From Beef Cow-Calf Weekly
The Unpredictability Of A Mother's Protective Spirit
I've heard many a good cattleman say he prefers an over-protective cow to an indifferent one. I fully understand that -- nothing's more frustrating than a first-calf heifer that doesn't seem to understand what it means to be a mother.
We have one standing rule on our place -- if a cow has intentions of molesting me or my wife when it comes to tagging or weighing her calf, she's earned the right to move to greener pastures. I'll tolerate a good cow that bellows a bit at me when I hoist her calf up to weigh it, but I'd better sense concern more than animosity.
But, as a male, I believe it's impossible to fully comprehend the magnitude of maternal instinct. My case in point is a recent County Events Day, where the really little ones enter up in mutton busting while the older kids try their hand at riding a steer. Our six-year-old was convinced he'd passed the days of riding something with wool on it; he was ready for bigger, better things.
I thought Grandpa would bust with pride when he pointed out to my son a big old Brahman bull behind the chutes and asked, "Is that the one you're going to ride?" My boy responded in all earnestness, "I don't know. We don't get to pick which one we draw."
His bravado wasn't much appreciated by his mother, however. I didn't realize how close we'd come to eliciting the same maternal response as a cranky cow that perceives her calf is being threatened. But when I stepped up to mom, who was watching over the fence anxiously, and put my hand on her shoulder, I could feel her muscles tense like coils of steel.
With her attention solely focused on the arena, my approach caught her by surprise and she wheeled around with an agility that can only be summoned by thousands of years of selection for maternal instinct. The fiberglass sorting stick she was holding snapped in two like an NFL linebacker would snap a pencil.
Now, I've driven over similar sort sticks with my tractor without so much as splintering it. My wife and I stood there, looking at each other, bewildered by the full glory of what we'd just witnessed.
My dad tells the story of how I went running across the pasture as a little boy, with a foal chasing me. I stumbled over a clump of buffalo grass, and the colt ran right over the top of me.
My dad swears my mom climbed out of our Bronco without opening the door. Somehow from a sitting position, she jumped right through the open window. I always thought my dad was stretching the truth to add a little more "flavor" to the story. Now, I realize he loves to tell this story because he, too, had witnessed the power of a mother's love when her baby was threatened.
My perspective on a protective cow will never be the same. I'll still send that cow to town, but the next time a concerned mama cow, I'm a whole lot less likely to stand my ground.
We should all remember that a mother's love is a force of nature that shouldn't be trifled with.
-- Troy Marshall
The Unpredictability Of A Mother's Protective Spirit
I've heard many a good cattleman say he prefers an over-protective cow to an indifferent one. I fully understand that -- nothing's more frustrating than a first-calf heifer that doesn't seem to understand what it means to be a mother.
We have one standing rule on our place -- if a cow has intentions of molesting me or my wife when it comes to tagging or weighing her calf, she's earned the right to move to greener pastures. I'll tolerate a good cow that bellows a bit at me when I hoist her calf up to weigh it, but I'd better sense concern more than animosity.
But, as a male, I believe it's impossible to fully comprehend the magnitude of maternal instinct. My case in point is a recent County Events Day, where the really little ones enter up in mutton busting while the older kids try their hand at riding a steer. Our six-year-old was convinced he'd passed the days of riding something with wool on it; he was ready for bigger, better things.
I thought Grandpa would bust with pride when he pointed out to my son a big old Brahman bull behind the chutes and asked, "Is that the one you're going to ride?" My boy responded in all earnestness, "I don't know. We don't get to pick which one we draw."
His bravado wasn't much appreciated by his mother, however. I didn't realize how close we'd come to eliciting the same maternal response as a cranky cow that perceives her calf is being threatened. But when I stepped up to mom, who was watching over the fence anxiously, and put my hand on her shoulder, I could feel her muscles tense like coils of steel.
With her attention solely focused on the arena, my approach caught her by surprise and she wheeled around with an agility that can only be summoned by thousands of years of selection for maternal instinct. The fiberglass sorting stick she was holding snapped in two like an NFL linebacker would snap a pencil.
Now, I've driven over similar sort sticks with my tractor without so much as splintering it. My wife and I stood there, looking at each other, bewildered by the full glory of what we'd just witnessed.
My dad tells the story of how I went running across the pasture as a little boy, with a foal chasing me. I stumbled over a clump of buffalo grass, and the colt ran right over the top of me.
My dad swears my mom climbed out of our Bronco without opening the door. Somehow from a sitting position, she jumped right through the open window. I always thought my dad was stretching the truth to add a little more "flavor" to the story. Now, I realize he loves to tell this story because he, too, had witnessed the power of a mother's love when her baby was threatened.
My perspective on a protective cow will never be the same. I'll still send that cow to town, but the next time a concerned mama cow, I'm a whole lot less likely to stand my ground.
We should all remember that a mother's love is a force of nature that shouldn't be trifled with.
-- Troy Marshall
