The key to transporting calves in a minivan

My father would study a map, write out his directions and time his trip. As a young adult, I once told him I was taking a trip to Florida. He asked how I was getting there, and I explained to him that I’m heading south and then a little east. This answer, while correct, only added to his frustration.

I was my father’s meathead, to say the least, but once when I was a kid, I saw my dad get lost. He got so angry the environment inside the car quickly changed, and you could cut the tension with a knife. I vowed to be different, and boy am I different. I figured if I didn’t know where I was going or how I was getting there, I couldn’t ever actually get lost because I was never found.

I have driven all over the country with this mindset, and it has provided wonderful and unpredictable adventures. Once while taking an ad hoc trip to Arkansas, I managed to drive in a 1,500-mile loop before settling in the Blue Ridge mountains, just six hours away from home.

I enjoy figuring things out, trying things, learning and — most importantly — exploring. Being able to laugh at my own mistakes has enriched my life deeply. Unfortunately, it’s also caused a tremendous amount of stress, at least for my wife.

Last winter, in response to a Craigslist ad, I drove two hours to go get two bottle calves. In my head, the plan was to carry these baby cows to the minivan and drive them home, like any other backseat passenger.

I’ve honestly never been around a cow outside of a fair. And the cows at the fair just sit there peacefully minding their own business. It was wintertime in Ohio, and the roads were slick, but you have no idea how hard it is to drive a straight line while two restless calves begin jumping and climbing into their unassigned seats.

The two puppy pads we laid on the ground to catch their excrement were insufficient, to say the least. In fact, one of them managed to pee inside of a cup holder in the back seat. I was honestly amazed and frankly surprised by just how much they managed to urinate and where.

They were full of life in the backseat, even forcing the kids out of their seats at times. In my rearview mirror, I could see them climbing over the backseat to curiously watch as cars were passing us and laughing at the circus inside my vehicle. But the circus became a bucking competition that resulted in one kicking the inside of the minivan so hard that we actually seemed to be pushed over the double yellow line and into the wrong lane.

While figuring my way home using backroads without any maps, we managed to learn a lot that day. I wish I could tell you that I vowed to never drive a cow home in a minivan, but the truth is, I can’t.

This summer we did it again, but we felt like seasoned professional cow people because we put a halter on him.