I know you think you have read this story before. But it happened again and then again, so I am writing again.
My construction life has allowed me to work in some twenty(+) states. Almost never has it allowed me to work within a mile of my home.
This past week I was given the opportunity to work just across the road from my home. My partner and I were adding a concrete patio on one neighbors house while replacing some concrete sidewalk on another neighbor’s house.
Replacing one’s concrete is hard work. Believe it or not, disposing of broken concrete is quite a challenge. Luckily, I have a neighbor that can recycle anything.
With the concrete broken and placed in a huge pile, my partner and I headed up the road to Mr. Recycle’s house. Cresting the last hill before Mr. Recycle’s house, Kerry (my partner)and I came up on, yep, you guessed it, three yaks.
I was hoping the yaks were not Cheese, Mac and Franks. I was hoping, but I knew deep down the yaks were mine. They are the only yaks around. I looked at Kerry and said, The darn yaks are out!” I might have actually used harsher construction language. Just in case children should read this crap, I buffer things from time to time. If you are wondering what construction language is, hit your thumb with a hammer, and what comes out of your mouth is construction language.
My yaks love me. Or at least they love what I do for them. Cheese, Mac, and Franks will come to me if I whistle. I have trained them that feeding time is when I whistle. While this sounds really great, it does present a problem of it own. Seeing three 800 pound yaks running at you because they think you are going to feed them can make you a little uncomfortable. I always wonder and hope that they will stop running before they knock me into Nebraska.
I whistled for the yaks and they followed Kerry’s truck back home and into their corral with me whistling the whole way. Once they were safely penned up it was time to determine how they got out of the pasture. Turns out they separated the barb wire by breaking the ties attaching the wire to the posts; an easy quick fix.
Back to Mr. Recycle’s. He gladly accepted the broken concrete.
Next day! Elaine and I arrive home from town. The yaks are standing in the yard. They have broken a rail in the corral.
I fixed the rail and prepared to put the yaks away. The yaks are watching me. I went to get a bucket of grain, whistling all the way. The yaks aren’t moving, they’re just watching me. When I got to the grain barrel I noticed it was knocked over and nearly empty. Mac was giving me that look; “hey Monner, we just ate about 50 pounds of grain each. You can whistle all you want, we aren’t moving.”
It took about an hour to herd them back in the pen, but we did coax them in. I think they were thirsty and the water is in the pen. We didn’t need to feed them that night. It was good thing since we didn’t have enough grain left.
According to Wikipedia, yaks eat about 6-10 pounds of food a day. Those yaks ate 5-9 days of food, plus the vegetation they ate in the garden and the yard. The next morning I was walking to my truck, Cheese was laying in the pen. He jumped up as I drove off. I know he was thinking, ”hey Monner, come back, I’m hungry!”
Our crazy lives!