Bess and Hess' Great Big Mess!

Bess and Hess had baby bulls and were out on maternity leave for a while. That is why I hadn’t seen them. That season in the city had gotten them more than they bargained for, I’m afraid. This morning they were arguing whose calf is cuter. I, without a trained eye, can’t much see the difference in bulls. They looked equally cute to me. But Bess was adamant that her little Horace is the most beautiful thing since a bucket of freshly gotten milk. Hess is not as insistent, though she is not convinced in the least that her Precious Syl is playing second fiddle to any other bull ever born. Mothers agree, cross species that their baby is best. After all, we work harder than any creature on earth to deliver them. They should win all awards at birth, we all think. A little something of a habit of caffeine that they have been in detox for for a while the little ones were born with a little pull toward the rambunctious. Not at all contented cows of yesteryear. Mr. Starbucks has made a couple of over active fellows of the two.

When I caught a glimpse of them this morning, they were already into mischief: slowly separating from the mommas, to do a little chewing of the fence as well as the cud that they were supposed to be doing.
What are you doing Horace, Bess bellowed over the coffee clatch gossip. Nothing mother. I told you, if I don’t keep a close eye on him he would be playing out there in the road. I am on him like white on rice, so to speak. Are you asserting that I am remiss in my parenting ability, because I am not a overprotective Heffer like you? Snapped Hess, back. They were deep in the bickering process which is new for these two who were before the best of friends. Babies will do that to you. The stress. Bessie placed her hoof to her brow and sighed large and then collapsed under the weight of her body and the pressure of possibly never being able to recover this friendship.
They had had so many years of fun, was it worth it for her to be the superior one in every argument. Hess was starting to show the strain of the relationship conflicts also. Her silence and distancing herself from the crowd, so as not to attract Bessie’s continual comparisons she was sick of it.
All the while, the little bulls were up to their ears in mess. They had taken it upon themselves to try to make a pile of poop, high enough to step on and try to escape the height of the fence. This might be fun for pigs, but it was completely out of character for the sensibilities of distinguished and refined cows. How could they both embarrass their mothers so?
The mothers had no clue of the mess that they were in for; when they would recover from their argument.
On and on the bulls ate, going to the same pile, stepping on it: thinking that they could climb a little higher than the fence. It was on their faces. It was on their bodies. It turned into a sliding contest, after the first 5 or six attempts. They forgot why they were doing this. They just kept it up for fun messing and laughing at eachother.
It was Jess, who remained calm because she had no calf. She was the one who had first noticed what they were doing. It was her determination to teach the bickering cows a lesson. She whispered from one cow to the other to get away from the calves because of the mess problem. They all wanted to be absolutely sure that they would not be close to the mess when the mother’s found their calves covered in it. They didn't know how many days it would be before they would be watered down. That meant, the odor would be unbearable until Thursday when they were scheduled to be hosed. The quiet whispering made Hess look up and she let out a squeal of a moo that was horrifying. " MOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The other cows were cackling like hens at the young calves, new found joy. It was repulsive to the particular sensitivities of distinguished cows to get into such a disgusting condition. After all they are the keepers of most of the world’s sustenance, in their own estimation. They consider what they do a labor and provision for all of mankind. The cows consider it their job to remain clean and aloof from the other animal’s disgusting partialities.
What would Bess and Hess do when they got to these little fellows? They looked at eachother from across the grazing field and tried to move at the same time. Their hooves seemed stuck in the mud as they attempted to run across to reach those younguns. Bessie reached for the switch and Hessie reached for the log to place them across. Nobody was raving on their boys now! They were attempting not to throw up, as each of them held the other one’s calf in the by the scruff of his neck. One hoof held a nose and the other the fellow and they looked at eachother in the eye and the biggest laugh came out of them. “Serves us right!” Doesn’t it? For being so proud of the precious ones. They don’t look so precious now, do they? Or smell so precious? They walked around with the fellows in mid air for most of the rest of the day after the whipping that they gave them they walked around looking for some water to wash them in. Farmer Joe saw the hullaballoo and accommodated them by putting on the sprinklers, for them. He was happy to see the two friends on the same side of the grazing yard, after the tension of the recent weeks.

Don't! Don't!--------Mrs. Bluejay prompts to primp

It does seem odd not to have seen Mr. and Mrs. Robin lately. Last year the building was all aglow with their inlaws and friends congratulating them for their quiver’s hatch. It was interesting to see Mr. Robin struggle with his selfishness as the attention was so totally away from him and now that the young ones are grown and gone they have forgotten that they are parents’ and gone back to being friends and loves. The couples have spread out this season, and quite a few of them have decided to move north and get away from mother robin’s doting “butinskyism”. It was cute in the beginning, but now the couples need time to themselves.
I miss the family times that they had and I know that Mrs. Robin thinks that I am much better to have left me as she did. Last year, she checked on me everyday. I couldn’t dodge her for anything. This year we are on the outs, for many reasons. But I suppose that it is my own choosing. Some other birds have made my acquaintance. I have learned that they are experts at timing. They calmed me down when my NY timer was on the fritz and I was ready to ditch it all. Ms. Robin was sent to talk me off the wall again. I will always be grateful for her intervention. Even if she never talks to me again, I will never forget her consideration for me and wise interjections. I hope to hold onto them.

Mrs. Bluejay is always giving me show off tips.  You must start primping she bleeps.  She finds a mirror wherever she is to show me how often she checks her make up.  She feels that God’s paint needs help so she covers and tweeks and tweezes and does just about anything that she can, to make herself attractive.   Last night, she was showing off when we were on the road home from church.

She knows just when we are coming around the corner.   She said you know my timing is impeccable.   I knew that you were at it again.  I am afraid, that you haven’t learned how to toot your own horn.  You must toot it to the children especially or they will disregard you.   Mine don’t even come to visit me unless they bring with them three compliments for mother.   I was not surprised.  She has made her own separate nest from Mr. Bluejay in Charlotte.  He has to visit her in her nest to get any attention.  If he hasn’t any compliments he is out immediately.   She has no tolerance for anything less than complete and utter devotion.   She is extreme, but she has a very proud and pompous mate who would crush her under his own vanity.   She said matter of factly, I am sent to you to teach you the starter class in primping.  You need a face and long mirror.   Look, I make a mirror out of anything.  In fact I flew this way so that I could admire my reflection in the car.  I am vain.  But, it does me good to be vain.   I would hope that you would follow me and learn vanity and do what I do.

Vain birds have to have separate residences.  Don’t you think I am wonderful.  At that point, the light turned green and I had no time to answer her, just watch her beautiful feathers flapping in the breeze.  I couldn’t have complimented her better than she did herself, anyway.