D-Day for our 30 head of Hereford’s…

Many years ago when we had cattle on our farm, before pour on for cattle tick prevention was invented, we had Dip Day.  The ‘Dip’ was situated on our neighbouring property and shared by all farmers in our valley. We have some wild and wonderful memories of these momentous days and this is just one…

Every four weeks during tick season we would round up our 30 head of Hereford’s and head ’em up and move ’em out for the all-important tick-detoxing circus. We would drive them out the gate, onto the road, up the lane and into the dip yards. Entice them single file into the crush and encourage them to jump into the long, narrow concrete swimming pool, laced with nasty poison, for a nice little swim.

This was compulsory treatment to kill any nasty, deadly ticks that could potentially kill them… This was all done for their own good, and beneficial for their well being. Sounds so easy, right? And weren’t they just so grateful? Not one bit.

The evening before the D-day we would herd them into a holding yard ready for the early morning event. This part was always fun. Hubby on his trail bike, me on the horse or foot and the kids bringing up the rear and one over enthusiastic big brown dog. Lots of shouting, barking, swearing and whip cracking always went one. Out of the hills they would appear at full gallop (the cows, not the kids) to be coaxed into the holding paddock.

On one occasion, my son (who was about 12 at the time) was on foot and his dad was on a motorbike. They were herding them along the fence line near the road and the bike skidded. Dad flew off and the bike landed on top of him. Bleeding, bruised and sore, he lay moaning, groaning in a heap, providing a wondrous spectacle for the motorists going by on the road. Our concerned son raced over shouting, not the thoughtful and caring,”Are you hurt dad? I’ll get mum!” but instead was shouting, “S%$#t Dad I bet you’re so embarrassed.”

To no surprise my husband’s reply was something along the lines of, “Get this &#%^g bike off me and help me up!

If you have dealt with cattle, you know they are unpredictable, stubborn and stupid. So, the early morning session at the dip yard was a sight to behold. We had Frank, the friendly, French, pheasant farmer with his little herd. Our profoundly swearing neighbour and her sons with their big herd, the ex military, fatigue wearing, horse riding, whip cracking, poet and his herd, us, and sundry kids, all yelling, prodding, poking, sweating, pulling, dragging and oh, did I mention lots of swearing? Cowsh%$#t flying, flies a buzzing and one by one those mongrel cows finally took the plunge. Many attempts of escape were tried but failed. We were united in our goal to de tick the lousy bunch. The air above the yard was a cloud of blue as descriptive vocal orders were shouted by one and all. Kids running amok, in the muck. The muckier the better they thought!

Finally the last critter emerges, wet and cranky and the ordeal is over, for both cattle and humans. At least for a few weeks. So it was time to regroup and prepare for the next onslaught. When the cattle were safely returned to their pastures, the neighbours would gather to take a little refreshment and mull over the mighty achievement.

Cowsh%$#t washed off in the creek, hat of cold water over the head and a few coldies passed around. Another successful Dip Day was over!

My youngest was telling Nana about her first experience on Dip Day. “You know what Nana? Those f#$&%#g stupid cows didn’t want to go for a swim!” Nana was not impressed that those words were coming out of our pre-teenage daughter’s mouth… It was a Dip Day full of debriefing after that incident!

We also adjisted a big herd of Braford cattle for their own Dip Day. They were trucked in from Scone during a drought and were the meanest wildest beasties ever. Even though they were drought stricken, they were very big and had never seen a dip before, nor were they used to being herded.

There were no ticks apparently in Scone. A team of experienced stockmen, horses and dogs were brought in for this special massive manoeuvre of gigantic proportions. Like it or not, they were going in. The stockmen rode off to round them up and drive the wild mob to the dip yard. What a circus. Out of the hills they exploded, stockmen herding them towards the front gate. My son took a dive and slide under the barbed wire fence to escape one cranky mother who got separated from her calf.

Finally, out the front gate they stampeded and scattered in all directions and headed for the wild blue yonder, the cowboys and dogs in hot pursuit. Finally, most of them were rounded up and driven to take the plunge, but a few escaped never to be seen again. There were many BBQ events in our village in the weeks that followed…

Has anyone else had experiences herding cattle? What are you funny stories? Tell us in the comments below.