Stilling the trumpets of war

I wake early listening for the trumpets of war.
Peace reigns however: the bulls are not calling each other to duel.
By time I leave the house I have the solution.
It needs done this morning.
I leave the animals to settle after feeding, attending to other tasks.
I have been filling the tanks from the bowser for weeks now: it’s time I reconnected the pump, sealing the electrical connections due to be submerged.
By mid-morning I have these ready to instal, pending assistance to ease the pump and cables down the well without damage.
Time to implement my cattle plan:
to establish a Buffer Republic of yearlings (+ George halfcalf with mother Moira) between dual warring empires; those of Billy my former stock bull and his son Angus Halfhorn who has replaced him with the younger females.
Arriving at the yard I find my newly clear intention has manifested the perfect opportunity.
The cattle in Billy’s group have returned from the woods to the calving paddock –
I will be able to hold them there before shedding the ones I want to.
But it’s better than that –
little George is at the gate, looking through the bars – I open it quietly so as not to alert the others. George exits to join the heifers, Holly and Alice, already loose in the yard. Moira follows on his heels.
And the boys are in the wood – behind the shed, separate from Billy and the pensioners. A rattled food bucket brings them through.
Moira and the heifers skirmish briefly and settle.
The Republic is complete.



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