On the first roundup, we got three. On the second, we got two. On the third, a couple of the farmer's sons had the heifers moving in the right direction, but the beasts suddenly veered off and started heading for the woods. Seeing this, I began sprinting to cut them off. I was out of breath before I even got started, but I ran as fast as I could. At 100 yards, I was nearly dead, but I kept running. At 200 yards, rigor mortis was setting in, but I ignored it. Then, with 50 yards to go, I looked up and saw that with one last push I could make it just in time to turn the heifers. So I kicked it into high gear--and that's when I hit the cow patties.