Never Underestimate the Will of a Heifer
Can a cow jump over the moon? Doubtful. But it can clear a cattle guard with room to spare.
Yesterday, I came upon a small heard of range cows, maybe a dozen, who eyed me pensively as I jogged past. Some just looked at me, blankly, with that know-nothing sort of look that really doesn’t reveal what they’re thinking. I just know that they didn’t feel threatened enough to run.
Others gave me a similar look but quickly turned tail, inciting a few of their nearby bovine compatriots to follow suit. It was two of these cows, trotting away from me with four stiff, rapidly-moving legs, that did something I had never seen before.
I’m not a big fan of cows, particularly when I see them in the mountains munching on what’s left of a grass-depleted range, nor do I enjoy dodging the crusty piles of excrement they leave behind. I don’t even eat them. But this group of cows was on a private ranch, or, rather, they were supposed to be.
When these two aforementioned cows ran from me, they headed down the same dirt road that I was using and never looked back. I rarely see them on this section of the road because a nearby cattle guard is supposed to impose a non-negotiable barrier.
I have to cross the same cattle guard myself when I run this old road, and when I do, I always stop and walk across it, placing each of my feet across two rails at a time. After three or four careful steps, I’m safely on the other side.
Those steps that that I execute so easily are not supposed to be possible for cows. They have hooves, not $150 running shoes, and their bone hard feet don’t adapt well to the slick surface of the steel railroad rails that cattle guards are often made from.
The classic homemade cattle guard requires someone with welding skills and a dozen recycled steel railroad rails. A frame of concrete is poured, then the freshly welded rack of rails is lowered in place by some sort of backhoe or tractor. Ideally, it should be installed so that the approach and exit from either end is no worse than a well-designed railroad crossing.
The rails are thin and the gaps are wide, so this combination is supposed to keep the cows in bounds, acting like a horizontal barbed wire fence, one that is easily driven over by a vehicle. On the sides, a standard vertical fence of barbed wire usually extends off in both directions so that the cows cannot do an end run around the guard. Sometimes, there is a gate on one side that allows the rancher to allow the cattle through, should there be a legitimate reason to do so.
On this day, the cows that were running ahead of me were hemmed in by a vertical bank on one side of the road and a steep, brushy slope that led down a the creek on the other. Their flight (rather than fight) response was irrevocably engaged, so they trotted straight down the middle of the road, gaining momentum as they did. It wasn’t stampede speed. There was no panic or desperation involved, just a shared commitment towards a common goal that could only mean one thing: they were going to cross that cattle guard.
As far as cars and trucks go, each cattle guard is unique, and locals usually know which ones they have to slow down for and which ones they can cross without hitting the brakes. Just east of the Arboretum where I work, there is a notorious cattle guard on the dirt road that leads to some historic wagon tracks.
The smooth and level approach to the front of it belies the excitement that awaits the driver on the other side. The crossing is uneventful until the unsuspecting driver feels his car suddenly pitch downward when it drops off the far side.
As the front tires hit the road below, so does the undercarriage make violent contact with the unforgiving rails of the cattle guard. With it comes the industrial scrap yard sound of crushing mufflers, perforating gas tanks, and twisting bumpers, sounds that only a tow truck driver can love. Word spreads quickly about such pitfalls; that’s why sightseers with low clearance sedans are often seen parked on the highway side of that cattle guard.
As a bicycle rider, I have crossed far more cattle guards on two wheels than I have on two feet. There is virtually no way to “fall through the cracks” on a bicycle, yet, in the past few years, signs have appeared on cattle guards, particularly on back roads, that say, “Bicycles use caution.” It doesn’t make sense because a rider would have to intentionally turn his front wheel at a ninety degree angle to become entangled in one of these, and that would throw him off his bike in the best of circumstances.
But back to the cows. They were hell bent to get away from me, and though I half expected them to stop within inches of the cattle guard and decide what to do next, I knew they wouldn’t.
Each of them, one by one, without breaking the cadence of their trot, jumped over the cattle guard. Yes, with the same ease that you or I would jump over a rain-filled puddle. They didn’t slow down, just made a graceful, low arc, easily clearing the last rail of the cattle guard with a foot to spare. It was effortless, like practice had been making perfect, and they trotted triumphantly into the pasture.
It was obvious that they had mastered this technique, proven when I saw two more of them munching grass along the railroad tracks, a full half mile down the road on the wrong side of the cattle guard.
According to Mother Goose, a cow has been known to jump over the moon, so it should come to no surprise that I watched two of them cross a diminutive cattle guard. To witness their next trick, I will no longer be watching a heifer placidly munch grasses off in a mesquite brush, or watch a pair of brown and white cows slowly walk down the road together, their heads hung low with slow lethargic steps.
Because behind that passive, cud-chewing face is a fertile mind contemplating the next acrobatic move.
