Moola

Country living it's what I love. I raised my family in Arroyo Seco, and now I'm enjoying life out here in Elkhorn along the coast of the Monterey Bay. I'm tucked right in the middle of ten minutes from the beach and ten minutes from our local shopping center. Life couldn't be any better than that. Unless you have to walk that country Blvd at 7 am in pink rubber boots while carrying a bucket of grain to fetch two cows who are out on the road, two cows from a herd, you told your neighbor, "yes, I can feed them for two days while you are out of town."

Neighbors helping neighbors. It's what you do. We also know that if anything goes wrong, it's when it's on your watch because that's how things roll. I had planned my morning feed schedule to get the neighbor's Highlands and the fabulous Moola, a sweet black and white, fed after my horses and the barn cats. Piece of cake. Then finished the rest of my morning chores.

Yeah right.

I could see Moola up top. I called out to her; she looked right at me. As I filled feed barrels, that herd of hungry highlands came running down, I could hear their horns clicking up against each other. I looked up at Moola, who was coming down the hill slowly and steadily, only she was on the wrong side of the fence going towards the road. I have a whole lot of love for this cow, but at that moment, I can't tell you because children could read this. But it wasn't sweet.

So now I have to run up the hill, go through a gate back to my house, and get my gate keys with a bucket of grain. Then it's a race past the sheep and the donkeys in my yard because they want what's in that bucket. While trying to get through a gate, they put their head in the bucket. As I go out of the main entrance, Moola strolls across the road to rub heads with the cows across from us.

Seriously Moola, you are going to do me like that.

Now I'm walking towards Moola with this grain of bucket to lure her back to my place and securing her till my neighbor gets back Tuesday morning. Then I notice one of the highlands staring at me. Great, there are two out. Moola can't do things alone; she has to drag a highland into this escape. As cars whizzed past me, I'm sure they wondered who that crazy woman was in those Barbie pink rubber boots covered in hay waving at cars as they passed me down the Blvd. I'm surprised Sheriff or CHP didn't come looking for a crazy old lady in pink rubber boots walking down Castroville Blvd because that should have been what was next. But I got a blessing instead, a Game Warden. As that big black truck rolled to a stop, she opened her door and leaned out, and shouted if I needed any help. I had never been so thankful. Yes, I do I yelled back. The game warden thought I was a hitchhiker. I thought I looked worse than that. Then she saw the cows, which explained why I looked like I'd just been through the wringer and back. I assured her I don't always dress this way.

With the help of the game warden, we were able to get them back to where they belonged. Moola just strolled through that gate like she was the queen of Elkhorn, with the highland poking at me with those horns followed closely behind her. Thanks to those two cows, I got a morning workout, from cardio to muscle building. But why the escape, the way Moola was rubbing her head with the cow across the road, is questionable, or maybe the grass was just greener on the other side. Only Moola knows, and she's not about to udder a moo on it.