'I love cows, I love cows, I LOVE COWS...'

There are days I need to repeat that mantra to myself, quietly and under my breath. Cows can't read human minds and, as such, they aren't always...cooperative. I'm okay with farm life making me work like a dog but when it comes to cows, the dog part of that saying can be strangely literal.

Here's what I mean: On a recent evening, while on my way to take care of the sheep, Adam leapt over a pasture fence waving toward me like he was trying to direct an airplane. I know this signal well; airplane waving means HELP.

I changed direction and joined him. He had been trying to convince the cows that they could move to the fresh grass they wanted, if only they would use the open gate. Seems simple enough. The problem was, there was only ONE available gate and it was at the top of the hill and in the corner of the pasture - slightly out of sight. Not necessarily a simple problem-solving assignment for a herd of cows.

And so they had been giving Adam a collective 'NOPE', refusing to follow him to the gate and instead staring at their fresh pasture through a small gap in the hedgerow at the bottom of the hill. That gap provides a view but not access as there is no opening there. That view was the problem. "It's right THERE, we can seeeeeee it," their pointed gazes seemed to express.

(Granted, the cows were right - that gap is a great place for gate. There should be one there and there will be in the future. But re-configuring old fence is not a simple job and for now, the 70-year old barb wire remains. Hey, we're building this ship while we sail it, cows.)

So, we needed a new plan. Adam would continue to call and entice the herd up the hill with an offering of tasty kelp meal. With herd animals it only takes one or two moving in the right direction to eventually get the entire group going that way. If we could convince a few to cooperate, the rest would follow and there's always at least one who will do just about anything for snacks from the sea.

My task was to keep everyone on their feet and gently pressure the herd from the back - much like you might see in a western movie (minus the horse). When we move cows together, Adam is their leader and I am follower, the human border collie bringing up the rear. Usually my zig-zagging presence and some consistent "yip, yip, YIP, go on girls!" is enough to move them steadily along.

Usually.

As with Adam's earlier attempts, the girls continued to give us the brush-off. "You know you could just cut all those wires and let us through right there" their placid stares suggested. A few matrons chewed their cud and shifted their weight to one hind foot - a resting pose. Their message was clear, "We are not going UP that hill, just to go back down, and you are not convincing - we'll wait while ya go get yer fencing tools, okay?"

Adam and I re-convened in the middle of the field to discuss further strategy - he would go get their big red mineral feeder, the one that means extra special treats. My new job was to be kinda loud and weird so that the cows would decide I was worth moving away from.

I once again returned to my position at the bottom of the hill, pleased to see Adam's idea was beginning to work. A few hungry heifers were trudging toward the corner. Still, back at my end of the herd, most of the cows continued to stand still and longingly stare over the fence. Time to get weird, whatever that meant...

Maybe strange noises would help? I approached the cows, this time wheeling my arms and doing more of a yodel-yell Tarzan song than my usual yipping. This got their attention but they only watched me, apparently bemused.

Okay, next...If I had to play a collie, maybe I could literally sound like one? I tried out some growls, a little embarrassed for myself. The cows glance at me, confused but still bored. 'OK, fine', I thought to myself, 'What if I try barking like a dog?', "Rrraaaw, rrrrwwaarff, go to the gate, grrrruuuFFF!"

No, nope, NOTHING. The cows were not impressed.

My brain ticked through its files of available choices before abruptly and randomly summoning... Beyonce. Probably because I'd heard her on the radio earlier that day and she totally seems like someone who could take charge in any situation. Inspired, I started to off-key shout and sing 'All the bovine ladies, (all the bovine ladies...) get yer butts up the hill, why's this a big deal, we're starting to run out of daylight....'

The cows stared on. I Beyonce'd in vain.

Okay, time to add bodily antics? I thought a moment, still sorta yodeling-yelling and waving my arms at yawning cows. Finally, I resigned to being completely ridiculous and started an erratic dance in the grass; a herky-jerky, arm flapping, leg kicking, seizure of a dance that looked a lot like one of those inflatable wind-sock people that flail up and down next to car dealerships.

And... it was weird enough. The cows widened their eyes and started to slowly turn, finally deciding it was better to follow Adam up the hill and toward treats than stay downfield with their secondary and much stranger farmer, who appeared to be having an epic fit on pasture.

I followed them as they moved toward the gate, continuing to flop-dance and shout-sing with what air I had left in my lungs. About half way up, the herd gained focus and speed at last. A group of cows is kind of like a roller coaster, once half has crested a summit, momentum usually takes over.

For the last bit of uphill, I was able to stop dancing and singing and merely stumble along behind, waving my arms weakly and wheezing. Once through the gate, all was forgotten as the herd turned its attention to the fresh grass. We'd done it!

I leaned on that troublesome gate for minute, to catch my breath and admire the happily-grazing animals. Finally, I turned to walk downhill once more, to fetch the cows' water tank and maybe scan the previous pasture for any remaining shreds of my dignity.