We Need to Talk About Noelle.

I think a year of raising animals on a farm with only 3 fatalities out of around eighty critters*  makes me somewhat of a farm animal expert.  So here is my one piece of advice for all the folks out there who want to to live on a farm with all of those cute cuddly farm animals that are featured in your kids' picture books:  Do not anthropomorphize any farm animal that will end up weighing as much if not more than your car.

Many of you will remember the photos of a two month old calf we brought home in the back of our mini van.  She was adorable and small enough that the husband and I could easily hoist her in and out of the car.  I re-purposed an old sweater and turned it into a calf blanket.  We took her for daily walks in the pasture and hugged and kissed her constantly.

Fast forward six months and we have a very large, spoiled, sociopathic teenager on our hands.  While it was very cute a few months back when she would come running up to us to taste whatever green thing we had picked from the garden, it terrifying when a 450lb beast comes barreling up to you in order to snatch the beet greens out of your hands.

The scariest thing is she is really stealth for her size. There have been days when she is nowhere to be seen as I silently walk up to the garden hoping to avoid notice and then all of a sudden I feel her hot breath on my neck as I am opening the gate. It's creepy. Her playfulness was charming and easily managed when she weighed 150, but now it is kind of like living in a maze waiting for the minotaur to appear.

I try to convince myself that the gentle nudges she gives me in my butt as she follows me down the hill are her way of saying, "I love you.  Please pay attention to me!"  and not that she wishes she still had horns so she could send me flying through the air.  My trepidation is somewhat warranted given the fact that she likes to mount the horse and tried to hump the husband when he mistakenly bent over while in close proximity.  Luckily he was able to rebuff her advances before she actually made contact.

So, is she serial killer cow in the making?  Is this just a phase she is going through?   Have we managed to treat her so much like a human that she actually thinks she is one of us?  Thank god I am farming in the internet era.

When we first got Noelle, I joined a group called, "Keeping a Family Cow".  This is a chat group for people who have one or two cows and are not running a full fledged dairy farm.  Surprisingly, there are a lot of people out their who also have cows who try to hump them.  Seems all of the love and affection we showered on her as a baby with no mama cow around to set her straight, made her imprint on us and she really does think she is human.  I guess the wrestling matches the husband had with her early on were not a good idea.

What should one do with a cow who thinks she is a person?  Send her to dairy boot camp.  I now spend about 15 minutes every day training my surly bovine recruit.  She must stand still while  I put her harness on and she must walk like a lady.  She must lift her legs for me and no chasing me down the hill.  All of this is done with the help of a bamboo stick and a very firm voice.  The first day I had to hit her with the stick she shot me a look of complete shock and betrayal and yes, I do know that I am STILL anthropomorphizing her.

We are both starting to fall into our roles of farmer and farm animal instead of mother and daughter.  It isn't easy when she does something super cute, but I am trying to stay strong.  May the force be with me when we breed her and there is another beautiful little calf to bottle feed.  I am sure I will fall in love all over again.


*I am not counting the 10 guinea fowl who disappeared in this statistic because I like to think that they declared an intifada against the deer ticks and are living a beautiful spiritual life somewhere in the woods surrounding the Farmette.