People in White Coats
Our new way of life out here in the sticks is terrific! The grass is
green, the air is clean and most of the animals are charming. Mind you,
I don't think the people around here know much about farming. Just
imagine: a great big farmer argued with me just because I had removed
some dangerous looking sharp bits from one of his fences. It had taken
me all day! The ungrateful man forcibly removed the pliers from my
aching hands and groused:
"What use is barbed wire without barbs?"
When I explained just how dangerous these sharp and rusty spikes could be and how they would hurt his cows when they tried to climb the fence, he called me a raving lunatic and stomped away. I was so astonished, I didn't even ask for my tools back!
He had hardly disappeared around the mountain when I decided that from now on I would try to improve the lives of all the nice animals that live around our house whether the farmers liked it or not. Luckily the man who owns the land around us is Conrad, a very friendly looking man who deserves all the help he can get.
The first day
Our house stands right in the middle of a yow and cow infested landscape - the perfect place for some agricultural experimentation. I had read somewhere that milch cows produce more milk when they are exposed to classical music. Apparently one Mozart concerto can do the work of several bales of hay and Beethoven's contribution to modern butter production has yet to be quantified. I decided to go one better. Our balcony overlooks a very large field with the valley below and beyond the cliffs. At that time the field was populated by dozens of pregnant ewes. "If classical music really improves milk production" I thought, "the lambs - when they pop - will have plenty to drink and Conrad will have the fattest chops in the valley. That is bound to please him no end!"
That very day I installed my giant 5kW hifi speakers on the
balcony wall and aimed them in the general direction of the
unsuspecting animals. "If Mozart is good, Bruckner is bound to be
better" I reasoned and selected Anton's Eighth: to be played at full
volume - six times. The overall sound effect was very satisfying and
surpassed my most optimistic expectations. A wonderful echo bounced off
the mountain and when this combined
with the crecendos blaring from the balcony the resultant sound wave
engulfed the field like the trumpets of doom - almost certain to double
the milk producing effect. For some peculiar reason most of the birds
working the field decided to walk home rather than take to the air -
which opened up an entirely new area of research!
"Surrounded by this stimulating audio massage" I thought "these sheep won't need to eat at all". This theory was soon verified because the yows stopped munching and stood there with glazed eyes and mouths tightly shut but still grinding their teeth. They also seemed to be digesting at an increased rate.
Towards the end of the fourth repeat of the last movement they got increasingly restless and when the grand finale echoed off the slopes of Benevenagh, quite a few of the ewes actually jumped over the cliff to the left. This could have been a coincidence of course - maybe they were just in the mood for sudden leaps and stupidly took the wrong turn. For all I know they just lost their way as sheep do, but I turned off the music anyway - just in case. The echo took ten minutes to subside.
An hour later Conrad came by driving his Massive Ferguson
tractor. When he noticed his diminished flock he cursed and examined
the fence closely: there were no gaps. He never thought to look over
the cliff though
and simply drove the shocked survivors into the next field. He was
still muttering and shaking his head when he drove off half an hour
later.
The second day
I spent the next day mowing the luscious grass which rather spoiled the looks of the big field. It had grown to such an extent that it was actually waving in the wind and poor Conrad doesn't seem to have the time to look after his larger lawns properly.
I laboured for hours, using the new lawn mower I had borrowed from B&Q. I aimed for as smooth a cut as possible and even managed to produce a rather fancy striped effect. When I surveyed my work in the late afternoon the lawn looked like Wembley stadium just before a big match. I threw the cuttings over the cliff where they very conveniently covered up most of the dead sheep.
I had just tidied away the mower when Conrad happened along driving a herd of his famous Texas Longhorns - prize-winning steers of which he is enormously proud. When he noticed the result of my labours he was gratifyingly gob smacked. So were the animals after they tried to get some nourishment from the closely cropped lawn. Hungry steers are very noisy animals!
For some peculiar reason Conrad became very agitated when he watched all this.
"What happened to my grass?"
"It was so long and damp" I explained "that the animals were bound to get wet feet, catch the flu and die. So I trimmed it."
Conrad looked as if he didn't believe either me nor the evidence of his own eyes and asked in a strangely quiet voice:
"What have you done with the cuttings? "
I pointed proudly: "Look! I dumped them all over the cliff. I know how to clean up after myself! "
He glanced over the cliff at the carcass-dotted landscape below and asked suspiciously:
"Are those my animals sticking out of the grass?"
"Yes" said I. "Some of them must have jumped over the edge yesterday. They seem to be deeply affected by loud noise."
"Are you daft or just stupid?" yelled Conrad.
How do you like that? You try to do your best and all you get is yelling and abuse.
I didn't say any more because he looked so angry that I thought he might resort to violence. As he stumped away with a face like thunder and drove his hungry longhorns into another field down the road he yelled: "I'll talk to you later and it will be the last thing you ever hear!"
What a confused man! Hopefully - given time - he will calm
down and see that I really have his interests in mind. After all, only
because he has lived in the country all his life, doesn't mean that he
is right ALL of the time.
The third day
Today - for some peculiar reason - the lambs were panicking. They live
on the other lawn that I don't dare to mow now, because of Conrad's
strange reaction yesterday. For some reason they suddenly started to
gang up together and run up and down the field like woolly maniacs.
This looked highly dangerous and would most likely end with broken legs
or necks or worse. I didn't think that Conrad was ready to cope with
the loss of yet another lock of lifestock and wondered what I could do
to help. Later the lambs started to buck up into the air in funny
little jerks and I got really worried and decided that enough was
enough. No healthy young animal will behave in this strange way - there
must be something wrong. I raced into the field and tried to calm them
down but they just made a lot of noise and ran away even faster.
That's when I had my brilliant idea.
One by one I caught the young trouble makers and by shoving
their little heads through the wire fence I managed to immobilize them.
Some of them struggled a bit, but most of them
seemed to appreciate my concerns and stopped struggling after a while.
All told it took me five hours to catch the little critters, but at the end of the day I could look proudly across a field bordered by sixty-five little heads trapped in the wire fence and now safely at rest and quiet as lambs. I have to admit that their mothers looked rather puzzled and set up such a racket, it nearly rivalled the Bruckner performance of the other day. It was this that must have attracted Conrad.
I quickly hid in a hedge because I remembered how angry he had been yesterday. I watched him carefully in case he showed further signs of a fragile temper. Conrad spent the next two hours undoing all my hard work, head by little woolly head, all the while looking furiously in the direction of our house.
Gratifyingly, my efforts hadn't been entirely wasted because the surviving lambs just staggered to their mothers for an evening meal. No more dangerous running and jumping - they had obviously learned their lesson. I felt that this just goes to show what can be achieved when you really understand all about farm animals and are not afraid to take corrective action!
As Conrad walked off I heard him mutter:
"One or two, fair enough - that's normal. But ALL of them? In ONE afternoon????"
Some of his question marks were bigger than the mountain.
The fourth Day
Today was even more exciting.
On the way to town I drove past the field populated by the other day's longhorns. The splendid beasts seemed to be very unhappy, didn't eat much and were all crowded against the fence looking longingly at the field across the road.
"The grass yonder must be greener" I deduced, and there and then decided to end their misery and set them free to look for some decent food. I felt sure that this is what Conrad would have wanted me to do. The grass across the road was probably much better and he must have forgotten about this because of all the excitement during the previous days.
I opened the gate and it was wonderful to observe the reaction! The animals raced to the opening and within minutes the road was filled with grateful longhorns investigating what the rest of the mountain had to offer. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to open the gate into the other field because I slipped on something smelly and fell flat on my face. By the time I was up and could breathe again, half the animals were stampeding up the mountain while the rest galloped to the valley below.
I was half stunned and the smell was sickening. Some of the steers were eyeing me and one of them began to aim his horns in my direction. As I turned to escape I glanced up the road. Half the herd was tearing around the bend when they met a sudden obstacle. Several large and expensive looking limousines accompanied by policemen on motorbikes came racing down the mountain. A helicopter swooped above. There was a sudden screeching of brakes as the unexpected tourists spotted Conrad's prize-winning herd - but the road was very slippery by now and the hill is very steep.
The motor cyclists were the first to go. They were flung off their mounts but luckily landed softly because of all the cow shit. One of the limousines skidded across the road - doors flying open - and came to rest against the gate I had just opened. The others just drove on until they were stopped by the enraged longhorns. All of the animals survived the impact - not a single car did.
I explained what had happened to a smelly policeman who had limped over. He didn't seem at all impressed. He could hardly hear me because of the sirens, the shouting, the cursing - and above all the bellowing of the furious Texan bovines. Just as I finished my explanation and the policeman had answered "I don't believe it", Conrad came stalking up the road. He seemed to have developed a very fine sense for abnormal noise coming down the mountain.
"What's going on?" he yelled.
The policeman looked at Conrad, he looked at me, he looked at the steers. "Are these your beasts, Sir?" said he.
"Yes" answered Conrad. "How did they get out? That is a brand new double fence." He looked around and pointed at me:
"What is that daft ejit doing here?"
The smelly policemen's reply was interrupted by a loud and painful
scream. I looked around and noticed a rather well-dressed gentleman who
- whilst failing to escape from an enraged longhorn - was in the
process of losing the most strategic parts of his expensive trousers. I
experienced a sudden wave of deep sympathy.
We gave the policeman a questioning look.
???
There was short and amused silence as this bit of local news sank in. There are but a few sad fish on Mount Benevenagh, but the sharp ends of agriculture can be found everywhere.
"What a mess" said the stinking officer.
He gave us a hopeful look:
"Somebody should really go and rescue that poor man".
There was no reaction - in this particular instance Conrad and I were in complete agreement. A steer is a steer but a minister is just a politician, after all.
"I better try and rescue him then" appealed the smelly officer. He knew
that he could
expect no help from his harassed colleagues because all around us his
friends from the ministerial detail were either giving each other first
aid or were clearing a small area of the field so that the helicopter
could land without manufacturing even more hamburgers.
"What a mess!" groaned the noxious lawman as he ambled off. The minister was luckier than he deserved though, because Conrad joined his reluctant rescuer and they bravely saved the ministerial posterior from further bovine inflictions.
When it was all over and the helicopter with the emergency surgeon treating the ministerial seat was thundering towards Gransha Hospital, Conrad had a long talk with the policeman. I think he is finally starting to appreciate my help because he gave me what I thought was an encouraging look before starting to round up what was left of his longhorns.
When I thought about all that had happened I couldn't help
but think that maybe I had been responsible for just a tiny fraction of
all that damage. I decided not to let that slow me down; after all,
practice makes perfect. I am already looking forward to tomorrow.
