When old cow is a term of affection

Every morning rain, hail or shine 85-year-old Carterton returned serviceman Ken Simmons hops on his pushbike and pedals half an hour into the countryside to be with his Girl.
Girl, in the most respectful terms, is an old cow she and Mr Simmons have been together for more than 20 years and share a mutually beneficial relationship.
"She keeps me healthy and I keep her healthy, it's reciprocal," he said.
According to the Guinness Book of World Records the honour for female bovine longevity goes to a cow named Big Bertha, who lived to be 48 and gave birth to 39 calves.
Girl, a Jersey-cross, has a decade and another dozen-odd calves to go to catch up with Big Bertha.
"Girl's going on for 38, she's got no teeth a bit like me she was 14 or 15 when I bought her. She had her last calf about seven years ago," he said.
By Mr Simmons reckoning Girl has given birth to roughly 27 calves. "She was the first cow I ever bought and when the women said 'what are you going to call her?' I said 'Silverside I s'pose' but I never call her that I just call her Girl."
From Casino to Trieste, the old soldier fought for two years in Italy during World War II as part of New Zealand's 18th Armoured Regiment tank division.
He spent his post-war years living and working in Waikato and came to Wairarapa to retire.
Each morning about 8.30am, in an effort to avoid morning traffic, ("people have different driving habits these days. Prudent people used to slow down when they saw cattle but not these days"), Mr Simmons cycles out to the paddock to serve Girl her breakfast of nuts and trace minerals.
"She knows she's on the fuss. She's always waiting at the gate for me. Cattle are creatures of habit, if you treat cattle right it's amazing what you'll learn from them."
During our visit Mickey the field mouse comes scurrying from beneath Girl's feed bucket and boldly snatches away one of her feed pellets.
Why Mickey? "Well he's got to have a name doesn't he?"
It appears Mickey is a stowaway from one of the bags of hay Mr Simmons brings girl every morning "the hay's loaded up with fieldmice".
After breakfast, Girl, resplendent in her winter thermal blanket, gets put through her paces on a quiet, gravel country lane.
"I take her up and down the road to keep her feet right," he said.
The pair stroll the line as Mr Simmons coos, "c'mere, come to dad".
He leans over to scratch Girl between the horns as she stops on the roadside berm to drink from the ditch.
In summer the duo have been known to share a day in the hay, snoozing on the roadside.
Mr Simmons, who usually heads back to town around midday, will stay on into the afternoon if Girl so desires.
"If she's enjoying herself and I've got nothing to do then what's the good in going back home?"
"Animals bond pretty closely. If you're getting your bread and butter from someone then you look after them," he said of his symbiotic connection to his cow.
Last winter Girl "had a touch of arthritis", which Mr Simmons remedied with fish oil it seems to have worked and the ailment hasn't reappeared this year.
The rapport between the cow and the war veteran has become a chapter of Carterton folklore that locals speak of fondly.
Girl has even been immortalised by the brush "she's been painted, she's an icon around this area", Mr Simmons said.
He used to have 36 cattle at a block in Gladstone, when the lease came up he sold the herd but kept Girl.
"I wouldn't have sold her because she was too old and no one would look after her the way I do," he said.
Mr Simmons has kept up with modern technology, he has a new cellphone that hangs from his neck, but has never answered a call.
Asked why he has the mobile he replied, "just in case I ever need to call the vet for Girl".