LAUREL COUNTY, Ky. — With so many comments about the disasters of my farming experiences  in last week’s column, it is only fair this week to include the most important part of farming — the animals.

No true farm is complete without cows, pigs and chickens. We’ve had all three.

Midnight was our first cow and was the most beautiful cow I’d ever seen. Although my husband picked and paid for her, Midnight was the first cow I could call my own, and I didn’t hesitate to do so.

Despite opinions that Midnight was hateful and had “mean eyes,” she and I bonded. When she escaped from her fenced-in home one day, it was my voice that stopped her as she fled in panic from the people futilely chasing her. Midnight took refuge in the tall green stalks of the corn field, stomping down a large part of it as she fled in panic from her four pursuers — one chasing her through the field, another manning the gate, one standing in the field to herd her back if she came that direction, and another shaking in fear while holding a stick to ward her away. When Midnight emerged from the corn field with a “hand in the cookie jar” look in her eyes and a fresh green corn stalk in her mouth, I had to collapse on the ground in laughter. If cows think like humans, I’m sure she was convinced we were insane. Midnight was the first cow to come to our farm and the last to go.

Midnight spawned Ramrod, a black bull that inherited his mother’s intelligence. Though Ramrod’s first moo sounded more like it came from an elephant than a cow, it developed into a low growling sound as he aged. Ramrod became the protector of the other cattle, buddying with our third — and very pregnant — cow, Daisy. When Daisy escaped one day, it was Ramrod who showed me the broken barbed wire and it was he who followed her along the fence line and led us to her location near the creek and woodlands.

When Daisy’s time to give birth came, Ramrod alerted my husband by standing at the fence closest to the house and mooing until he came outside. Palmer’s appearance sent Ramrod along the paths in the field, often turning his head to make sure Palmer was following him. Ramrod went straight to Daisy, who laid uncomfortably in the woods of the pasture and it was Ramrod  who pushed the very pregnant and laboring cow up the hill to a clearer area where my husband had better access to assist in the calf’s birth. He stood guard while the calf was born, and after delivery, herded the other cattle away from the area. Ramrod had more sense than a lot of humans I’ve met.

While true farmers discourage naming the animals they plan to use for food, our pigs were a different story. Though my husband built very nice shelters for the pigs (I call them pig condos), his skills in building fences was somewhat lacking. My frequent pursuits of the pigs through the yard and field inspired naming each pig because the one term that repeatedly popped from my mouth (and can’t be printed) soon became a general term they always ignored. Giving them names was inevitable.

Victor was the first of the pig population, and he was extremely spoiled. Palmer taught Victor to drink pop from a plastic bottle. Nursed on Pepsi, he soon became a caffeine fiend, locking his teeth around the neck of the bottle and sucking the beverage down in pure pleasure. I’m convinced the flavorful meat we enjoyed was undoubtedly due to his pop-loving characteristic.

Now with more than three dozen chickens inhabiting the Johnson ‘farm,’ my release from the day is gathering eggs every evening. The sole rooster of the four Rhode Island Reds struts himself among the three females, playing both protector and bully. While he avoids ‘flogging’ only Palmer and me after receiving some smacks toward his head, the rooster continues to stand guard when we enter his home, pecking angrily at the wood strip separating the tin and fence. He was recently named “Bo” for that quality, because he “bows” down when his bluff is called, still trying to stand his ground although he realizes he’s been outsmarted and overpowered. I’m sure most adults have encountered humans like that as well.

The fascination of life itself is the diverse personalities and qualities that define both humans and animals. What is amazing is quite often I like the animals much better, even if I do have to corral them back into place sometimes.



njohnson@sentinel-echo.com