One sunny afternoon a few weeks ago, I took the 'little girls', and went with My Cowboy to feed hay. We usually feed round bales, but - thanks to the drought of 2012 - we have some large squares here, that we had to buy for the cows.
I use the term 'we' loosely.
Driving out to feed, this is what you see...
At the sight of the hay truck, they come running.
And then wait patiently while My Cowboy cuts strings off the bales and starts forkin' the hay off.
Actually, cows know not the meaning of the word patience.
It's all noses to the hay bale, people! (I mean, cows.)
I was doing what I do best, (next to makin' cinnamon rolls): Holding my baby, taking photos and videos by turn, and steering the truck, while making sure the drenching bottle stayed more or less upright. (My Cowboy had to drench a sick calf after feeding.)
You see, I dislike driving large vehicles, so I opt out on any excuse I can think up. Like taking videos. Or holding my baby. Or just about anything.
I act like I'm helping by reaching over with one hand and steering. But it's not really necessary. He does it every day or so by himself.
So I hold the baby and take photos and My Cowboy starts the truck, then climbs onto the back of the truck (while it's moving!) and forks hay. When he's done, he climbs back through the door and continues driving.