Cows

I had a challenging afternoon herding cows that kept sneaking into our yard.  I noticed the first cow when I saw a giant head peering inside of our car window, which was opened.  Ernesto slept for the first three round-ups, but awoke when he heard me channeling my "Cow Whisperer" skills.  All hell broke loose when I stepped in cow poop, covering my toe-less sandals and ankles in green slime.  Things really got ugly when one cow mounted another in fear/anxiety, causing the poor subordinate cow to collapse on the ground.  Watching a downed cow try to stand up is like watching a woman who is 36 weeks pregnant try to get out of bed.  It's painful and pathetic and boy did it make me mad.

Ernesto sent the following recounting of events to my dad and sister.  I thought it was pretty funny:

Subject:  Inheritance

As these days go, we go up and down the mountain.  Now we are up, driving from San Jose this morning.  We got to the Institute where Kate had a work-related meeting, had lunch at Casem (the women's coop with awesome typical food) and came home.  You would have thought I was pregnant with the nap I took.But all good things come to an end and it was like so that I was abruptly awaken:

"F*cking cows!  Go!  Move!  F*ck!"  Mid-forehead vein bulging, you know, a sign of anger.  "F*ck!  Dammit!  Go!"

I'm peeking, bewilderment leading to amusement, from our bedroom window.  Kate has no clue.  The cows from the farm are being rotated to the pasture immediately behind our house.  They must be very thirsty after being milked, cause the thin wire that is supposed to keep them out of our area gets continually run over, as they head straight for some drinking water.   I would learn shortly after that Kate has had to "shush" out cows four times previous to this "shushing".

Back to my sight through the window.  Mid-forehead vein bulging, a sign of terror.  Cursing that would shame a sailor. But alas, we know that inheritance comes from two sources in animals as us, and so, to the present suite of characters we can add a bumbling locomotive exhibition, no doubt the product of her pregnancy, but also, to be fair, probably a bit of Mrs. B in her too.

"Go!!!!!!  Sh*t!!!  F*ck!!!!!!!"  She waddles in terror, up the slight incline.  Sort of like an unholy pastor, leading an unholy flock.

Ayyy Santiago, to what world you'll come!!  And with what inheritance!!!

Uncle, soon to be daddy, Nesto