Editor’s note: Even before coming to Vashon, a calf named Minnie showed off her early escape skills, thereafter aided by her bullock brother Chuck. Minnie’s original owner has written this story to fill in the many blanks in Minnie’s life before she became Leslie the Cowzilla.
By Pam (aka Gates) Johnson
A bunch of years back, I realized that my little pasture was looking pretty empty, as was my freezer. The fences weren’t in terrible shape; they could easily hold a couple head of cattle, so I called my daughter who lives in Chehalis to see if she knew anyone selling a calf or two.
Of course, she did. After a few negotiations, I was put in contact with a farmer who had some calves for sale. I wanted an Angus or Hereford, but ended up with a dairy breed, Holstein cross.
My nephew and my daughter hooked up her horse trailer and we headed to the farm. The calf I was interested in was a fair-size bull. A deal was made, but the farmer wanted to throw in a scrungy little heifer for a couple extra bucks. I’ve had enough cattle to know they are happier with a buddy, so I took them both.
As we went to load the calves, the bull was easy, but the heifer squeezed through the fence rails and took off. Luckily, there was a strong young man working on the farm who chased her down, picked her up, and put her in the trailer.
We got them home, unloaded, and named them. The bull calf was Chuck and the heifer was Minnie. I made friends with Chuck via a little grain every day. Minnie always hung back. She never wanted scratches, did not want to be touched.
They were a happy little herd. I went out every day with a bucket of grain and called them, “COME COW!” They learned that was akin to the dinner bell. Every time I yelled that, they came running.
For novice cattle-raisers out there, here is a little training trick that will come in handy someday. Chuck learned that if he reared up on his hind legs and brought his chest down on the field fence, it would squish down enough for the two of them to escape and go walk-about, most often to the neighbors down the road, most often at night.
One night, they were out when I got home from work, so I grabbed their grain bucket and headed down the road, all the while yelling “Come cow!” A few yells later, I heard an answering moo from the woods. I yelled. They answered. And soon, they emerged and began to follow me home.
Another neighbor had stopped to help me. We walked up the road, the cows following. I was tired, so handed him the bucket. As soon as he had it in his hand, they turned around and ran back into the woods. And we started all over again.
After almost two years, the day came when I went out with the grain bucket and apparently was not fast enough to suit Chuck. He had grown to over 1,000 pounds and sported a fine set of Holstein horns. As I walked out, he came up beside me and hooked a horn right under my rib cage. I didn’t think, just reacted. Took that grain bucket and smacked him in the head as hard as I could, then turned around and got out of the pasture.
As I closed the gate, I told him I would have the last laugh when I ate him! That was the last time I went in the pasture with him. Well, Chuck became chuck steak, which left Minnie alone.
She was noticeably unhappy, but such a sweet little thing, I was not inclined to eat her. I began to think about what to do with her. She was too big to keep as a pet, besides she would be lonely. I didn’t want to sell her for slaughter.
Then I remembered a friend who was into farming and wondered if she wanted to get into cheese-making. We talked and I finally convinced her to take Minnie. We worked out a deal with partial payment and partial barter. I was happy that Minnie would go to a good home.
I heard through the grapevine that Minnie was given a new name and that she had some pretty devastating injuries, but she had soldiered on and was still alive and getting into mischief. It made me smile when I picked up the latest edition of The Loop and learned that my little Minnie heifer was on the front page.
