I first met Berta high up on our mountain. I walked the dog every day around midnight and Berta - with the help of several companions - had great fun scaring the willies out of me. Their technique was simple but effective: whilst walking along the path I would hear a thunderous noise approaching from behind and above - not unlike ghost riders in the sky - or worse. Then there would be a sudden silence followed by some very heavy breathing. Occasionally there was no thunder but only the breathing - which was even scarier. I soon realized that I was being chased by a bunch of adventurous cows and on a moonlit night, when I looked up to the field, I could see their big steaming faces looking down at me.
I decided to make friends with these nervous creatures and every time I met them I spent a few
minutes talking to them. Up here on the mountain the cows hardly ever meet anyone and hence are
not really used to humans. That makes them very shy and easily spooked.
Berta was the friendliest of them all and stayed much longer to listen to my pontifications.
Occasionally she would even reply and after one particularly lengthy discourse that made extensive
use of her inborn intestinal prowess I named her Berta: The Flatulent. She has never given me the
slightest reason to regret the honorific.
One day, when Meg and I took the dog for an early morning walk we discovered that the gate to the field was open and that most of the cows had vanished. Two of them were still in the field so we knew that the others were on the run. We continued our walk and enjoyed the wonderful view, said hello to the people who were already working on Ryan's building site half a mile down the lane and suddenly discovered the runaways. The way to the main road was blocked by several defiant-looking cows. Two of them had jumped over a low fence into the field to the right and the others were milling about on the lane wondering where the grass was.
We decided to try and return them to their field because they were close to the road and could easily cause an accident. Meg raced back along the lane to guide them into their field - should they ever return - and I was left behind to figure out a way to end the great escape. Easier said then done because as I approached the cows, they moved away from me, trusting me about as much as I trusted them.
Now, a cow is a very large animal compared with a man and the latter is well advised to proceed rather carefully - particularly when the cows are known to have an adventurous streak. I decided to surround them. This involved waving my arms about whilst yelling loud insults. Most farmers will be familiar with this ancient technique. Often the clear mountain air on Benevenagh reverberates with the sounds of usually quite rude invectives aimed at cows, slow colleagues, bemused dogs or totally disinterested sheep.
The technique seemed to work because I managed to get behind them and move the animals in the right direction. I smelled victory, when they suddenly all turned left and entered a small path that leads down to an abandoned farm building. There they stopped to see what I would be up to next. The two cows in the field came closer and watched their sisters with envy.
I tried to get behind them again but they all moved away except Berta. She gave me a steady,
flatulent glance and nibbled at the tasty hedge. Well, one cow at hand is better than six amongst
the bushes and very much better than no cow at all. I decided to drive Berta up the road and come
back for the rest at a later date. Once given an encouraging slap on the rump Berta looked - and
sounded - relieved to move on. When cows know where they are going, they adopt a determined, slow,
undulating walk that tells every other cow in the surrounding acres: "Look, I know what I am
doing. Why don't you do the same?" It turned out that Berta was an expert at this because
when the other cows noticed that she had a plan they decided to follow her. I shouted an
encouraging: "Come, come, come". Partly because I hoped that they could understand
English but mainly to convince myself that I was in charge.
Our way led us past Ryan's building site where the entire workforce downed tools and admired the free spectacle. They could see only a black and white cow followed by a tall townie who was known to have strange ideas. As yet they could not see the other cows because a large hedge and an old house blocked the view.
"Are you doing a spot of farming then?" Shouted one of them in a humorous way. Just then I heard two loud crashes, indicating that the two cows in the field had decided that they were missing all the fun and had jumped the fence to follow us. Loneliness is a terrible thing when you are a cow far away from home.
I decided that this was my chance to show off. "Oh yes!" I shouted back happily. Then I turned to the as yet invisible herd and yelled: "Come, come, come, come, come!".
What the amused builders must have thought I can only imagine. Around here you drive cows from behind and generally with the help of one or two border collies and a jeep or a tractor. This is the way it is always done, everybody knows this. Here was this townie driving a black and white cow, yelling over his shoulders: "Come, come, come, come, come" and six other cows trotted into view apparently obeying every single word and quite happy to play follow the leader. None of them ever asked me again what I thought about farming.
I enjoyed every second of it.
Half way down the lane most of the cows managed to overtake me and by the time Conrad - who owns the cows - drove up there was only one behind me, and it overtook me at the next gate. That gave me a chance to hitch a ride and hop into the landrover. Conrad, it turned out, had been up earlier. But when two of the cows jumped into the field he decided that one man was not enough and he went home to fetch the dog. It had never occurred to him to walk ahead of them and shout: "Come, come, come, come, come!"
Well, Berta and her companions trotted back into their field of origin, guided there by Meg who was glad to find me still alive and kicking. Berta and companions attacked the grass and Conrad decided there and then that I was the ideal man to look after his cows. They stayed close to the house for the rest of the season.
