadow thrown by those young trees.  The only things missing from the clown show I loved were floppy shoes and stove pipe hats.

It wasn’t only cattle seeking a cool place under a tree or next to a shed.  When we drove through Wyoming in late June, it was very warm.  We saw antelope lining up  single -file to rest in the lone shadow cast by a power pole.  Other practical pronghorns gathered near snow fences, maximizing those slender strips of shade.

We passed by one sun-drenched homestead where a  wobbly, old barn cast a dark silhouette.  A mule deer sporting a trophy rack crowded its massive body into anorexic dimness.  He had to turn his head sideways and rest his antlers against the rickety building to cool himself.  He probably would have gladly traded that magnificent crown for something much smaller to achieve a more comfortable position.

Back home, my chickens scratched out holes under the skinniest of branches.  Because these birds needed to let a breeze pass, they struggled to stay in these dim hideouts.  I watched them tuck themselves into the tiniest form possible while still extending their wings to capture passing drafts.

A juvenile squirrel braved proximity  to the house  and dogs so he could flatten his body into mud beneath the bird bath.  I’d watch the little guy panting in that tiny ribbon of relief and want to invite him into the air-conditioned house. 

The dilemma was that if I invited him in, I’d have to invite those panting cows and miserable deer.  Then the question would become, “How many critters would fit into my house?”  I didn’t want to find out.