Hesca, you hairy heifer of a baffoon! OK, all I did was open the byre door to turf in 3 small bales. That doesn’t mean just because you were right on the other side you have the entitlement to exit byre and do a hay taste test before the others get it. Yes, this luxury of you wintering in doors is new to both of us but really? And, between you and the outside world, was me and then the hay. So, had little to fear of you going off gallivanting. However, on my part was a Princess Bride attitude ‘fight to the death’ (and not the battle of wit) as the idea of retrieving you was not on the ‘to do’ list. Our arm/horn wrestle was a near same strength deal, although, you looked like you were contemplating what you should have for diner, I was contemplating having you for dinner if I didn’t give it my last drop of lactic acid and win the wrestling match. To be fair, I wouldn’t have done that with any of the others. From wrestling, came ballet. I’m not sure having to stand with one leg out to keep you in while both arms were desperately trying to lift bales into the ring feeder is the most elegant, but, I’m pretty sure there is a ballet move like it (however, not many ballerinas work in wellies and jeans, nor do I plan to feed you in a tutu).
So Hesca, you may have thought that little tussle was a minor block to getting hay, but thank goodness it wasn’t Fergus, the untrained steer who would be more suited to lumberjack than ballerina.
Next time I need to toss hay in I’ll be checking who’s where. In fact, could you just have a buddy system and line up at the far wall, mooing to indicate your number when I clang a bell?