its 730am sunday morning, and 18 cows escaped from the farm. a rescue mission.

the phone rings at seven twenty seven sunday morning, and it’s john ivy.  the ivy family owns fowler farm, where all of our animals live, and they are out of town on a quick getaway.  I knew a call at this hour could only mean one thing.  I didn’t even answer the phone, I just grabbed socks and looked for my work pants.  a cow is off property, and the neighbors called john--it was obvious.  like a fireman waking up to the bell, I was out the door before my eyes had a chance to focus.  while dressing, a voicemail from john confirmed my autopilot assumption.   

francois and farmer j were both in route to assist, but they were both ten minutes or more away from the scene.  I was alone on the ground, which left me with little recourse.  without even trying, I knew that any true maneuver of a loose cow across the road (with cars at fifty mph) would require a second body to direct/stop oncoming traffic.  I approached the farm and saw four cows in the diagonal neighbors front yard.  they were about a hundred yards off the road and in no real danger so I drove past and pulled into the farm proper.  I quickly searched the herd to see if their escape route was still an open faucet, in case I could prevent others from joining the mutiny.  nothing found on first glance.  eight cows--of twenty six!--were in our field.  I grabbed a bucket of cow candy and sprinted through the woods to where I saw the runnoft herd.  as I was running I began to dial the police in order to request some traffic help.  at that very moment, I saw a police officer driving down the road.  thank you easter bunny.  I waved him down by frantically waving my herding stick, broke down the situation, and jogged up the neighbor’s driveway.

the kind woman who lives there—a civilian house surrounded by invading ruminants—met me in the driveway.

we were sleepin’ in bed, heard the cows.  there’s a pen out back, and a bunch of the cows are around the side.  if you can gettum in the pen we can lock it up.  my husband is coming over in the golf cart.  he cant hear so well, but he’s gonna try and talk to ya.

I hollered for the cows.  I shook the bucket of candy.  I had their attention. 

it became pretty clear to me that the herd wanted to come with.  they had done their deed, but knew the gig was up.  the herd immediately pied pipered right into line and started following the leader—in this case, me.  I even had the opportunity to pull off a classic livestock pied pipering maneuever:  the ol’ circle the tree and have the herd follow you gag.  half gag/half strategy actually, as i had reached a point in the backyard where I neither wanted to stop moving forward, nor had a clear route where to go.  so, circle back!  losing the flow of the herd is a potential game changer.  anticipating momentum becomes like a sixth sense, as the herder tries to tap into the herd's collective brain.  

it was pretty painless after that, and the video takes you the rest of the way.  I led the cows a hundred yards down to a police escort, and then another hundred or so down the farm’s driveway--into a pasture.  moving the cows—off property—and feeling their true size and power unbound by electric fencing or comfortable interactions, is always an awesome moment. 

the beast is out of the cage.