They must have known it was Independence Day weekend and that my sister only takes one vacation a year if that. Less than 24 hours after she had left for a weekend trip to the beach, she got the call which she promptly forwarded to me.

“Delina called. There’s a cow out on her side. If you’re looking for something to do with the dogs this afternoon, you can check that fence,” she said over the phone with an annoyed there’s-much-I-can-do-about-it-from-here tone.

I called our sweet neighbor Delina, who is always apologetic regarding the reality that our common fence only works most of the time.

“I think my husband is working on it, but the cow was out in that same place as last time,” she said.

For some reason, those four strands of barbed wire in that one shared corner make the perfect scratching spot and subsequently the perfect place to slide through and munch on Delina’s tender grass.

My lucky volunteer for the day (and patient boyfriend), Chris, and I loaded up the ATV with two blue heelers, fencing material and buckets of soy hull pellets.

We found the breach in security. Delina’s husband had fixed it.

The next order of business was the matter of determining the identity of the perpetrator, which was complicated by the fact that two bunches of cattle had access to that corner.

We counted the yearlings who were the most likely suspects. All of them were napping peacefully under a shade tree as if nothing had happened.

On the other side of the fence was a large group of cow-calf pairs.

For the next two hours, we tried getting a count on them. They were spread out over three pastures separated by two creeks and multiple hills. And they were moving constantly. We checked every creek bed and hilltop but were still two short. And then one short. Or wait, did we count that one already?

Regardless, just as we were losing our patience, I received another call from Delina.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but the cows are out on the side of Highway 82.”

My heart dropped. It was Fourth of July weekend, and U.S. 82 was a steady stream of hurried drivers.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “We’re on our way.”

Chris and I loaded up again and sped toward the highway to find the two heifers grazing calmly on the right of way as vacationers and 18-wheelers flew past.

I successfully managed to get both of them to follow a bucket of feed for about two seconds.

Then they saw a truck pull up that they didn’t recognize (Delina’s husband was just trying to help) and decided that something was wrong. They took off.

Flagging down motorists

Chris calmly walked the side of the highway, flagging down motorists to slow their roll.

Thankfully, I was able to coax one of the heifers into following me again with the bucket. She reluctantly ate her way to the gate for entrance back with her fellow yearlings who were standing on the opposite side wondering why two of their sorority sisters were causing such a fuss.

The other heifer, however, determined that she would make a quick getaway in the direction she thought she escaped initially. En route, she gave us a good scare by placing her hooves on the side of the pavement with the intent of crossing into oncoming traffic.

Chris apparently gave her the “don’t do it” verbal cue that crosses all language barriers, and she retreated to the fence line, following it around the corner and up the dirt road adjacent to the fence. She soon found a suitable place to jump back in to safety.

Meanwhile, I’m running down the right of way with a bucket of feed in a general state of panic because I can’t see the action ahead.

I see Chris motion that she jumped back in and I relax, only to look over and see the local sheriff in his car stopped on the side of 82.

“I was called twice about some cows that were out, but I don’t see any,” he said.

I told him that it had been taken care of and that my sister and I appreciated his support.

“Why did they get out?” he asked.

So many sarcastic answers were running through my head.

“They’re like people sometimes,” I said. “You do your best to keep them safe, but sometimes they push their limits.”

Chris and I spent the rest of the daylight hours tightening up the fence. There was no glaring hole, just a few places that had been stretched harboring tufts of black heifer hair.

I called Delina to let her know how much I appreciated her vigilance.

Robert Frost was right. Good fences do make good neighbors. Especially on Independence Day weekend.