Finding the Ring

I lost my engagement ring. I usually put it on the counter in the barn but I looked and it’s not there. I can’t imagine where it could have gone. John is going to kill me if he finds out. The ring belonged to his mother, rickysgranny.

I got up at 3:30 this morning, as usual, to tend to the animals. I took the slop bucket from the kitchen and filled the pig trough. I still had my ring on at that point. I went back inside to refill my coffee thermos and grabbed my heavy coat. There was frost on the ground and it’s quite a walk to the chicken coup from the house.

After leaving the house, I went around back and fed the dogs. If I don’t feed them before the chickens, they chase them all over the yard. Having taken care of the domestic animals, I headed towards the barn. The pigs were happily rolling in mud, their bellies full for now. I opened the barn doors and went to grab some chicken feed. Chickens aren’t picky; they eat whatever falls on the ground in front of them. I haven’t had time to get my ring sized and if it fell to the ground I’m sure one of the little monsters would eat it. I know that I pulled my ring off before going to the chicken coup. It must be in the barn.

I’ve searched around the counter in the barn but maybe it’s buried under the hay. It’s not that big. John’s family doesn’t come from money. I grabbed the magnifying glass from the drawer of odds and ends in the kitchen and headed once more to the barn.

On my way into the barn I spied The Milkman struggling with the barn door. He had run out of the barn moments before screaming, “the cows are loose, the cows are loose, STAMPEDE!” I ran to his aid, hoping all the while that my wayward cows would not trample him. I don’t think homeowners insurance covers acts of cow.

Out of breath, I leaned over, gasping for air. When I could talk, I panted, “How did the cows get loose?”

His response was full of information, “Ummm, not sure.” He is a man of few words. I suppose being surrounded by cows all day would have that effect. They aren’t exactly renowned for their conversational prowess.

Putting the how of the cows escape on the backburner, we devised a plan to get them back in their pens. We called my neighbor, bianca_b and her sister, Sophy , to help us capture the wayward cows. My phone call was short and to the point, “Help, the cows are loose in the barn again.” This was becoming a weekly ritual.

The sisters arrived shortly after and with a sigh, bianca_b, took charge. “Is it all three of them again?” I looked to The Milkman for help. He shrugged, said, “dunno.”, and moved out of the way. Sophy rolled her eyes at her sister.

Feeling time slipping away, I panicked at their hesitation. “Get in there and round up those cows. I need to find my ring!”, I screeched. Now I had their attention.

“Your ring? The one John gave you last week? You’ve lost it already?” Sophy asked in disbelief.

Realizing my mistake, I attempted to cover. “No, It’s not lost. It’s in the barn. I’m just afraid the cows will eat it if we don’t hurry.”

Tossing a suspicious glance over her shoulder, bianca_b opened the barn door. One of the cows was in her pen; the other two were munching contentedly in the center of the barn. bianca_b led one cow to it’s pen while Sophy corralled the other. I stood outside the barn comforting The Milkman while he cowered in terror behind the open door.

Having accomplished their mission the two girls climbed into their truck. Sophy smiled and gave a tip to find the ring. “If the cows did eat the ring it will come out in the next 24 hours. Be sure to collect all of the dung, you wouldn’t want to miss the ring!” Laughing, the girls pulled away from the barn and headed home.

The Milkman was too shaken to continue milking so he too left for home. Taking her advice to heart, I grabbed several dozen freezer-size Ziploc bags from the kitchen and carried them to the barn. Setting the bags on the counter. I first made a sweep of the area surrounding the counter with the magnifying glass. Other than a copious amount of mouse turds, I found nothing.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I stuffed some bags in my pocket and headed for the first cow pen. Realizing that I had no idea which cow had remained in her pen, I decided to collect dung from all three. I filled 6 bags in the first pen alone and ran out halfway through the second. Knowing I was in no condition to run to the Piggly Wiggly for more, I called my friend, trisha. We had been friends since sixth grade and she’d helped me out of worse jams than this one.

She arrived with twenty boxes of Ziploc bags and a handful of twist ties. “I thought you could use these to poke through the piles so you don’t have to use your hands.” After collecting the last of the cow dung, we sat in a corner of the barn to examine each piece carefully. The twist tie idea was thoughtful but not practical. Each time we poked the dung, the tie would bend. Abandoning the ties, I dug right in, literally.

Sixteen hours later I found my ring, underneath my leg, not in the dung. Something sharp poked me and when I moved my leg, there it was. It must have fallen from the counter. I don’t know how I missed it with the magnifying glass. I didn’t tell trisha it wasn’t in the dung. Friendship can only handle so much strain.