Chapter Four – A Taste Of Spring

Lana’s walks and time outside in the daytime were getting longer. We would now walk her round the perimeter of the whole sanctuary and let her stop and sniff, taste and examine the grass, foliage and ground that she came into contact with. She was no longer the frail two week old calf that we had taken on, no longer a baby, rather a near-teenager with a keen sense of curiosity. One of the most delightful occasions was the morning after a snowfall. It was a cold, crisp but sunny morning and in many ways perfect for a stroll out with Lana. As her halter tautened around her head she pushed towards the pen opening, knowing full well that she was going outside. I lead her cautiously onto the drive where the snow lay and immediately felt her stall momentarily, her senses picking up the variation in her usual terrain. I encouraged her out and smiled at the way she overtly lifted her feet up. It wasn’t a heavy snow fall, perhaps three or four centimetres, but she raised her feet far above that in an overly dramatic action. I encouraged her the short distance to the grass (something I could still do then, it wouldn’t be long before if Lana didn’t want to be led in a direction that I would have no chance of changing her mind without a great deal of coaxing and bribing), then let her lower her head to investigate the snow properly. It was a beautiful moment. A moment when a young being experiences a totally new sensation. As her nose sunk into the snow, her nostrils sniffing loudly trying to get a grip on the situation, she suddenly snorted wildly, lifted her head back in surprise and gave out the loudest, wettest and yet most loveable sneeze imaginable. Her eyes, if she had had them, would have sparkled with astonishment. Then as if not believing what she had felt and smelled, she thrust her head back down into the wet coldness. Another snort and another dip of the head. She didn’t know whether she liked snow or not, but she was curious and intrigued by what had happened to her world. In those seconds and few following minutes, Lana wrapped us in a warm hug of support. In getting her to her first snowfall, strong enough to appreciate it, we had given her the opportunity to be the young calf she should be.

Each walk became more of an adventure, and as she grew and became stronger, her willpower increased. Sometimes, as Lana felt the mud and grass underneath her hooves she would buck up in excitement, pure joy at being young, alive and full of energy. Sometimes we would have to drop her rope just in case one of her bucks struck out and injured us, but generally as long as the rope was long enough she was still manageable and we could keep her somewhat under control. We would then experiment with letting go of the rope, draping it over Lana’s back when she had found an interesting piece of grass and just let her stand peacefully on her own. After a minute or two, we would move back in, take up the rein and lead her on.

As spring approached our minds stretched forward to when we could get Lana outside permanently. We had always hoped for the day that she would have more freedom, but also always kept our hearts protected by not believing in it too much. Thus, we hadn’t made too many plans. Now, we needed to create that plan.

We knew which small paddock we would want her in, it was reasonably level, had a hedge round two sides and a large oak tree in one corner to offer shelter from wind, rain, snow and of course sunshine. What we weren’t sure about was whether our idea of integrating Lana with the sheep and chickens that also used that paddock would work. We had always known that Lana couldn’t be integrated into a herd of her own, but believed that if we could mix her with our flock then that would give her the mental support and interaction that she would need.

At that time our flock of sheep numbered five, our two naughty Boreay rams Cecil and Jeffery and our three lovely young ewes Candy, Flossie and Ebby. It was an unusual flock but had now settled into a workable small community. Cecil and Jeffrey were boisterous, mischievous, naughty and ever inquisitive, the girls were more controlled and being about twice the size of the rams, able to give as good as they got from any nudging horns.

We started to introduce Lana to the sheep slowly and gradually, first by walking around the outside of their paddock, calling the sheep over so that Lana could get used to their sound and smell. Then the day came that we took her into the paddock. I pushed the gate open slowly and ushered Lana in, keenly aware that the rams had a habit of racing to the gate and pushing their way between my legs to get to the outside. But that didn’t happen, the rams were not over-excited and only wandered over slowly. In fact it was all very easy and we were quite self-congratulatory about what a wonderful job we had done. The rams didn’t really care two hoots about Lana, only interested in whether I had any food on me or if not was there anything that they could rip from my jacket or trousers. The ewes sensibly would keep their distance, not suspiciously but cautiously judging the scene and the intruder. Lana for her part sniffed, listened and even when jostled by Cecil or Jeffrey would not overreact but jump back slightly or push against the body. We had indeed done a wonderful job. Those innumerable walks around the paddock setting the foundation of the integration had succeeded fabulously. I let go of Lana’s rein so that she had a little more sense of freedom – I was still confident of catching her should she start to jog away, but she hardly moved, still content to assess the situation that she found herself in.

Self-congratulation is dangerous and foolish.

Neither Kelly nor I had paid any attention to the dozen or so chickens that shared the paddock with the sheep. Indeed there seemed no need as Lana was well used to the clucks and yodels of the birds that visited her in her pen most days so they really weren’t the danger that we needed to keep aware of. Moreover the rams and ewes were new to Lana, bigger, louder and unpredictable. They were the centre of our attention and with good reason.

I must have turned my back, or perhaps just my head momentarily because I didn’t see exactly what happened or how it happened. Kelly neither would have any recollection. But the squawk was loud, violent, aggrieved and rising. I turned my head rapidly and saw a flurry of feathers sailing high into the air, just as I felt an almighty pain on my right big toe as something very heavy trampled on it in a desperate dash away from the squealing chicken. My yell was at least twice the volume of the careering fowl. Lana panicked. She wasn’t being assaulted by one direction, but seemingly she was surrounded. She bucked in fear and defence, missing everything and everyone until she landed back on my other foot. I daresay my response was neither gentlemanly or restrained. Then she was off. Charging sightlessly directly forwards and then abruptly stopping and then with terror clearly in her heart she galloped round and round in tight circles.

Sensibly Kelly made a hasty exit from the paddock. I as usual was slower to react.

I tried to calm Lana with a gentle voice, but I was choking back tears of pain and anguish that it probably sounded more like an exterminating dalek. Still Lana circled, faster and faster, fear controlling her every moment. Then she veered off course slightly and struck the side of the sheep’s shelter. Recoiling in horror at this new attack she chased in the opposite direction only to career straight into the chicken coop. Wood, eggs and splinters flew everywhere, including an unfortunate bird who had clearly been halfway through its morning routine and came screaming down the ladder which no longer rested on the ground but up in the air. You wouldn’t know what a terrified and confused chicken looked like until you had witnessed that poor bird’s situation. Lana kicked out again and again and again. The coop was obliterated. Feathers were flying everywhere, straw rained down on my head. Meanwhile all five sheep had joined Kelly at the side of the paddock (Kelly outside, the sheep in) to calmly watch the whole spectacle.

Before I knew what was happening Lana was racing towards me, her mind desperately trying to make sense of her situation. I called out to her in as soothing a tone as I was able, but frankly I was terror stricken, she wasn’t a mature cow by any stretch but there was a lot of meat and bone to her. She ignored my caterwauling pleas for calm totally and next I knew her head was firmly planted into my stomach. Had I had feathers like the chicken, mine too would have been sprayed into the air as I was lifted off the ground, into the air and bounced backwards into the frost hardened mud. Everything was happening very fast, far too fast to really take notice of the chain of events or to make a quick decision to save the situation, nevertheless what I was very much aware of throughout all mine and indeed Lana’s torment was Kelly on the sidelines fearful of the whole situation. I didn’t sense the same sort of concern being exuded by the sheep.

I tried to pick myself up from the ground but I really couldn’t breath. My dad always used to tell me to hit someone in the solar plexus should I get into a scrape as that would put them out of action. I’m sure that Lana had found that very sweet spot on me. The air was all around me but I couldn’t grab a single breath of it. My voice was a quiet, hoarse, desperate whisper as I still attempted to calm Lana.

There really was little I could do. I was effectively disabled. I couldn’t breathe and both my feet were throbbing with pain. I concentrated on just trying to stay alive whilst Lana chased and bucked and circled.

Then just as suddenly as she had started, she stopped.

It was as if a switch had been pressed. She didn’t gradually slow down, she just abruptly stopped, just as if nothing untoward had been happening, simply lowered her head and sniffed at the grass by her front feet. She was fine. No obvious signs of fatigue or stress.

With the atmosphere returning to a sense of normality, the rams came over to investigate my prone figure. I heard the gate squeak and the laughter approaching me.

‘Oh my god are you ok?’ Kelly said ‘I was terrified, you might have got killed.’

I grunted some sort of half response to acknowledge that I was still alive, or was at least still conscious and staggered and slipped and stumbled first one way and then the other. Kelly ran into the paddock and grabbed me and then recoiled in horror.

‘I’ll get Lana,’ she offered, ‘you had better go and get cleaned up, you stink.’

For a nurse, she doesn’t have a great deal of sympathy or compassion.

I staggered to my feet and somehow managed to get myself inside. Kelly collected Lana and led her calmly back to the garage and her waiting pen, no doubt all the time telling her what a good girl she was and not to worry Mummy will get a bottle ready for her in just a little while.