On a freezing, blustery, winters night the first five of our calves finally arrived. Not on the warm, sunny, winters day that I had envisaged. And I was not waiting at the gate with a sign which read “Welcome to the Mad House Boys” which in hindsight was a good thing because calves can’t read.
Instead, I was sitting mournfully at the kitchen table with my head in my hands as the wind slammed against the house and the rain pounded on the roof? Why you might ask? Because I was reeling at the news that our house was going to cost three times more to build than we had budgeted for. How very depressing!
So when Smarts arrived calling, “Congratulations Farmer Kooky!” with five calves in the back of the trailer and without a bottle of ANYTHING to celebrate I quite literally wanted to strangle him.
Then he dashed off to fix a fence leaving me to organise the calves dinner! What was he thinking? I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do and clearly didn’t understand a word of his instructions which were carried away in the wind. But I did hear him insist I use the kitchen scales. What kitchen scales? Did we actually own any?
Well it turns out we did, (I broke them during the second feeding though so we no longer do). I set to the task of measuring the precise amount of the sickly, sweet, powdered milk to the correct amount of warm water.
I’ll admit I had to rely on Katy’s mathematical skills because that side of my brain just doesn’t work. It was all very serious because, as Mr Google pointed out, if I didn’t get it exactly right bad things could happen, to the calves that is and I’m guessing probably to me as well. It was way too intense.
So I lost my cool. Then Katy yelled at me! She accused me of acting like a menopausal maniac! How very insulting! I threatened to ground her for the rest of her life. She threatened to storm off. We both took a deep breath and continued working in stony silence until I started acting like a Peri Menopausal Maniac. Next time get it right Katy!
Then the quad bike refused to power up, of course, and no amount of yelling, begging and screaming was going to make it budge. So there was nothing left to do but use my car. I managed to bog it twice and I accidentally took out the fence which Mr Smarts had fixed just moments before. Ohhhh things became very tense for awhile there.
Anyway, eventually the calves were housed, fed and watered and all was right with the world until the next morning when everyone escaped leaving me in charge.
But I am happy to report that they are all still alive, that their sloppy pooh is normal and that calves have extraordinarily long tongues that will attach to anything. A haz mat suit is next on my list.
Oh and as you know I vowed never to name them. Well in the first five minutes they became known as Percy, Freddy, Malman, Marty and horrifyingly, Big Nuts. Thank you very much Mr Fit for that suggestion. We can only hope you will be blessed with another baby in the near future.
As for our new house? I am happy to report that I had neglected to tell the architect that my drawings were not to scale and that the Olympic sized swimming pool was, in fact, simply a blow up paddling pool.
My question for the day is, “What is with all the time spent fixing fences on farms? Is it a bloke thing? Is it a way men can prove their manhood because our fences look find to me!” I think I might start a support group for Men with Fences.
Have a great weekend everyone. I’m going to be doing unspeakable things to the calves. So unspeakable that Big Nuts is going to be known as No Nuts as of tomorrow. What the hell has happened to my life!