A View From Robin's Nest
A Cowgirl I Ain’t (Yet)
How do I look?
Lights, Camera, Action
Robin Hoselton
Psychologists have long recognized the problem inherent in human relations when one person talks to another. Their phrase ‘breakdown in communication’ took on vivid meaning when Tom and I began working on the farm.
Unaccustomed to rural life, I automatically had one strike against me, thus any project we undertook turned into a comedy of errors. Often I’ve wished a movie camera had filmed these misadventures to give us laughs in our old age; that is, if our marriage survives that long.
Teamwork
A prime example of our teamwork was the first time we drove cattle. When it was time to move the herd from one field into another, Tom handed me a long stick and instructed me to go up front while he maneuvered from behind. Dutifully, I did as told.
Suddenly, Tom yelled at me, “Don’t walk up there. What are you trying to do–scare them away?”
Confused, I yelled back, “You said to go up front.”
“Well, I didn’t mean that far up. Don’t you know any better?” he retorted.
Peeved, I muttered to myself, “No, I don’t know any better. I never drove cattle before. Who does he think I am, Dale Evans?”
“Get in closer to them so they’ll stay near the fence and follow it to the gate,” called Tom.
I moved closer.
“Don’t crowd them like that,” he yelled, “They’ll spook and start running.”
Exasperated, I snapped, “You just said to get closer; make up your mind.”
Abruptly, one of the cows veered from the herd.
“Go after it,” shouted Tom, “Use your stick.”
Yee Haw
Naturally, like any greenhorn, instead of going around to head it off, I did exactly as told and ran after it, thereby causing it to run even faster. When I finally caught up with the animal, I tapped it with my stick. Giving me a disdainful glance, it continued trotting in the opposite direction. Later Tom remarked that I was supposed to whack the animal’s rump soundly with the stick.
I responded indignantly, “Well, I didn’t want to hurt it.”
Of course, during my pursuit of this runaway cow, there was no one to guide the rest of the herd. After Tom had driven all 29 animals around ten acres of fence, they ignored the open gate in favor of joining their rebel companion.
There I was in the middle of the pasture with a herd of cattle aimed straight at me. Now I’m no fool. I’ve seen plenty of western movies depicting thundering buffalo stampedes and this herd of cows didn’t look any less murderous. While I lit out for the nearest fence, they lit out for the next county.
Now look at what you’ve done!” scolded Tom.
“Me? I spluttered. “What was I supposed to do–rush towards them and get trampled?”
“They wouldn’t have trampled you; they would have turned around and gone back to the gate,” said Tom.
“How was I supposed to know that?” I fumed. “I’ve never been around livestock before.”
On the third try, we finally managed to coax the herd through the gate, mainly because I resigned my job as herds woman and watched while Tom single-handedly rounded up the critters.
My consolation? Knowing that if we were in New York City, I could run circles around Tom in rounding up a taxicab!