The Real Life of a Ranch Hand's Wife

I CARE about Animal Abuse

    I was cruising Facebook this morning when I saw all my "ag-blog" buddies have a common theme going on. I'm usually "late to the party", so I figured I'd check things out. I've been sick and hanging out on the couch lately so I wasn't surprised to hear that I'd missed the latest undercover animal abuse video. Well, I haven't missed it now.

    I literally watched 30 seconds of it (maybe even less) and was gasping and crying all at once. If you want to watch it, then google it. I'll not be providing a link on here. The less hits that nasty thing gets, the better in my book. Maybe my thinking is wrong, but I wouldn't want anyone to see what I just did. Not for fear of repercussions, but for the heartache it causes.

    My question is this....if the undercover person taking the video is supposed to be helping the welfare of these animals, Why didn't they take the pick-axe and sledge hammer out of the person's hands BEFORE they bludgeoned the calf to death ?????????????????????????????????????? Just a thought.

    I know that calves get sick. I know, all to well, that some sick calves die. I also know that I've never seen a rancher take a pick-axe to a dying calf.

    I have seen them give one last ditch effort at doctoring and inject medicine into an already dying calf that costs them a small fortune per dose. They know full well, it's not going to save them, but they try everything.

    I've also seen a ranch wife bring numerous calves into her house just to keep their ears from getting frost bit. Imagine that, calves inside someones house, they care that much about the welfare of animals.

    I've also seen a ranch wife load up her own baby in a car seat, in the middle of a snowstorm, and drive through the herd to find that one calf that was just born at the wrong time. She then moves the car seat over to make room for the 100+ pound calf she's about to pick up and put in the truck. Even though she's still not supposed to be lifting anything that heavy so soon after her own delivery.

    I've seen a rancher say, "he's dead, you might as well hit him in the head", then he bends down and does cpr on a dying calf while sucking the gunk out of his lungs to attempt to clear his airways. He doesn't hit him in the head.  The calf literally dies in his arms. He then broods about it for hours, wishing there was something else he could have done.

     What I haven't seen is any animal rights groups knock on my door or that of my neighbors. The fact of the matter is that 95% of farms and ranches are family owned and operated. So why are the animal rights groups going to the 5% and trying to put the 95% out of business? Because they only want to further their own agenda (mainly veganism), and not see that we are people who actually CARE about our animals.

    Contrary to popular belief, you can be a carnivore and still CARE about animals. 

    You don't have to be vegan to CARE about animals.

    You don't have to be vegan to fight for an animals life and well-being.

    You don't have to be vegan to nurse a sick animal back to health.

    You don't have to be vegan to cry when an animal dies in your arms.

    You don't have to be vegan to be angered when you see videos of animal abuse.

    I am a mother.   

    I am a Ranch Wife.   

    I am a carnivore.

    I do eat meat.

    I do raise cattle for meat.

    I do raise sheep for meat.

    I do raise chickens for meat.

    I do CARE about my animals.

    I do cry when one dies.

    I do try my best to not only keep them alive, but give them the best life they can have, until their death.

    I do have the utmost respect for the animals' lives that we are entrusted to care for.

    I do CARE about animals. Most of the time, I CARE about animals more than I do people. Especially people who threaten my way of life by getting some video of an idiot that doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to animal care. Yet another idiot that doesn't know anything about management or the people that he hires, puts the first idiot in charge of the lives of animals. Let's not forget the third idiot that stands there and does nothing but just keeps the camera rolling.  

    If you want to be vegan, vegetarian, or carnivore, that's your choice as a free American. My husband fought for this country for you to have that right. It's also my right to express myself by telling you to not lump me into the same category as the idiots in the video. Another ag-blogger said something like this, "There are some women that are prostitutes. So just because I'm a woman, does that make me a prostitute? No."  

    Let's compare apples and apples next time. Not B.S. and real family run operations. Not B.S. and people who actually CARE. Just in case anyone forgot.....

    I am a Ranch Wife.

    I am a Carnivore.

    I DO CARE ABOUT ANIMALS.

     

A Bad Day

    "You can't save them all", I was told as tears welled up in my eyes. The Cowboy couldn't even see me, but he knew I was about to cry over the calf that lay dead on the barn floor. "We did our best to help her, that's all anyone can ask." It was true, we did do everything, it's still heart-breaking.

    The Cowboy called me and told me to get everything ready, we were going to pull "that" heifer. 226 I knew who "that" was. We'd been watching her for several days now. I was relieved that the call was coming in the day and not 3am. I rounded up all the gear and the munchkin and we were soon out the door and headed for the barn.

    The Cowboy and I have pulled too many calves to count and too many heifers to remember. A lack of a "heifer bull" (a smaller bull or a bull that sires lower birth-weight calves for first time mommas) was the problem way back when. Mother nature was the problem with this one. She looked like an alright heifer, not too tiny, not to small of hips, just an average heifer.

    We had her in the head-catch in no time and went to work on pulling the calf. She wasn't pushing at first, but with a little encouragement, started to help a little. It was soon clear that there wasn't any progress made. We then went "fishing", in other words, we went in to feel the position of the calf. My smaller hands were no help this time as my arms weren't long enough. By this time, the Boss Man had arrived. He too went fishing and could barely touch the head.

    The calf had a head turned back. This means that the usual front feet first with head in the middle, didn't apply. The front feet were pointed out (with a bit of a twist) and the head was pointing towards the groundand up and over his shoulder. It didn't help that every time someone had a hand on calf's head to get it straightened out, the calf would pull back. It was a mess on every level you could imagine.

    Once we finally got the calf straightened out, the momma laid down while we were pulling. So we started pulling from the ground. She was too small. Boss Man had to do the bovine equivalent of an episiotomy, he had to cut to make room for the calf. Finally, finally we got the calf out.

    Momma just laid there, not really knowing what just happened. Calf just laid there, never knowing what just happened. The heifer calf never took a breath. Momma still laid there, relieved of her burden and pain, not wanting to get up. She was a good Momma, she never bellowed, never tried to fight us, never freaked out like some heifers do, it just wasn't meant to be.

    Losing a calf is never easy, but losing one that you've tried so hard to save is worse. When you step out of a barn covered in baby goo and blood and there's a live calf on the ground, it's a great day and worth a high-five. When you step out of a barn covered in baby goo and too much blood, to see the clouds have rolled in and it's raining, and knowing there's a dead calf, it just makes you want to cry. And I did.

    To all those people out there that think ranchers and farmers are mindless and we don't care about our animals because we raise them for meat.......I'll show you a grown man that sucks gunk out of a calf's nose to try to clear his airways, I'll show you a tough Cowboy that tries CPR on a dead calf to try to get them to breath, and I'll show you buckets of tears shed for the lose of animals from a ranch wife.......and that was just yesterday.

Good & Naughty Cows

It's been a while since I've posted, so there's much updating to be done.

    First things first, the trade show (first weekend in March) went over wonderfully! I had the wonderful opportunity to meet several people from the community that not only were "friends" on facebook, but readers of this here blog. =) I also had the chance to talk with several people about Double D Beef, answering questions and sharing information and such. It was great to know that there's such an interest in getting back to wholesome foods and supporting local agriculture. The only part I didn't like was having to leave the munchkin. She was in her Daddy's capapable hands (even if they did eat pizza the whole time) but I still had to deal with the "Mommy don't go" and "Momma feed cows, no go work". My hats are off to the working mommas out there that have to leave their little ones behind. I've always counted myself lucky that I either don't leave, or take my little one with me. I'm blessed.

I was right next to my friend Pure Fusion, so she snapped some pics for me. My booth won the "best booth" award, wahoo! With the great help of another friend Skye who shared the space with me. =)



 
Ok so this was at the end of the show, and we were a little bored.....

    Next on the list of happenings around here is calving. The sheep are done and have been moved to their more new homes where they can graze during the warmer weather and whenever summer gets here. The cows were rolling right along but have now stalled out a bit. They'll get back at 'er when the next spring storm shows up! We did however get the usual dose of scour guard in them and sorted out the 1st calf-heifers. (Scours is a deadly disease that affects calves after they are born. The idea is to catch them a couple weeks before they're born to build up anti-bodies against it with momma's help. If the calf gets scours it's like the worst possible flu you can imagine for an infant.)

    We also have been sorting heavies off (mommas that are about to pop) to keep them closer to the barn in case of problems. Well while sorting, there was a snorty red cow that wanted to blow a little snot in my back pocket. The Cowboy and Boss Man might have laughed a little more than I would have liked when I screamed like a little girl and headed for the fence. The problem was the melting snow made a huge puddle in the one end of the corrals that we were sorting in. Guess who was in ankle deep mud while trying to run from a mean cow? Yup, me, as is par for the course. All was ok though, she really didn't want to eat me that bad or else she would have had me for lunch!

    It was worth the trouble for that sort in particular. It was three days later that first thing in the morning there was a cow in trouble. She was wilder than bull snot. She ran at least 2 people through the fence and even ripped the Cowboy's pants a bit. She was a Naughty Naughty cow. We finally got her in the "calf pulling" pen safely and went to work. The Boss Man and Cowboy jumped in and pulled the giant heifer calf. She was huge! All ended well though, even if the momma was still head-butting the fence when no one was any where near her.

    Later that day, we headed out for another check before it was dark. The pulled calf was up and moving with no ill effects from the trauma earlier in the day. There had been a new addition to the nursery when I saw it. Another momma had popped, but still had a bag of water hanging out. She wasn't pushing or even trying. Toes, I could see toes through the bag which only means one thing....twins! =) This momma was nothing like the one we'd pulled earlier in the day. She was the kind you want to keep around. Easy to handle, good momma, and just a nice personality.

    The Cowboy and I got her in to the "pulling" pen with no problems. When we started to pull, then momma helped and started pushing again. In no time at all, there was a second heifer calf on the ground. So far so good. She's taking both of them and being a great momma.

    The only other bit of news is kinda big actually. I've been in touch with a wonderful ranch wife that is starting up a Wyoming chapter of the American Agri-Women. I can't believe that Wyoming doesn't have a program like this already! So long story short, I'm helping her get this off the ground and it's going to be great! Any time you can raise awareness about agriculture and the people involved it's always great! So far we only have a Facebook page till we can raise some funds for a website. So if you're on Facebook come see us and be a part, even if you're not in Wyoming! ( go here)

Till the next time, try to stay out of the mud while sorting crazy cows!

 

Why I Eat Beef

    There are many reasons why I like to eat Beef. I grew up in a house where we had a variety of meals as well as meats. I’m not nearly as “dyed in the wool” about beef as my husband is, but I do enjoy it. In fact, many of my favorite meals growing up were some sort of beef dish.

 

    As most of you know by now, I did not grow up seeing beef on the hoof, much less looking it in the eye. I will admit it was an adjustment to come face to face with a food source. There are things in this ranch life that make it easier though. By the time we fed our first steer, took him to the packing house, and brought him home to our freezer, I was well over any issues I might have had.

 

    It might have helped that I named him Pork Chop and he hated me. Even if I brought a bucket of grain and armfuls of hay, he still chased me out of the pen. Well, when something hates you and tries to harm you, it does make it easier to enjoy them in the form of a steak. That was an easy lesson to learn, a tasteful one too!

 

    I still have some issues with the idea of Veal though. I’ve eaten it before, but just the thought kind of freaked me out. I think it’s because I have the image of a newborn calf on my dinner plate. I know this isn’t the case (usually dairy calves around 450 pounds-very far from newborns). It’s just hard to think of when you’re bottle feeding that bum calf with those big doe eyes. Well, two days ago, I’m proud to say I learned another new lesson. I got over my issues with eating Veal.

 

    I went with the Cowboy to load up a few calves and two cows to take to the sale. They were the neighbors’ cattle who runs his with the Boss Man’s cows. Not a big deal, just like any other time we’ve hauled cows to the sale barn. The Cowboy backed up the trailer to the chute. We wired a panel to the one side and the door of the trailer served as the barrier on the other side. Like clockwork, two cows loaded up and right behind them were 5 heavy calves. I started to swing the panel so that the Cowboy could start to shut the trailer door. That’s about when calf #6 had the idea to duck his head under the panel. This bald-faced steer weighed in at about 550 pounds. I was told to get in front of him, so I took about two steps to do so.

 

    Right about here is when it all went downhill fast. The calf bulldozed his way under the panel and started to head for the hills. This action caused the reaction, or rather lack of reaction on my part. The panel hit me in the back of the knees and completely swept me off my feet. I landed on my shoulders, thwacked my head and my elbow too. My foot was caught up in the panel and was squished after I was drug for a quick second.

 

    I rolled over and scrambled away, giving a quick mental sigh when I saw the Cowboy shut the trailer door, so I wasn’t in any more danger. He quickly came over to help me up. I couldn’t catch my breath enough to sob as much as I wanted to. Crap, that hurt. I wailed like a baby. My Cowboy helped me to the truck, dusted me off, and called in reinforcements. The calf was half-way across the pasture now, mixed in with the other calves and still had to get in the trailer.

 

    Twenty minutes later, he was loaded and we were on our way to the sale barn. Six hours later I was still crying and in pain. My Cowboy again helped me into the truck and we went to see a doctor. Luckily, my foot isn’t broken, just sprained from being stuck and tweeked. I did find out I have an ear infection though. So it wasn’t a wasted trip I guess.

 

    When all this happened, if I could have, I would have shot, cut and wrapped that steer all by myself. I think I’d like to eat beef all week while I gimp around on my wrapped foot, now that I think about it. Actually, now that I’m over it, maybe I’ll make Veal Parmigiana or Veal Marsala, since both are in my cook book.

 

    I know, it’s not the most noble of reasons to eat beef. I don’t even think it would make a good commercial for why to eat more beef. I bet if you would have been there, you’d know what I mean though. Talk about a guilt free hamburger. I’m never thinking twice about eating any form of beef again. 

Swollen foot....

 

This is the back of my knee....

 

 

      

A Date in the Sagebrush

   

    As a woman, every once in a while, I turn into a sappy girl and I need a little romance in my life. It’s the nature of the Estrogen beast. So the other day, when the Cowboy told me he could use my help I jumped at the chance for a “date”. Now would be a good time to review the “Guidelines” post, in case you forgot the first part of #3. Obviously Julie Carter, who wrote these guidelines, is a much wiser woman than I. Anyway, I fell for it, again.

 

    My in-laws were in town, so we had a babysitter for the munchkin. I got all “dressed up”, you know, jeans, long sleeve shirt (deer flies are the devil), and hat. This wasn’t the type of date that the man opens the car door, so instead he put my spurs on my boots and caught my horse. I was busy packing a diaper bag and moving the car seat when I noticed he even sprayed my horse with fly spray.

 

    I was done getting the munchkin ready, so I saddled my horse (he has to really really want something for him to be that romantic and saddle my horse for me, haha). In no time at all, we were loaded and headed out the driveway. I told him thanks for taking me and he gave me a look that sealed the deal. He knew that I’d forgotten the guidelines. What a turd, luring me in with romantic notions!

 

    Upon arrival, he gave me the general directions and layout of the pasture. The 100 or so pairs of momma cows and calves had broke through the fence and wandered into the sagebrush. There wasn’t a gate to speak of so we had to bring them back through the hole in the fence. We rode together for a little while and then split off. It’s funny how you don't have to be right next to someone but you can still feel close to them. I was having all kinds of flashbacks to the days when I was his only help, and it was do or die. I was proud of myself for not asking a 1,000 questions and just knowing what needed to be done.

 

    I headed off at a trot, knowing full well I had a good distance to go till I hit the other fence line, also knowing that I had the slow horse. We were picking our way through the sagebrush when I remembered how much I love that smell. A warm breeze on your face, the hint of fly spray being sweated off your horse, the sweet smell of sagebrush as you brush up against it, and the mountains in the distance, hmmm little pieces of heaven. I was snapped out of my little day dream every time my horse thought it was easier to jump the sagebrush than go around it. I looked up and thought a calf had climbed through the fence, but when I got closer I saw it wasn’t one of ours. Then I went to get a bull moving, but he was a little lame, so I left him and started on with the other cows. By this time the Cowboy had pushed a couple off the hill and joined up with the rest of us. We continued pushing and sweeping without a word between us.

 

    I only had one minor panic attack when I had to go through the herd of mares and babies to pick up a few cows that were hiding. I didn’t have any problem with the mares, it was the stud that started to come after me and got a little too close for my comfort. When I yelled and he realized we weren’t interested in his mares, he backed off. Yet another first for me, not going to lie, I was a little scared for a minute.

  

   We finally made it to the hole in the fence and started the task of getting them through. I held the herd on the one side to keep them from running down the fence and missing the hole. The Cowboy kept pushing and sweeping. It was a slow process, since only a couple could go through at a time, but it went off without a hitch. I really wanted to trade jobs since I knew if they blew past the hole, I’d be the only thing to stop them from scattering to the four winds. Luckily, I only had one try me and so I had to go after one and turn her back on the fence. It was right about now I remembered guideline #5, count everything. I didn't, but this time I got away with it, whew! 

 

    When we were done pushing cows, and the fence was back up (till it could be permanently fixed), the Cowboy gave his horse a “good job” pat on the neck and a few words of encouragement. When we got back to the trailer, his dog got a “good boy”. When we were back at the house, over an hour after the fact, his wife got a “yeah you did alright, I didn’t have to tell you what to do”.

 

    It’s official, just in case I had any doubts before…..there are no romantic notions intended when a Cowboy says he needs your help. Don’t get me wrong, we had a good time and laughed and joked and it was nice to just get out and ride along side my husband. However, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are no romantic dates in the sagebrush.   

Cows Eating People

  

    Well, with only a couple of calves on the ground, and many ready to pop just any day, I think we’re finally in the swing of calving season. This brings to mind the second & third steps of calving, tagging the calves to keep track of who’s who, and keeping an eye on the little ones to make sure everyone is healthy. The last place we were on, “the mountain” as we call it, was my first experience with cows eating people.

    We had close to 300, give or take, Charolais cows (white in color, pronounced “shar-lay“) to calve out at an elevation just shy of 7,000 feet. Now, just a warning, if you own/like Charolais cattle, sorry if I offend you when I say….I hate them, with the passion of 10,000 burning suns. I’m sure not all are terrible, but it just seems to be my luck that I find the bad ones.

    Monday morning rolled around and we had a big storm over the weekend, so we were unable to tag calves every day. So the Cowboy and I dropped the punky-do (our daughter) off at the neighbors house, since we’d be busy most all the day. We had about 35 calves to tag and needed to kick out some pairs into the next pasture. On this fine day, the Cowboy told me to ride the Blue Mare (the old man needed some time off) and having flash backs from the Yellow ride a few years earlier, I was skeptical. I knew she was a good broke horse, but I also knew that she could jump 5 feet sideways if spooked by a horse-eating plant.

    Well, we headed out and I knew my job. Cowboy would heel the calf if necessary (rope by the hind feet, less stress on the calf) and I was to push the cow off and keep my horse between her and Cowboy while he tagged and vaccinated the calf. Not too hard, I’d done it several times before, just on a different horse. Yes, well, that might have been the key to all this. We spot our first pair, calf was taking a nap, I push momma off, and things were good. Then the calf realized there was a person on him and started to bawl. Needless to say, momma came running. She then started bellowing, this is not a typical mooo, or even a “I lost my calf” bawl. It’s more like a growl/guttural utterance/demon possession of a cow type sound, accompanied by head shaking, dirt throwing, and charging like a freight train. My horse hadn’t really seen a demon possessed cow before, so she backed away a little, then I gave her a little poke to urge her forward.

    It’s at this point in the story where things get a little fuzzy, or maybe blurry is a better word. Since there was a blur of cow coming toward me and a blur of my horse jumping and taking off, and a blur of me trying to stay in the middle of the horse. Somewhere in the background was a blur of descriptive words coming from the Cowboy aimed at anything that would listen, the calf, the cow, the horse, the wife, or whatever.

    If you’re keeping track, we still have 34 calves to tag. So I traded my saddle for a 4-wheeler, since the mare wasn’t ready to perform an exorcism, and we didn’t have the time to deal with it right then. So now this was my job, once he had the calf, I come in and keep cow off Cowboy. Now by this I mean, I have a sorting stick and moving my feet to protect me, and an occasional rock I can throw. So we get to rolling on these calves, no major problems, most mommas are mad, but won’t “try” you.

    Then there was P2142. Her calf didn’t even make a sound and she was on us like flies on poop. She was bellowing and charging. I stood between her and my husband and cocked my arm, ready for a baseball swing. I swear the ground totally shook as she came after us, probably not, it was probably my heart trying to jump out of my throat. **Swing** I caught her right in the nose. She backed off for about 10 seconds. Yeah, that was all. Most cows will just stand there mad, but won’t try it again. Well let me just say once again…stupid cow. She came after us again, more mad than the first time. Now I’m yelling descriptive words, trying to get the Cowboy to hurry up. Well he was having a bit of a hard time, since Grey Horse was starting to get nervous at this second charge too. Now Cowboy had to get the rope off the calf’s feet, finish giving the vaccine, and keep a hold of his horse, while a freight train is coming at us.

    I’m still screaming at this cow, ready to swing, wanting to run, but not wanting my husband to get hurt in the process. **Swing** She stumbles a bit and backs off shaking her head. Then, almost immediately, I’m getting yelled at (more like scolded, but it felt like a yell) by Cowboy who’s standing behind me now. What the heck is going on? Well, with my fabulous aiming skills (yeah, not so much), I thwacked her just below the eye and down her face to her nose. So now she’s walking around squinting, I’m getting yelled at that she could lose her eye and to never do that again. Then I did what I usually do in those situations, I busted out crying. “I didn’t mean to hit her there, she was coming after us and wouldn’t stop. I’m sorry…but the stupid cow was trying to eat me for dinner!”

    Thus started my hatred for Charolais cows, and it continued through the rest of the herd. I lost track of how many time I was chased over a fence by them, or how many times I had to get my horse out of the path of a charging cow. I was even chased several times while on the 4-wheeler.

Call me crazy, but I don’t like cows trying to eat me, I prefer it the other way around!

"Lucky"

The weather today is typical of calving season. The kind that you always know is lurking somewhere and you hope never shows up. It’s cold, rainy and turning to snow. Seems like mother-nature is backwards sometimes. Those cows are fat and happy when it’s sunny, and popping out calves when it’s nasty. My first calving season was a doozy as you already know, but sometimes there was a silver lining. This was the case when we found “Lucky”. It was a name that was well earned.

We still had a couple of feet of snow on the ground in spots, and ice was still thick on some places of the river. The old cows were rolling right along and we didn’t have much problems with them at all. I was constantly peering out through my binoculars checking any suspicious activity. We had all the “heavies” up by the house, so I could see most of them from my front porch.

There’s always one that sneaks past you though. She doesn’t bag up (swollen udder) or spring (if you don’t know this term, you probably don’t want to) or show any signs of calving any time soon. Well, 232 was just like that, a little more secretive than the rest. She made her way down to a patch of trees near the river and thought that would be a good place to pop.

I saw her down there and watched her for a while, till she had a red calf. The calf was up in no time and the two were just happy as could be. I told the Cowboy so we made a quick trip down there and they were just right as rain. The next day we were busy sorting more heavies, sorting off pairs and moving all these into their own pastures. As it would turn out, the pairs were going into the pasture where 232 and calf already were. One less pair we had to move.

The following day we noticed that 232 didn’t come up to hay and she still hadn’t introduced her little red calf to the rest of the nursery. She seemed happy enough, just grazing down by those trees, so we didn’t bother to mess with her. Later that afternoon, she started bawling. This isn’t uncommon, I’ve learned cows are not very smart sometimes and they forget where they put their calf down for a nap. So then they start bawling to find them. Weird, I know. All I can say is…stupid cow.

So by early evening I’m starting to get a little concerned. So I tell Cowboy all that has been happening, he says go check. I then make a good argument that if something is wrong, I won’t know what to do. So we hop in the truck and head down there. It wasn’t long till we saw 232 frantically searching for her calf. It was now official, she had lost him…stupid cow.

She was in and out of the trees, up and down the river bank, and all along the irrigation ditch. The irrigation ditch ran almost parallel to the river separated by a built up bank to prevent flooding from the spring run-off. The ditch was mostly full of snow, and often covered in a 6 inch thick layer of ice. The Cowboy and I went up and down, over and across the ditch and the river looking for the calf. Meanwhile, the cow freaked out and got the heck outta dodge, so now we didn’t have much hope of finding the little bugger since now he didn’t have a momma calling for him.

Cowboy yelled for me to come back. It was dark anyway, even he didn’t know how else to find the calf. As I was walking back, I heard the diesel fire up and I was feeling pretty discouraged. I just knew in the morning we’d probably find a half eaten carcass. Then I thought I heard something.

I stopped only 30 yards from the truck. Cowboy got out and yelled, “What?”. I yelled back for him to shut off the truck. I told him I heard something. He thought I’d been in the whiskey barrel and was hearing things. I heard it again. Just the faintest of cries, so pitiful and soft, I wouldn’t have heard it if I didn’t have estrogen. Yes, that mighty force of needing to mother something, even if it was a calf.

I started to resemble that frantic 232, or a mother in Wal-Mart with a wandering child, both look about the same! My husband on the other hand still thought I was certifiably nuts. He just stood there waiting for me to wear out or give up. Obviously he still had a load to learn about estrogen! I yelled for all I was worth, “He’s here! I found him!!! He’s under the ice!”

Sure enough, he was laying in the ditch, feet barely visible pointed toward the opening, body soaked in 2 inches of water, and stuck. The opening was only about 1 foot tall and 2 ½ or 3 feet wide. He wasn’t stuck in a well, but he was still the “baby Jessica” of calves. Now, this is the time when you hope there’s enough useful crap in the bed of your pickup to deal with such a crisis. I haven’t met a rancher yet that couldn’t solve the world’s problems with the contents of his pickup.

I stayed with the calf while the Cowboy was gathering supplies from the truck. A sledge hammer and a blanket. Not the best of tools, but not the worst either. Cowboy grabbed the hammer and made a quick thud on either side of the calf. He gave a little bawl from the weight of the ice, so we had to work fast. Cowboy squatted down, grabbed the ice and lifted while letting out a huge groan. I shimmied between his legs and grabbed the calf’s back feet and started to drag him out. This wasn’t easy, especially when I was trying to hurry. Well, I ended up crawling in the ditch with him and gave him a giant hug around his ribs and panted my feet and worked our way out backwards with the calf on top of me. Once we were clear, Cowboy dropped the huge chunk of ice with a thud. Then two more thuds. We both fell back, Cowboy from the strain, and me looking this calf in the eye because I still was afraid to let go. All three of us were out of breath.

We wrapped up the calf and he sat on my lap for the truck ride up to find his momma. I didn’t mind too much that we both smelled like wet calf, fish, dirt, and poop. We quickly found her but, he went running off to suck anything that would stay still long enough. She finally found him and they were both happy as clams. Cowboy said, “That’s one lucky little bugger”.

If that’s what it takes to name a calf Lucky, I hope we never have the need for that name again.

Sick, dead, and dying.

A famous saying that I’ve heard from many different ranchers is, that sometimes a calf is just born looking for a place to die. I just didn’t believe that could be true. It didn’t take long for me to understand exactly what they were talking about, I had a lot to learn about life and death on the ranch.

The truck finally pulled up with the last load of calves. The boss had bought close to 300 head to winter and then sell as yearlings. We didn’t have to take them too far on horseback, thank goodness. Moving calves/yearlings, well that’s another story in and of itself! We soon got all the little buggers settled into their new home.

It was only a few days till the first ones started coming down sick. The boss didn’t believe in using medicine all that much, so it took some convincing to get the okay to doctor these calves. Finally with needles and brown med bottles in hand, we went to doctoring. We had already cut out the sick ones from the rest of the herd and brought them up to the corrals. One by one they went through the squeeze chute and got a couple pokes. We kept at the dosages and bringing in sick calves for a few more days. Some bounced back right away, some took longer, some didn’t.

There was a white steer that hadn’t been doing so hot. He was the worst off. We gave him everything we could, the most we could, and the strongest stuff we could. It was like watching him take 1 step forward and then 2 backwards. Just when we thought, put him out of his misery, he’d bounce back for a day. This went on for a few days, till I guess he gave up. The Cowboy and I were in the corrals letting the newly recovered calves out . We checked on that steer for about the third time that morning, when it was obvious he was trying to kick the bucket. I started to tear up and said there had to be something else we could do for him. Cowboy told me he was past any help and sent me to go get the tractor.

So I somberly walked to get the tractor, for what I didn’t know. I just assumed that my dear loving husband had my delicate sensibilities at mind and didn’t want me to watch this steer die. Well the Cowboy had things in mind, just not anything having to do with delicate sensibilities. The fact of the matter was, this almost dead steer couldn’t stay in the corrals after he stopped breathing. This is where the tractor came into play. As it would turn out, the only way to dispose of anything weighing 650 pounds is with a tractor.

I pulled up into the corrals with the tractor and was relieved to know that by taking my sweet time in getting back I’d missed the fateful end of the steer. I was however crying a bit because I’d never seen an animal die, especially one who we’d fought so hard to keep alive. I get out of the tractor and Cowboy explained to me how we were to get the steer in position for disposal….he told me to grab a leg and roll him over. Well, I had started to compose myself by this point and realized that there was a job to do, so I had to put on my big-girl pants and get it done. I walked over to the steer and broke out in hysterics.

I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t even catch my breath! You know what I mean, crying sooo hard that catching your breath is kind of like a hiccup/ hyperventilating episode. Cowboy thought something was wrong and bailed out of the tractor. I had to yell over the noise of the tractor….He’s (breath, breath)Looking (breath breath) At (breath breath) ME!!! (sob, breath, sob) Close (sob) his (sob) EYES!!!

Well needless to say, Cowboy got a swift punch in the arm for laughing at me. It took me a little longer to see the humor in the story. I’ve learned that’s just the way it is on a ranch. You can’t spend too much time crying over one that dies when you have hundreds more to try and keep alive. You can have life and death in almost the same minute.

 I've just figured out how long it takes to get the tractor.