LIFE IS SIMPLE
We are pleased to offer Jerry Crownover’s
“Life is Simple” column. Jerry is a graduate
of the University of Missouri. He and his
wife, Judy, own and operate a ranch west of
Springfield and are FCS Financial members.
We hope you enjoy Jerry’s Ozark humor
and wisdom.
“Life is Simple” Copyright 2018, Jerry Crownover
Cows get crippled from a variety
of reasons. Some go through
temporary paralysis from a
difficult birth, while others might
dislocate a hip from slipping on
ice or mud. I’ve had some become
lame from fescue foot or a pebble
in their hoof, while some just plain
wear out from old age. Whatever
the reason, most farmers will make
them as comfortable as possible
and carry feed and water to them
for as long as it takes for the
beast to get over it. It is in these
situations that a cattleman will
discover that particular animal’s
‘fight zone.’
Whether it’s because the
old girl is hurting or scared, she
knows something is wrong and
the first time that a human brings
her some grain, hay or water, she
doesn’t realize you’re trying to help
her, and her first natural reaction
is to try to get rid of the perceived
danger (you). Every animal has
their own comfort zone, from the
ex-show heifer that knows you’re
good for food and welcomes
you right up to her head, to the
kinda-crazy one that didn’t like
you to begin with, and you have
to push her feed and water to
her with a ten-foot stick. Most,
I’ve found, have about a six-foot
zone that allows you to push the
feed to her with the cattle prod
you keep behind the seat of the
truck, without putting your life in
danger. But, like I said, every one
of them is different.
I was walking pretty close
to this old gal the other evening,
when I actually observed her trip
on something and plant herself,
face-first, into the ground. I
could tell she was hurt pretty
badly, based on the noises she
started making. After only
a few minutes of watching
and hearing her, I knew
something had to be done.
Being the good farmer that I
am, I went and got a vehicle
to transport her and after
several minutes of wrangling
and prying, I finally got her
loaded before proceeding to
haul her back to the home place,
where I figured I could take good
care of her. Unloading the critter
was every bit as difficult as the first
job, but eventually the chore was
completed and I thought I had
her in as comfortable a place as
possible.
Early the next morning, I
knew she would be hungry and
thirsty so I fixed up a breakfast
that I thought would be both
welcome and satisfying. Arriving
at the place I had left her the
night before, I wasn’t surprised
to find her still hurting and quite
a bit more than a little grumpy.
Carefully, I placed the food and
water on a hastily made sled-of-a-
sort and used a yardstick to gently
push toward the injured victim.
Seeing the anger in her eyes, I
realized I should have used a
longer push-rod.
For the record, Judy’s fight
zone is three feet and six inches.
HEARTBEAT | WINTER 2018 23