Open gates

We have no livestock on the property now.  Cliff and I both catch ourselves looking out the window to make sure the calves are where they should be, then realize they're hanging in a cooler waiting for the butcher.  It’s just hard to get used to, after so many years of keeping cows and/or horses.  We’ve gone through this before, getting rid of the last cow or the last horse.  But before, there was always the thought that we could get other cows and horses if we so desired.  This time, it seems permanent, and it takes getting used to.  

Last night I went to the barn to feed the cats.  The gate I always walk through to get there was standing wide open:  for about five seconds, panic gripped me, turning my blood to ice.  Then I remembered it doesn't matter, since there aren't any cows in the pasture.  Still, as I passed through the gate, I made a motion as though to shut it behind me, because just the sight of an open gate causes me so much anxiety.  But I saw it was firmly blocked with a rock or something.  Obviously somebody had intentionally left the gate open, planning for it to stay open.

You can see two open gates in this picture, but the narrow one in the forefront is the one that bugs me.  The other one only leads to the pasture, so it's safe.

I went on and fed the cats, then back to the house, where Cliff sat in his accustomed place on the couch.  “That walk-through gate to the barn, did you block it open?” I asked.  

“Well, yes.  We don't have any cows now.  Is that OK?”

“It just drives me crazy to see a gate open, that’s all.”

"If it bothers you, go ahead and shut it.”

And I actually would have, but I couldn’t move the chunk of irregularly-shaped concrete that was holding it open.  I decided to keep my mouth shut and learn to live with open gates.  

I know, it sounds like I’m a crazy woman, wanting to shut gates for no reason.  But if you’ve ever stepped outside to an open gate, then taken a head count and found out cows are missing in action (or even worse, the horses), you understand that feeling of hopelessness that ensues.  Every sort of awful thing that could possible happen to livestock goes through your mind:  “If a car hits one, we’ll be sued for damages.”  “What if a neighbor’s bull breeds that six-month-old heifer?”  “How will we ever get them back in?”

The instant a cow or horse gets outside a pen, he knows he's free.  He’ll kick up his heels and head for the hills faster than you can say "I hate cows and horses".  Horses are the worst, because of their speed and high-strung temperaments.  You might have four of the gentlest horses in the world running together, and if they all get out together, you might get a bucket of feed and walk up to the gentlest one, slip a halter on it, and lead it home as the others follow.  My horse Blue never ran from me if he got out.  But if you have one ornery one, just one misfit outlaw with a lot of extra energy and a rebellious spirit, she will take off running and bucking and the others will join her, just because it’s fun.  The old saying is true... one bad apple spoils the barrel.  Good luck getting these animals home.  

But I’m going to try and get used to open gates.  It’s time I faced reality.  

We aren’t going to have any more livestock on the place.