Chasing cows has never been my favorite activity. It is much worse in the rain. The rain has stopped but has definitely left its mark on the soaking wet grass.The grey clouds are still lurking in the sky. With every step I take, I can feel my socks and shoes squish. Everything is soft from the rain. A stump on the ground is like a crumbly sponge as I step on it. My pants are wet up to my knees from the long, wet grass. My toes feel like I have been in the water all day, they are so pruney. Tennis shoes, jeans and a t-shirt do not make for very good rain gear. The only positive at the moment is the five foot eight, seventy three year old man I call Grandpa. He has an extensive gut and doesn’t do anything in a hurry. Grandpa wears button up Amerigas shirts and a Pioneer hat whenever he isn’t at work. His hat covers his white hair and bald spot. He is one of the biggest characters I know, he always has something funny to say.
When my grandma calls it is normally one of two things, either there are cookies that need to be eaten, or she needs help. When she called I had a feeling there were no cookies.
”Hi Jay, can you come help us the cows are out!”
Always wanting to be helpful I say,”Yeah sure.”
“Ok great! We’ll pick you up on the way by,” Grandma says, worried. She is always getting worked up about something. Cows raise her blood pressure like none other.
My grandparents are complete opposites when it comes to bad situations. Every time the cows get out, my grandma likes to explain what is happening a million miles an hour so that no one is quite sure what is really going on. My grandpa, on the other hand, just says exactly what happened and shows little to no emotion. Grandma is always afraid someone will get hurt which is understandable. In the end, I have to figure out how bad the situation really is and Grandpa is a more reliable source.
The area the cows are in is full of woods. The cows are supposed to be in a pasture on the south side, but the woods is much better in the rain. Cows may be very large but are very good at hide and go seek. I never knew a 900 pound animal could hide behind a couple of trees. Walking through the woods, we can hear the twigs snap and the leaves shake crumble but cannot see any cows. Luckily there are many four wheeler trails that we can walk on. It’s too bad the cows won’t walk on the paths, it would make our lives much easier.
I feel like I am walking in a pond and have walked every square inch of the woods. My pants are getting heavier by the second, and the trees are constantly dripping on my head. The rain had picked up to a sprinkle and the thunder became more frequent. Before the thunder would rumble every once in awhile but had picked up to about one every minute. Grandpa and I turn left down a trail with a large tree about twenty feet ahead on the right. We are just about to pass the huge tree when a flash of lighting blinds us. Immediately after, a crack of thunder that sounds like a tree splitting shakes us. Both of us froze and stared at the same spot in the tree. My heart was beating so fast and hard my chest was probably moving three inches with every beat. I was breathing super fast and was noticing everything but nothing was happening anymore. My heart rate slowed and I broke the silence saying,” That sounded like a tree cracking!”
Grandpa doesn’t get nervous very often, but I can see it on his face. Everytime he gets nervous, he says the same thing, “whoo!”
After another half hour of walking through the woods, we finally chased the cows into the hay field on the south side. Grandma got the gate open into the pasture, and we finally got the cows back into their pasture.
On the way home, I thought about how the two people I was sitting between won’t always be around. I’m not sure what I would do without them. Where would I go when I need a laugh or cookie? I was just glad I didn’t have to answer that question yet. Every moment with my grandparents is a gift and it’s a gift that I don’t want to lose. I know the day is coming but until then I will keep making the long journey eighth of a mile journey to their house.