The Day the Tornado Siren Called the Cows
Our town's monthly siren test taught my whole herd to line up at the barn for supper, and nobody could ever convince them to stop.
Stillwater tests its tornado sirens on the first Wednesday of the month at noon, right when the sun is highest and the cattle are least interested in moving. I never thought much about it until the spring a cow named Hazel decided the siren was a dinner announcement.
It started on a Wednesday. The siren wound up, a long rising note that rolled across the section like a train made of sound, and Hazel lifted her head, turned from the water tank, and walked straight to the feed bunk. Her calf followed. Within two minutes thirty-eight head of mother cows were lined up in the lot, tails flicking, looking at me like I was late.
I fed them. What else can you do when thirty-eight cows ask politely? The second Wednesday, the same thing happened. By the third month I had learned to put out a bucket of cubes at eleven-fifty-five so the herd would not feel cheated. My neighbor Alvin, a man who has never in his life agreed that a cow could learn something, drove by and said I had been trained by livestock. He was not wrong.
The real trouble came in May when a genuine warning went off. I was in the shop. I heard the siren, I looked at the sky, and then I heard the whole herd thundering toward the barn like they had been waiting all year for a real show. It was a good thing, actually. They were gathered under cover before the first hail fell, every one, and all I had to do was close the doors. The folks at the National Weather Service say the best plan is the one you rehearse, and I suppose Hazel rehearsed for all of us.
We have a rule now. If the siren goes and the cows are late, they get an extra scoop. If it goes and they are early, they get an extra scoop. I did the math once and it did not favor me. Still, I keep a corner of my page on farm safety marked for storm days, because the best plans are the ones the whole herd already knows. My other weather stories, and a few worse ones, are over at farm.FM.
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