Here's a problem you don't have: what to do with those pesky farm animals who inconveniently die on you?
The answer is "call the tallow works,"* but the problem is deeper than that. If, hypothetically, you're in your yard in hot pursuit of a chicken, and you glance way out in the east pasture and see an unnaturally girthy cow lying on her side, you may or may not notice her. But if, on this hypothetical Saturday morning, you notice the girthy cow in the first place because she has a buzzard balanced on her tummy, you do what I would do. You'd say, "Oh, crap" and go inside to call the cow's owner. Hypothetically, my father.
"Dead cow way out in the east pasture, Dad."
"Oh, okay. Thanks."
Later you'll probably see the cow's owner headed way out into the pasture on his tractor, and this is where the trouble starts. The dearly departed cow will need to be moved out from under the cloud of buzzards to a new location -- one with good access to a road, allowing a large garbage-truck-looking vehicle enough room to easily scoop her up -- stiff as a very large cow-shaped piñata -- and deposit her into the bin on the back of the truck. Officially this truck is in the employ of the rendering company ("tallow works"). Unofficially this truck is called The Dead Wagon. You don't want to be caught driving on a narrow country road, stuck behind The Dead Wagon. It's no fun to drive for over a mile, plugging your nose, with no way to pass, eyes riveted on a cow leg sticking out of the truck like an umbrella adorning a tropical drink.
A dead cow is no big problem if the cow expires right in front of you. You know she's gone; you have time to call for The Dead Wagon before she becomes stinky. This is a very big problem if the cow didn't tell anybody she was dying and was discovered after, oh, maybe five or six hot July days. She could potentially explode out there in the midday sun of the Back Forty.
So after having been discovered and subsequently towed behind a tractor through the pasture, back to civilization, the Cow Piñata waits for her Monday retrieval in a very convenient place, such as, oh, I don't know, maybe the access lane by my house. The access lane is convenient to the road and accessible to the huge Dead Wagon, which will rumble in on Monday, probably, maybe, we can only hope. The pièce de résistance of this tale is that the access lane, at least at MY house, is just on the other side of the fence closest to the master bedroom.
Yeah, my bedroom. The windows are shut tight and we haven't been outside for more than a sprint across the road all Saturday -- and then we were breathing through our mouths and holding our breath. Sunday will be another hot day of extra fun. I hope the Cow Piñata doesn't explode.
Hypothetically, of course.
*Tallow works, or rendering plant -- a company which recycles dead animals into useful stuff, but that's another story entirely.