Husband and I took the bike to the farmstead yesterday. Right after the boys left for school we took off. The air was nice and cool. As we slowed down to turn onto the first dirt road to the farmstead and shout "UGH!" the stink of death was horrid there. On our right side, in the ditch was a decaying Angus bull. Had been hit by a truck. Husband says it has been there for a few weeks, but you don't smell it in a car as you do on a bike.
All our cows were in their pen. X is so rusty in color! As husband was climbing up the windmill, had to get measurements, Sam the grumpy neighbor drove in. He was on his tractor, he had been spraying when he saw our bike. "Don't see many motorcycles out here." he told husband. They chatted a bit, Sam apologized about putting our bull on someone else's property, and he was amazed at how docile Undies was. He informed us that he didn't know that anyone was out here again (farmstead) otherwise he would have brought it back. Inortunatly for him, we know that Earl told him that the cows were ours before he put them in someone elses field. He doesn't like Earl.
He says now that he knows, if it happens again, he has our number and knows where they go. He also told us that until 50 years ago the farmstead was a dairy. Husband and I had thought so, because of the alley that splits the property. That isn't normal on most properties.
We came home and picked up cow manure. oh the joys of small holdings.