By: Blonde Two
I have already introduced you to my new pink boiler suit; but I am wondering if more formal introductions were necessary because I am discovering that said suit has a personality of its own. When I don it, I am no longer Blonde Two; I become ‘Pink-Farmer-Woman’ ready to stomp the fields, wield a chainsaw and drive a matching pink tractor.
To really be “Pink-Farmer-Woman” the boiler suit needs to be a bit more mud splashed than it currently is. Which is one of the reasons that I wore it last night to go and move the cows (I am back in South Auckland). The other reason was that I wanted to test my Blonde hypothesis that cows like pink.
To ensure experimental rigour, I went solo and without farm vehicle (cows definitely like Norm and they definitely like farm vehicles).
First of all, I had to find the cows. We had left them a few paddocks while we were away in Wellington and they had spread themselves out a bit. This wasn’t too difficult because as soon as they saw pink, they came running.
Once I had gathered my charges (and was rather dauntingly surrounded by them), the next step was to persuade them to move (at the same time) up the race and into the next paddock. This paddock was on the way to their new grass, but they obviously didn’t understand my pommie accent because they followed me up to the gate and then stopped, half in the paddock, half out. Cows, you see, don’t like going back into an area that they have already eaten, they are only interested in fresh grass. I couldn’t get round behind them without chasing them back down and I didn’t want to walk in front of them because cows+fields=running, and cows (even little ones) running behind you can be a bit scary.
After an animated discussion in a fake Kiwi accent (me) and some mooing tones (them), I realised that I was going to have to walk them across the next paddock. I picked up a rather flimsy looking stick to give me a bit of confidence (for waving not hitting) and set off.
Now the cows were keen, they came running after me, and we were soon engaged in a bovine version of ‘Grandmother’s Footsteps’ in which the cows walked close behind me, and then froze when I turned around and waved my stick (usually at 313 who is the cheekiest).
I am so glad that no actual Kiwi Farmers were watching this pink-clad progress; I would have been laughed back to the city. We eventually got to the required gate and then I had another problem. The cows knew that this was the entrance to their long awaited supper and crowded so close around that it was difficult to open the gate. I did so eventually, (after giving them a stern talking-to; they seemed to have picked up the pommie accent) and most of them ran through.
Cows are not, however, very clever and a few more timid ones were stuck on the other side of the hedge, trying to get through it to their mates. I had to do a bit of ‘Pink-Farmer-Woman’ rounding up and then they were all safely behind the right gate.
So, a successful experiment; judging by the hot cow breaths down the back of my Blonde neck, my hypothesis was right, cows do like pink! Sadly the boiler suit is still far too clean. I will have to go out in it again today!