You may well have read recently about an Austrian cow who astounded the scientific community with her ability to choose and use a soft or hard brush to scratch herself depending on where the itch was. “Scientists are rethinking what cattle are capable of after Veronika was found to use tools with impressive skill,” reported the BBC. But I doubt anyone who keeps livestock – excepting possibly those who work in megafactory units – were one bit surprised by this story.
Why do we believe that superior intelligence is the sole preserve of humans? It’s simply not true, there are some astonishing examples of outstanding cleverness, even in the most unlikely places! Dicrocheles phalaenodectes is a tiny mite which infests the ear of a certain species of moth. What is extraordinary is that on any individual moth they only ever colonise one ear, leaving the other intact so that the moth is still able to hear and doesn’t get eaten by a bat. After all, if the moth dies, the mites die too. But what is most clever is how they police it. Having decided to colonise, say, the right ear, scouts are sent regularly to the left ear to see if there are any naughty squatter mites and if there are they march them back to the inhabited ear. Amazing. And that’s just mites!
So, as far as intelligence is concerned, it’s a given, but what is more subtle and

more surprising is the emotions that farm animals display towards us humans and amongst themselves. I have sixteen cows and it’s always the same ones – Delia, Heedless, Lily and Daffodil – who seek out my company and come up for a rub and a general meet-and-greet session. Most are indifferent and some are positively offhand.

I have sixteen cows and it’s always the same ones who seek out my company and come up for a rub and a general meet-and-greet session

Koskimo (posh name and snooty with it) was born and raised on the farm but, in seven years, she has never deigned to show any acknowledgement and actively turns around and walks away whenever I approach. And what goes on between the individuals in a herd is absolutely fascinating. Cows in any group organise themselves in what is termed a bunting order, whereby they have a numerical position in the group and abide strictly by the rules.

So number 1, Clementine, is head cow, ably supported by Lily as her second in command (think Captain Mainwaring and Sergeant Wilson) and then they work their way down to the lesser mortals at the bottom of the heap. The bull, however, is not included in this hierarchy. Apart from when his services are required, none of the girls deem him an important or relevant part of the herd and he’s generally ignored by everyone!
But apart from respect for the hierarchy, cows always show exceptional emotional ties to their own family groups. The calves get born about now and will spend the summer with their mums and then be weaned in the autumn. These calves then overwinter in a separate barn and go off to fields quite far away for their second summer. From there, most go to market for the inevitable, but each year we keep three or four females – replacement heifers – to put back into the herd the following spring when they are two.
When they all meet up again there is always immediate recognition and huge joy at being back with their mothers, aunts, sisters and grandmothers. And when these first-time mums go on to give birth a year later, the mums, grandmothers and sisters will not be far away, keeping a watchful eye. Incredible, but not surprising.