Look, Mom! There’s a Cow in the Chicken House!

I grew up on a farm around animals of all kinds, and I considered most of them my “pets.” I had a pet cow, more than one actually, a pet bull (named Joe), some pigs, numerous cats and dogs, a couple of canaries, some chickens and rabbits and a turtle or two, all of which have fond places in my memory.

Some met rather tragic ends (sometimes “pets” on farms mysteriously disappear), but others lived out a full life and died a natural death. One of the latter was a cow we named Snookums. Don’t ask why because I really don’t know where that came from.

She was born one cold winter morning in one of our broiler houses. It was in the process of being cleaned out for the next batch of chickens and daddy had put one of his cows that was “ailing” in there for shelter. The vet was out and the prognosis for her was not good. Daddy wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, so he put down some fresh hay, provided food and water and some shelter from the cold.

He was completely surprised, when he went in to check on her the next day, to find a tiny, perfect, black and white calf next to her side. He immediately came to the house for me and a calf bottle of milk and thus began my relationship with my quirky “pet” cow.

Her mother died the following day, but by then Snookums had adapted to the bottle and was a ravenous little thing. She would pull and butt and nearly knock the bottle out of my hands while she drank.

Well, we were due for baby chickens soon and this calf was still very small, so daddy decided to just leave her in the chicken house for a while.

Back then, we put fresh straw in the broiler houses for every batch, and daddy lit a brooder stove so Snook would have a cozy place to sleep.

Soon the chickens were delivered, little yellow fluff-balls running everywhere. They soon discovered that Snookums provided a warm place to catch some Zs, and would position themselves all over her as she lay in the hay. There would be baby chickens tucked into the curve of her neck, the bend of her legs and up close all along her back. The contrast of shiny black calf hide and yellow chicken fluff made quite a picture. When Snookums would stand up, baby chicks would go flying in all directions.

Eventually, the inevitable happened and she grew too big to stay in the house with her “little buddies.” Even though she had started out very small, it wasn’t long before she was a normal-sized calf and her sharp hooves became a danger to the chickens that just refused to get out of her way quickly enough. Off to the barn she went.

I’m pretty sure she spent some time in the living room too, but only when mom was at work. My dad knew which of her buttons not to push! We fed Snook all that winter and she was tame enough for all of us kids to pet her and love around on her. We would put our arms around her neck and kiss her on the nose, rubbing that good ‘ole cow smell in deep! Sometimes the smaller ones even got to sit on her back.

I personally like the way cattle smell. It’s a warm,barnish, animal smell, and I didn’t mind having it on my clothes. My mother, on the other hand, could have done without it. Yet, she kept the fuss to a minimum - after all, she was a farmer’s wife, and was used to odd smells entering the house occasionally, usually on the bottom of my dad’s boots. And soon Snookums was ready to be turned out to pasture with the other cattle.

I always rode along with Daddy on his twice daily rounds, and Snookums never failed to come up for some attention. She especially liked to have her ears scratched, and if you turned and walked away before she thought you should, you would get a head-bump on the backside to remind you that the spot between her ears still itched. She became a very productive animal and had many calves over the years. I grew up and moved away and had kids of my own. I brought them to the farm quite often and they, too, learned how to dodge that head if they had to stop their ear scratching prematurely.

Then one day, I got a call from Mom. She said Daddy had decided to sell Snookums because she was growing old!

“Oh, you didn’t!”

I high-tailed it over there and gave him every good reason I could think of why he should not do this terrible deed! Hearts would be broken all over the state of Arkansas and some in Oklahoma! The rest of the family chimed in and, finally, emotional reasoning prevailed. With some grumbling about money not growing on trees and other such nonsense, Daddy caved, and Snook received a stay.

She lived out the rest of her years snug in the barn on cold winter days and belly-deep in green grass during the summer, with many a good ear-scratch along the way.

Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at tamela.weeks@ gmail.com.

Opinion, Pages 4 on 02/20/2013