Old McLarsen Had Some Farms - a memoir: Book Two - The Milky Way

Chapter 13: Shock, Horror

"... or insane," I add. Can't help myself, now I'm laughing too. A few of them actually licked the wire to be sure! "They looked completely crazy when they hung their great tongues out of one side of their mouths—and managed another huge bellow out the other side." Like some demented creature in the throes of a Shakespearean death scene.

"... and then they charged down to the bottom corner of their paddock, kicking their stupid bloody heels from side to side. And I'm shouting to them to stop, they'll waste all their milk." Now he's laughing helplessly. There's something so ridiculous about a mature cow capering about like a calfie. The worst part was that the rest of the herd had to also charge about although they had no idea what had happened. The bellows of the first victims had said IT was 'bad'—and that was enough for the rest... they were believers. I was not laughing when I had to round them all up again. This time however, I was able to shut the paddock gate behind them before each cow had to check it out for herself—not just once, but three times! And the demented drama had to be repeated, also.

There was still milk in their udders that night, but production was lower than we'd seen in some time. What milk hadn't been sprayed liberally over the paddocks seemed to have mostly been sucked up into a 'Black Hole' somewhere inside the cows following their shocking experience. The only blessing was the much easier cleaning of the dairy and concrete yard—the girls had lightened their load significantly before they ever arrived at the dairy.

Their next journey through the tunnel of terror happened next morning after milking, and provided still more entertainment. Picture a herd of cows almost tiptoeing, single-file along a race with terrified eyes and heads swinging, trying to watch each side at the same time. The safe arrival at race's end was celebrated with another side-twisting, heel-kicking gallop, thankfully quite brief this time, as they succumbed to the temptation of all that green grass to graze on.

"They were buggers to get through the race again that night, Kanute says with a frown. But then he grins, "... but they never ever touched it again. Not once!"

Couldn't say the same for our three horses. Their curiosity started the same as the 'girls'—except—before they took off on their panic-stricken gallop, the first zap saw each one spin around on the spot and kick that rotten monster right back. Only one problem—another shock zapped them through their back hooves. They raced around their paddock bucking furiously at a speed that may well have given the famous Phar Lap a momentary threat. Exactly like the cows, they would never touch that wire again. Unfortunately, it took quite some time to convince them there was no invisible electric wire across gateways. Much patience and persistence finally convinced them it was safe to pass through a gate, but they never gave up their suspicious and apprehensive views.

The view over our farm and several other properties between us and the faraway Southern Ocean was spectacular. Rolling green hills folded one over the other, with heavily wooded valleys deepening as those hills dropped away to the sea. Often we shared the majesty of golden sunsets and rose-tipped banks of clouds with a few kangaroos on the hill across our valley, lazily catching the last warmth before darkness fell as they grazed on our lush pastures. A strainer post at one bend in the 'race' was a popular viewpoint during that magical sunset hour—for daydreams or just mindless staring. On one of Mum's visits, she was enjoying this splendid view and her own dreams—maybe of far distant days when she had her own young family. There was just one difference this time—when she folded her arms over her chest, she leant on the electric wire.

All dreams were instantly ended as she was zapped under both armpits and across the top of her chest. Those most knowledgeable experts called 'they'' love to say the jolt from an electric fence actually increases your life span because of its short on/off rhythm being good for your heart. Mum did live to 87, so it's debatable—but at that moment in time, she definitely thought Life as she had known it was over.

Logically you know that it won't kill you or actually harm you. You know it's only the unpleasantness of the momentary jolt... and that shock you can never prepare yourself for. But somehow none of this makes you choose to touch the 'live' wire deliberately. We always checked its status by touching the wire with a long stem of grass or weed, starting at the base and slowly sliding closer until a tickle was felt in the fingertips—most definitely quite close enough for us self-proclaimed 'chicken-hearts'.

My most upsetting story however, resulted from my passion for mushrooms. (Kanute's love of them comes a close second. Uh-oh... he sees what I'm writing and his shoulders have started shaking. He turns his head away to hide the grin splitting his stupid face nearly in half. I shall continue, despite him!) Our dairy farm produced a large annual bounty when the initial rains of the season were followed by a healthy dose of sunshine. As always, the crop was only revealed to the most determined and intrepid seeker armed with a knife, a bucket, a pair of willing, wandering feet and the keenest, most focussed 'mushroom eyes'.

On one of my daily pursuits after morning milking, and although I was already toting a half-filled bucket of my mushies, I found myself in the corner of a paddock with a veritable flock of the delicious little darlings visible in the adjoining paddock. There was an electric fence separating us but no worries, I was young and agile enough to climb over. Easy -easy, I cheerfully thought, I'll just use that bracer post connected to the fat strainer post in the corner, and jump off the top. That was my plan. Yes but... whilst carefully clearing all my body parts over the 'bad wire' (our son's name for barbed wire), I neglected to keep an eye on the bucket on my arm. The heavy wire handle of the bucket connected to the electric wire like a fridge magnet and no jump was actually necessary, after all. I flew one way, my bucket the other--and all of the mushrooms I had collected so far soared every which way like snowflakes or confetti or similar. Today, I feel the need for a new rendering of the lyrics of the famous 'Pennies from Heaven' song.

Sometimes when it rains it rains  - mushrooms from heaven

Sometimes every cloud contains - mushrooms from heaven

You'll find your feast is falling all over town

Be sure that your bucket's not upside down

Trade them for—a package of sunshine and flowers?

(NO!)

If you want the things you love, you must have showers.

So when you hear it thunder, don't run under a tree

Mushrooms from heaven are coming, for you and me

The shock from an electric fence is a huge jolt that reverberates through your entire body, involuntarily snapping your jaws together—and then, just as quickly, it's gone. All that's left is a kind of dazed few moments, a little tenderness and tightness in your jawline, plus a prickly sensation all over the top of your scalp. But this too, passes. There are perfect Batman and Robin-type comic strip exclamations to sum up this powerful phenomenon –

'ZAP', 'C-R-R-R-A-C-K', 'KAPOW', and 'WHAM'—when it actually hits you, and

'AAARGH' is what you cry, and

'SPLAT' is what you do when you land.

The best news is that these previously subterranean ground-huggers had no chance to become 'frequent flyers', because just like all the rest, they ended their days in a sumptuous feast. Who would swap this kind of excitement for the timid experience of picking them off the supermarket shelf in their neat little pre-package?