The broken fence and the cow

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Published on Friday, September 30, 2016

By Grant Guy

Submitted

Darwin tried to maneuver a cow from his neighbour’s pasture. He hopped, danced and sidled as he flailed his arms attempting to herd the cow back through the gate. If he could lead the cow back onto the road he could return the cow back to his farm. He was having some success until I, his city cousin, stepped through the gate and onto the neighbour’s pasture.

The cow, seeing me walking towards it, bolted away from the gate and Darwin. Darwin dropped his arms and head in defeated. After a heavy huff he lifted his head.

“Will you get the hell out of the away?” shouted Darwin at his cousin.

I felt like an absolute moron and did what I was told.

It took another twenty minutes before Darwin could maneuver the cow out of the pasture and onto the road. The cow plodded up onto the gravel road. It ambled away in the wrong direction from the gate. Darwin ran to catch up to the cow, harmlessly twisting his ankles in several ruts.

“Close the gate, and wait for me by the truck,” shouted Darwin.

Darwin put speed to his actions. He caught up to the cow and got ahead of it. He was able to catch up to the cow to turn it around and head in the right direction.

Darwin hopped into the cab of his pickup truck. I sat in the passenger seat. I dared not say a word. He let silence do the talking.

“I told Donna I didn’t want you to come. You know squat about cows,” cursed Darwin.

Darwin pulled the truck ahead of the cow. He piloted it through a break in the fence and onto his farm. He returned to the truck and grabbed a pair of thick work gloves off the dashboard, then from a toolbox in the box of his truck he withdrew a handful of gripple sleeves that he deposited into the pocket of his shirt, picked up fencing pliers and a tool I could not identify.

Darwin began to stride over to the break in the fence. He stopped and turned back to the truck.

“I may regret this but you might as well come along,” said Darwin.

 “Do you need help? If you don’t mind it might be best if I stay with the truck,” I answered.

“Can you hold two ends of sticks together?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can hold two ends of wire. Grab a pair of gloves out of the tool box.”

Darwin removed barbs for about eight inches of the two broken ends of the barbwire.

“Pull the two ends together as hard as you can when I say,” said Darwin.

Darwin slid the sleeve onto one end of the broken wire. “Pull.”

As I pulled the two ends to each other, Darwin slid the other end of the broken wire through the sleeve. With the fencing pliers he crimped the sleeve. When he was done, Darwin headed back to the truck, leaving in the grass the tool I had not identified.

“What about this?” I said picking the tool up.

“Oh, the wire stretcher!” 

I cursed under my breath.

Darwin shrugged his shoulders and moved to the truck. He threw the fencing pliers into the back of the truck. I caught up, but placed the wire stretcher more carefully into the box.

Darwin smiled all the way back to the farmhouse. I smoked a cigarette. I offered a snarling glance at Darwin. The truck radio played Merle Haggard.