The Village Drunkherd.

This last summer was hay-poor. But quite corn-rich. The sea slug (bag of corn silage) from last winter has become three sea slugs. Silage has to sit for at least three weeks after being put in the bag, to rot properly. The calves we started feeding this week. The cows, last week.

Red was being harassed by the other cows as she tried to feed at the silage bag. She was shoved down, kicked, stuck in the mud. My dad when up with hip-lifters and pulled her out. As soon as she was on her own four feet again a larger cow ran up and butted her back down. We moved to her own pasture. Soon we added another victim of the cow bullies. This one was knocked around till she was limping.

When ever we drive up the drive, the cows go nuts. Kicking up their heels and running. Half and three-quarter ton animals don’t run real graceful. It’s more of a lunging sprint. For about 100 feet. And then they stop and pant and froth at the mouth. It’s not too good for them, they normally do it only when very excited or scared.

My Aunt took these two things, the aggressiveness and the bug-eyed nutty actions and figured out what’s been going on.
Our cows are drunk.
It’s real simple. Grain sugars in a controlled rot become alcohol. The sugar in the corn in the bag ferments as it’s supposed to. At certain points this becomes concentrated to the point that our cows would not be allowed to drive. Or operate heavy machinery.