A Day's Wages: A Cowgirl's Story: Part 3

Have I lost your interest?  Part 1 was most assuredly TOO long.  But I felt you needed the background.  I think I did better with shortening Part 2.

Part 3 will, hopefully, be the end of this particular saga.  Well, unless I somehow end up working for that former employer again. 

Although I can't quite fathom such an occurrence.  But after getting paid with promotional items from my Dad's business, I had sworn to never help him again.

But Dad made me anyway.  However, this time he agreed to come along.  Especially in light of the fact that I told him my "employer" had sworn at me, and yet said nothing to his slump of a son who was scared to get his horse out of a canter.

Yes indeed, I did have a very smart mouth.  But Dad was gracious enough to not smack me in light of these  spoken truth...Not that he ever smacked me...Except a few spankings that I truly deserved...Although each time Dad spanked me, David got one too.  So, it was probably all David's fault, and I was just the innocent bystander.

Sorry.  I rambled there.  Oops.

So Dad and I were off to help this individual work cattle.  This was a semi load of cattle that he was expecting delivered first thing in the morning.  He was quite proud of his truck load of Limousin cattle.  I had never worked with Limousin cattle, but I confess I was intrigued as they certainly sounded impressive!

We arrived about the same time as the truckload of cattle.  We watched them trot off the truck and scatter through the corrals.  I don't remember finding anything special about them. 

However, as you are about to learn, I soon realized that they had one very specific trait that seemed to run through every single one of them.

Dad and the Employer did the little chat with the trucker thing that comes along with such goings on as cattle, then he headed off down the road.  And we commenced to grouping the cattle into one large corral, with the plans to bring them by smaller bunches into what's known as a "crowding pen."

Okay.  I will now stop this post for a bit of explanation on the system.  The cattle are in a large pen.  You bring them by bunches into a smaller crowding pen.  Once they are in a crowding pen, the person working the pen, brings them by groups of two or three into a narrow lane.  The lane should be just wide enough for the cattle to fit through.  I'm sure fancy operations have a gate to swing shut in their lane.  We had a gate in ours, but always found it simpler to use a fence post that was narrow enough to go through the squares of the corral.  You run the cattle into the lane, then make them stand as close to each other as possible and then with your hip planted firmly into the last calf's backside, you shove the post in.  Not too high, or he will get under it.  Too low and he'll pull his back legs up and climb backwards over it.  When I helped my dad work cattle at this age, I'd run the cattle into the lane, shove in a post, then  climb the fence to help work them.  We had a nice little system where we knew exactly who did what.  He nearly always ran the head gate, as I was too slow to get it closed, and the calves would jump through, then be loose in the final big corral where you let the cattle after they'd been worked.  My ineptitude with the head gate would lead to sorting the cattle to get the ones I'd let go back through the chute.  This was nearly always a big hassle as the cattle tend to be a bit wound up after being branded, ear marked, vaccinated, and if they were bull calves, castrated....

This isn't our chute, but you see if the head gate doesn't get closed, the calf runs right out the front.

In the system we were using with Dad and Employer, we would all three run a group  into the crowding pen.  I would work the crowding pen, then stay in the lane behind the cattle trying to keep them in place as Dad and Employer did the actual "working" of the cattle.

My job was not a fun job.  It involved getting pooped on more than should be necessary.  I also got kicked more in that single day than I was kicked by cattle in all my days combined...

You see, Employers lane was too wide.  The wide lane meant the cattle had room to turn around.  And switch places in the lane.  And generally be pains in the rump.  When it came time to put them in the chute, inevitably the next calf was facing backwards.  Only I wasn't able to really do much about it, because I discovered that the cattle had the most amazing ability.

They could climb fences.

I'm not kidding!  Because the lane was not narrow enough, and they were apparently crazy as bed bugs (there seemed to be a pattern that developed with all of the Employer's livestock) they would literally turn up on their back legs and start climbing the corral panels until they just literally kind of climbed/fell over the sides.  Please understand, Gentle Reader, that the average corral panel is about 6 feet tall.

I am saddened to admit that I was quite intimidated by such goings on as I had never in all my born days seen such behavior in cattle.  However fearful or not, I had two people up in front attempting to work cattle, and my job was to get the cattle to them. So I soldiered on with much grumbling and whining on my part, I'm quite certain.  I was a teenage girl after all, and grumbling and complaining was all part and parcel of using me as a hand.

My Grandma Irene brought us a sandwich at dinner time (remember this is the noon hour, or "lunch" to town folk).  As I sat on the tailgate of the pickup eating my bologna sandwich with a slice of American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and potato chips on it, I tugged off my boot and pulled up my pant leg...

My legs were swollen and black and blue from the knee down where I'd been getting kicked repeatedly by those dastardly Limousin calves...

My employer took one look at my legs and said, "Well, I guess you're going to sue me over that."

"Well I would, but Grandma won't let me."  I said in all seriousness.

"Oh now listen here, kid.  Nobody's suing anybody.  Now just don't talk like that."  And sadly her statement was pretty much law, so I dropped it.

Aside note:  As I think about my acceptance as adults word as the law, I can't help but think of kids today, and their lack of it.  And directly on the tail of that thought is the thought that it's the parents fault.  If we as parents demanded the respect, and taught respect and most of all SHOWED the respect that I was taught, kids today would be respectful.  It's really a pretty simple solution.  Well, and I also have the solution of ceasing to allow kids to watch all of those shows where kids talk sass to their parents, and it's treated as humorous....But I will now step down from my soap box and return to the story....

Forgive me, I just can't help it!

That is the last time I recall helping that employer.  I'm sure there were other times.  However, that experience with those crazy Limousins is burned forever in my brain....

When we moved down by San Antonio, there was a Limousin bull ranch about two miles south of our house.   He had fences that we use around here to keep bison in...I think they are a good seven feet tall...

So I'm guessing the propensity for climbing fences wasn't exclusive to that one herd.

At last the saga of a cowgirl's life is wrapped up.  How sad for me, as my blog ideas have been few and far between lately. 

What's the most exciting job you ever had?

A Day's Wages: A Cowgirl's Story: Part 2

As you recall from yesterday's post, life with a certain employer was always exciting. 

Maddening.  But exciting nonetheless.

The weekend following the saga of the crazed cows, my sometimes employer informed me we were to attempt to gather them again. 

I refused.

He promised to have his son and another hired hand on horseback with us.  He also said he had a new plan that involved driving the cattle down the road.  I guess to his house.  I don't recall exactly where we ended up.  I just remember the process of getting there...

Dad convinced me to help out.  And Granddad promised to be there.  I agreed.  And when I say "agreed" you should read that while Dad "asked" he was really "telling"  and refusal was never a real option.

So it's Saturday again.  I had the horses in the corral unsaddled until my employer showed up, miracle of miracles, by noon (7AM was the planned start time) with two horses saddled in the trailer.  It turned up that his son was to be on Star, his hand was on Smokey, and he was to ride one of our mounts.  I quickly spoke up that Blue was mine.  And I saddled him with my saddle before you could say "boo."

We unloaded at the pasture, and Granddad met up with us.  I've always wondered how Granddad happened to be there no matter what time we started.  I guess he was called from the house.  Heck I don't know, as we did not have CB radios or cell phones...

The cattle predictably bolted to the far southwest corner.   Our plan was to drive them through a gate on the North side.  I was feeling pretty confident in our game plan as we now had four horses, and you can do darn near anything with three horses, so four is a bonus!  Well, as we were burning daylight it was suggested that we trot until we got closer to the cattle.

Did I mention Smokey was old?  It took lots of energy just to get him to trot.  And his rider probably weighed over 300 pounds.  Poor Smokey.  He also had a tendency to let out unfortunate bursts of air from his backside as he trotted along...

My employer's son was on Star.  I had experienced gathering cattle with him when we were younger.  It involved him being on Smokey and crying.  Because he was cold.  He ended up going back to the trailer and reloading his horse and riding in the pickup.  The big baby.  I was hoping I wouldn't have to see any tears that day. However, as I felt the sweat run down between my shoulder blades I was relatively certain that his seventeen year old self wasn't going to cry because he was cold.

We drove the cattle up the fence and to the gate they were supposed to exit.  The gate is one I didn't even know existed.  And neither did the cattle.  In fact, the gate had been opened, but it was overgrown with some sort of tall weeds or something.  I can't remember what it was.  I do remember that the weeds/feed/whatever was taller than my horse's head.  And Blue was not happy about riding through it.  He stomped and snorted and hopped around and resisted and did NOT want to go in.  So it definitely wasn't corn.  We had some cattle get in our neighbors corn and like to never got them out because all my horse wanted to do was eat.  Dang horse.

Anyway, the gate was overgrown.  You could not even see a gate there.  Nobody had bothered to stomp down or drive through the trash grown up around it so we could go through the gate. 

The cattle bolted fifty different directions.

My employer proceeded to yell at me.  His son was utterly incompetent and seemed incapable of moving out of a light canter.  Poor Smokey was too overburdened to move out of a jolting trot...

We started all over, gathering up small bunches of cattle that had bolted then grouped up...Granddad had driven through the gate a few times so it appeared that there was an actual place to go.

After much swearing and yelling on the part of my employer and much ineptitude on the part of the "help" provided that day, we finally got the cattle through the gate and headed north up the road.  Granddad took his pickup and went the opposite way to hurry around the section and make sure the cattle did not go the wrong direction at the various road intersections..

I guess we drove them to my employer's corrals.  I don't remember sorting cattle.  Although I'm quite certain I did help.  Gathering cattle to just dump in a corral would be pointless.  Perhaps we just herded them in then let them cool off for a day before sorting was done.  I don't know.

I do remember that when we went home, Granddad followed in his pickup.  And I also remember that my employer said, "Hey!  I need to pay you for all of your help."  I wearily walked up to him, relieved to finally get some monetary reward for my suffering...

He reached in behind the seat of his pickup, then dug around a bit in the console...

And he finally turned around and handed me a ball cap and a pen.  The ball cap was a "ladies" cap.  The kind that has a really short bill and a pompom on top.  They both proudly read "Jones Trucking Company."

I wanted to throw the pen and cap at him.  But I merely took them and turned to walk away.  Granddad had witnessed the exchange and called me over to him.  "Did he pay you last week?" 

"No."  That was all I said.  I don't deny that I have a smart mouth, and that I did even then.  However, there were certain people I did NOT smart off too.  And Granddad was at the very top of that list. 

He quietly reached in his wallet and handed me some cash.  "You don't have to do that,"  I said even as I took the cash from his hand.

He simply lifted his straw fedora hat with his left hand, ran his hand over his nearly bald head with his right, then took a drag on his cigarette which was always firmly held between the first two fingers of that right hand.  He gave me his Granddad smile and told me to take it.

So I did.  I stuffed the money in my pocket, gave him a big hug and a smack on the lips   then went to unsaddle the horses. 

(I miss the smell of Granddad.  His kisses always smelled like Marlboro Light 100s and Original Chapstick.  I still remember him every time I crack open a tube of Chapstick.  Sometimes he had cherry, but I always liked it best when he used the Original.  It still comes in the black tube I can always remember him fishing out of his pocket to apply between drags on his cigarettes.)

And I did not so much as say goodbye to my employer, his son, or his hired hand that day.  I merely walked to the house with my cash in my pocket, and the stupid pen and hat in my hand.

"How did it go?"  Mom asked when she heard me come stomping through the back door.  I showed her what my "days wages" were according to my uncle. 

I think she actually started laughing.  And then I did too.  Dad got an even bigger laugh out of it...

Because you see, Gentle Reader, Jones Trucking was my DAD'S trucking company.  And it had not even existed for at least ten years by the time my employer was "paying" me with the promotional items!

I guess that maybe says something about the quality of work I was doing.

My employer had deemed my two days of sweat and near tears worth a ball cap and pen that my dad gave out as promotional items for his trucking company.

Some people are just utterly clueless...

Guess what?  That's not the end!  No sirrree bob!  I have yet at LEAST one more tale to tell...

But I think that my final tale is the very last time I worked for that employer.  At least it's my last memory of it...

Maybe I've blocked the rest out for sanity's sake.

Stay tuned!

A Day's Wages: A Cowgirl's Story

I should probably change my background.  But who's ready to let go of Christmas?

I need to shower and run to the store.  Sadly, I only found three good coupon deals for me this week, and that is not worth the trip.  However, Popcorn has once again shared all of her pencils to never be returned, and Studmuffin asked me to buy him some new socks.

So to the store I will go.

However, as my mom was telling me about cleaning out some junk I was reminded of a situation I faced as a teenager.  And I realized it was a blog that I MUST write.  So, instead of showering, or doing housework, I brewed another cup of coffee and here I sit to write...

I will not disclose who my employer was at this particular time, as I hate to disparage his name.  However, those who know me will know who this is and they will chuckle and shake their head.

So, here's the background:  In my teenage years I was "forced" by my dad to help a certain gentleman with his cattle.  Whether it be gathering cattle, working cattle, whatever.  If he needed help and called to ask for me, I was  pretty much required to say "yes."  I would like to share a sampling of why I did not LIKE to help him.

Example One:

"Andi, we will need to get these cattle gathered on Saturday.  I will be by at 7:00 to pick you up.  Have your horse saddled and ready to go."

At 9am he would finally show.  Only, his horse trailer was empty.  "Where's your horse?"

"Oh, I haven't caught him yet.  I need you to help me."

In all honesty, I found the less I tried to truly communicate with this individual, or understand his thought process, the better things went.  So, I simply loaded my now irritable horse who has been saddled and tied to the corral for two hours, and climbed in the pickup.

We pulled up to his corrals and there is no horse in the corral.  "Well, they won't come in.  I need you to bring them in."  I was dismayed to realize he meant he wanted me to herd his HORSES  in on my horse.  I had never done such a thing in my life!  We always went to the end of the lane where our corrals go to the pasture, shook a feed bucket and yelled, "HEY HORSES!"  And the horses would come running...

So, I tightened my cinch (it's not nice to have the cinch tight until just before you ride.  Especially if you have no idea when your "employer" will be by to pick you up for the day's work) and climbed on Appy.  I am not sure why I was riding Appy that day, but I do remember it was him.  I usually preferred Blue.  Anyway, I climb on Appy and trotted out to the pasture where I see the horses.  I slowed down as I approached and made a kissing sound with my lips and called softly to them.  Imagine my surprise when a horse who I'd never met, but later learned was named "Bugsy" suddenly laid his ears back, and charged my horse full speed ahead, teeth bared!  I don't know if I reined Appy out of the way or if he dodged out of sheer instinct.  I do remember that in the midst of our dodge that a pair of hooves came flying at my head.  And Bugsy ran away.

You will be impressed to know that I did not immediately concede defeat.  Instead, I focused on Star and my employers ancient horse Smokey, the horses that I knew and tried to herd them to the corrals.  Star had no interest in going where I was directing, and he led me on a merry chase over the river and through the woods...Well, except there was no river or woods, simply a pasture with junk in it.  Smokey merely looked at me as if I were crazy and resumed grazing.

As I was unsuccessfully herding Star and cursing under my breath at the idiocy of some people who don't feed their horses in the corral so they'll learn to come, and the sheer stupidity of myself for agreeing, yet again, to help this person I heard a thundering sound.

Only it was a sunny day.

And it was not thunder.  It was Bugsy.  Coming at me full speed ahead.  Again.  At the sight of that big red horse with the white blaze down his face with ears back, teeth bared, Appy started throwing his head and snorting and stomping.  And facing him.

I was not happy with this reaction.

So I gave Appy a good kick in the sides and a firm click in my cheek and we headed to the corrals.

With Bugsy hot on our heels...or hooves as it were.  He and Star both ran behind me all the way to the corrals where my enterprising employer stood at the gate and promptly shut it behind all of us.  I can still remember that shaky feeling in my chest as I cut into a smaller corral and tried to swing the gate behind me, but of COURSE the gates didn't swing easily and that stupid Bugsy was pitching and kicking the entire time like a crazed thing.  I jumped down and yelled at him to get away as I shut the gate, then took Appy OUTSIDE of the corral to be tied up.

Then I fear I may have voiced some displeasure to my employer over the mental stability of his mounts.

"Yeah, well Bugsy has been a little crazy every since he got mauled by those dogs in town."

Lovely.

Well, I don't remember the details of how he caught and saddled Star with the loony Bugsy in the corral with him, but I do remember it was nearly dinner time (which is noon on the farm) when we were unloading to gather cattle.

FYI:  We were gathering cattle so he could pull the calves that were ready to wean off their mamas.

It was hot.  I was irritable.  And hungry.  Never a good combination.

We unloaded our mounts at the pasture.  The plan was to gather the cattle into a corral in the pasture, then my employer would haul them out by stock trailer.  Sounded like a good plan.  It would have been an even BETTER plan if a feed wagon would have been there to help things along.  Instead we had the two of us and my Grandad who was probably there to keep the peace.  (Grandad was ALWAYS in a pickup.  I know he COULD ride a horse.  He just chose to drive a pickup like a maniac through the pastures herding cattle much the same as I did on a horse.  Only scarier.)

I realize not all of my readers are country folk.  So please allow me to explain how this scenario would have played out if Dad were in charge.  He would have been planning to bring in the cows to sort off calves.  Even though it was summer with plenty of food to eat, he would have been feeding them a smackeral or two of  feed daily with the feed pickup so that they would come to him.  The system is to pull into the pasture honking the horn on your feed wagon, which is an old beat up pickup with the regular bed removed an replaced with a flat bed where you put a bin of feed and a hay fork on back for winter time.  The feed bin has a chute that you lower down and a lever inside the pickup that you flip and drive forward as the "cake" pours out so you can scatter it.  (Before we had a caker, Dad would stand on the back of the pickup with bags of feed while one of us kids would "drive" as he poured it out.  He did the same thing when we still used small square bales.  He stood on top of the stack of bales and scattered out the bale to the cattle while he trusted his offspring who's feet may or may not reach the pedals to drive him.  Did I ever tell you Dad is brave?  Or crazy?)

Sorry, I veered there for a minute.  Back to topic:  Dad would have been feeding the cattle even if it wasn't necessary in anticipation of gathering them.  He also would have instructed his hired hand (that would be me) to ride through them several times early in the morning so they would be used to the sight of a horse and not go berserk.

Well, my employer of that day had done none of that.  He simply planned for the two of us to show up on our horses, herd the cattle to a gate they'd probably never gone through, into a  corral they'd never been fed in, and all of this was to be done starting hours later than it should have.

Well, I'm sure you can imagine all did not go as we would have liked.  The cattle bolted at the sight of the horse.  Once they all reached the far corner of the pasture, we decided to drive them along the fence to the corral.  My employer at drag, me along side as the wing, and Grandad there for moral support. 

And to scare the dickens out of me.

You see, drag is an easy job.  You simply stay behind the cattle and keep them moving forward, which if they're scared of your horse is pretty easy.  The job on the wing is to make sure any cattle who might like to deviate from the course chosen are quickly stopped and herded back with the others....

The problem was that when one would try to break off, I'd have at least one other trying to break free at the same time.  So I would try to head off one, and Granddad would chase the other, full speed ahead, and make me nervous as a cat that I was going to collide with him in our highly disorganized state of chaos.

Not to mention Appy had an unfortunate habit of deciding to pitch in the middle of pursuing cattle at least one time every time.  It was maddening, as he would kick up his back hooves in the middle of chasing a calf and it would just tick you off...He also liked to jump over things instead of go AROUND them.  I hated that tendency.  Especially considering he may not jump the next bit of sage brush, but instead cut sharply around it, making it difficult to maintain a dignified seat if one weren't on guard.  Again, I have no idea why I'd chosen to take Appy that particular day.  I'm getting annoyed with him just thinking about it.

After what seemed like hours we finally got some but certainly nowhere near all of the cattle in the corral.  But not until Granddad had a blowout on his pickup from running over a piece of junk in the pasture in mad pursuit of a cow...

My employer began to yell from his position atop Star "Close the gate!  Close the gate!"  I quickly dismounted and went to grab the panel that was the "gate" and drag it closed.  I say drag, not swing because on old corrals that are found in pastures, the gate is seldom still on a hinge.  Instead it is held up by baling wire and it drags in the dirt all the way closed.  One must physically lift the panel (an old wooden one in this case) and carry it closed.  I was closing the gate and the cattle are running circles in the pen as I'm dragging and shooing at them each time one darts toward me to escape.  Just as I was trying to wire the gate shut with the ever helpful baling wire hanging on another panel, a large charolais cow came charging at me.  I waved my arms and yelled at her to "Get outta here!"

She completely disregarded my gesture of dominance.  Instead she chose to smash into the gate, knocking it completely down and all of the cattle went running out as my employer, finally dismounted and now tying his mount up begins to yell "Stop them!  Stop them!"   Only there were many, MANY more adjectives that were thrown in that are not suitable for blogging...

I didn't get a single one stopped.   And somehow it was all my fault.  By now it was blistering hot.  The cattle were hot and mad.  Appy was staring at me with ears pricked forward as if I should be better than this.  My employer was yelling.  I was mad and trying not to cry.  Granddad was yelling at him because he was yelling at me, and it was just a lovely day.

Lovely.

When all was said and done, we loaded our horses BACK in the trailer because Granddad insisted we were not going to accomplish anything good that day and we went home.  I was not at all secretly relieved.  I think my relief was quite apparent to anyone who had an ounce of observation skills.

And he failed to pay me...

I was madder than an old wet hen... But I didn't say anything.  I just took my horse to the corral and unsaddled him...

You would think that would be the end, wouldn't you?  It's not.  I have more to tell you.  But that will be tomorrow's post.

Home for the Holidays

Note:  I wrote this post on Sunday, but could not get all of my pictures to load.  So, I'm publishing it on Tuesday!

We are out at my folks for the Labor Day weekend.  Today has been the perfect day after months of triple digit weather.  We woke up to the wind howling out of the north and the temperature at a cool sixty degrees.  The  three younger kids have not come in the house at all, except to replace two way radio batteries and eat meals.

Studmuffin and The Man have been hunting dove and prairie dogs with the kids.  Today they took Dead Eye, my sister's oldest hunting.  They apparently have plenty of opportunity for bathroom humor when they are together.  So it was probably a good thing that my precious little angels decided to ride horses with Elvis.  Because quite frankly they can come up with enough bathroom humor on their own without their Dad and Uncle adding to the mix.

In an attempt to make some sort of money in this drought, my brother has bought 38 little calves.  He has figured up some total feed ration for ninety days then sell them again where he can still turn a profit even with a thirty percent death loss.  I pray it works for him.  Something's got to give.  They only have 40 bales of hay between the two of them, and they typically go into winter with over 600.  Round bales are up to $130/bale depending on what it is and where it's from, and even how old it is.  It is a scary time for my family...

Three of David's calves are on the bottle, and a few others appear so little as if they should be too, but they would not take it.  Oh well, they only have two bottles, and besides three bottle calves and three kids who are still not to cool to play with calves is a perfect balance! 

I helped my dad doctor some of the sick ones.  It seems to go with the territory of buying calves that some come down with shipping fever.  It only took maybe fifteen minutes to sort off the sick ones and run them through the shoot.  Dad suggested I hold the rope to drop the gate behind the first one in the shoot...

That is the weeny job.  "Really?  I have to do the boring job?"

And, of course he "let" me run them from the crowding pen and into the lane to the shoot...Sadly, not one single calf kicked me, or balked at the shoot, or even pooped down my leg!  Which really seems as if they aren't truly sick, just faking it so they can get a shot.

Or something weird like that.

Anyway, I love being with the cattle and horses.  It brings back memories of all the time I got to spend with my dad growing up.  I am 6, 8,and 12 years younger than any of my siblings.  My brother was in  a Prodigal phase through most of my growing up years, so since the age of about ten, I was the only one home.  Dad, Mom and I could work a truck load of cattle at less than two minutes per calf.  The bull calves would slow us down, but we had a system, and everyone knew exactly what role to play.  At that time, my dad ran a yearling operation and he ran about 2000 yearlings each year.  This translated into working cattle or moving cattle every single weekend.  It seemed as if a Saturday was not complete if I wasn't washing cow poop out of my pony tail at the end of the day...

And I loved it.

While Dad &; I were doctoring cattle my girls and Elvis, my sister Paula's boy, were riding horses.  Dad was suggesting that after we finished we ought to go down to the trees where the kids have a fort that is constantly under construction.  He wasn't sure they could get back on the horse themselves.  Appy may be 29 years old, but the old bronc never did learn enough patience to stand still while you mount.  And he's ridiculously tall. 

I think if we just leave them be with the horses, they'll figure out how to take care of themselves.  After doctoring cattle, bandaging Dad's hand where a calf slammed it up against the side of the chute, then decided to jump around, cleaning the five pounds of mud off of Elvis's shoe where he "had" to wade into a pond to retrieve his dove yesterday, we headed down to the trees, a mile north of the house to see if kids were ready to remount.  We topped the hill to find them all mounted and returning home.

Bookworm figured out that if she hooked her knee in Appy's stirrup and muscled her way up, she could swing her right leg over, then get in the saddle.  Sugar is just an average sized horse, so Elvis was able to reach his stirrup to mount, then grab Popcorn's hand and drag her on behind him...

And all of this after Sugar decided to rear up with Elvis on her!  The kids are getting so big and brave!

I refrained from saying "I told you so."  But I wanted to. 

After the kids got home, I helped them unsaddle and walked the horses back to the pasture to remove their bridles.  The kids stood and petted them for about thirty seconds, then they were off to do whatever it is they do...

I stood there and rubbed Sugar's ears and took my knuckles and massaged the spot on her forehead between her big brown eyes that all horses love.  I stroked her all over and talked about how sweet she was, even if she did give the kids a little rodeo today.  I assured her they would be better cowboy's because of it.



Then I moved on to Appy.  Sugar was not happy with her session ending, and she reminded me of her presence numerous times by placing her right ear on my left shoulder and rubbing her head on me.  I chuckled, gave her another little love down, then told her to let Appy have a turn.

Darling, cantankerous old Appy. We have had him for twenty six years.  Where he used to be mostly red with white appaloosa speckles and a white rump, he is now gray.  He is skinny and he drools when he eats.  Dad has even moved to buying him senior formula horse feed in the hopes of putting some meat on him for the winter...

It hurts my heart to look at him, and it worries me to think of him being ridden.  But he loves to be ridden and kicks up a big fuss if he suspects he will be left out.  I rubbed his forehead and he closed his eyes in horsey bliss.  I moved to his side and scratched his cheek and ears and buried my face in his neck.  He let out a great contented sigh and I breathed in a deep breath. 

He smells so perfect.  There is just something so perfectly "home" about the scent of horse sweat.  It is not a bad smell.  It is musky and unique.  It smells like wind and grass and carefree days.  It smells like blistering hot days with dirt in your teeth from chasing cattle.  It smells like leather gloves that have been soaked in the stock tank to form perfectly to your hands.  It smells like your dad's lap after he has come in from working all day long and is sitting in the recliner to catch the weather before he sits down to supper.

It just smells perfect.

For another take on life out at my folk's, go take a look at Paula's blog. She did a great touching story!  Anyway, it brought a tear to my eye!

What makes your heart yearn for home?

My Future as a Bull Fighter is in Jeopardy

A few weeks ago I went out to see my folks.  It was hot.  It was dry.  But that did not keep us from riding horses!  No sirree bob!  My mom offered to drive us in the pickup to find the horses.  They have a full section of land to wander (that's one square mile) in this drought, along with a herd of cattle.  Now, I could have accepted this generous offer but it just didn't seem like the thing I would have done as a girl on the farm.  I decided to show my children the proper way to catch your bronc if you live on the farm and you are around the age of nine or ten.

You take two feed buckets.  One bucket has a nibble or two of sweet feed in it.  The other has a bridle to catch the bronc with.  Two buckets is necessary only if you are going after two horses.  Otherwise I'd just toss the bridle in with the feed.  I was also known to tuck a lead rope in my back pocket and head to the pasture with a handful of cake to catch a horse.  However, I was unsure if these horses had a halter on, and I intended to ride the horses back, so a bridle for each was more in order.  In addition, we planned to ride them as soon as we caught them, so naturally we at least needed a bridle!

Please also understand that I really had no idea where they were.  The most logical place was by the pond.  Or the trees.  Or perhaps anywhere at all in the pasture...The only thing I was certain of was that they were not in the 40 acres behind the house.  We decided to cut at a diagonal across the pasture to the pond...As we entered the field on the east side, I spotted the horses further to the east of us.

"Heeeey horsES!"  I gave the cry my dad has always used to call the horses in to eat...I confess, I did not hold out much hope that they would respond to my cry as I am not the source of their breakfast on a regular basis.

Imagine my surprise when they not only came, but came at a trot to greet us!  They were so ready for diversion that they all but stuck their heads in the bridles for us!  You will notice the very authentic cowgirl gear my girls have on.  Because clearly every cowgirl wears brand new Pumas or purple sparkled Sketchers through a pasture and to ride horses!  Right?

In truth, the little hooligans had left their boots and old shoes at our house and brought nothing but brand new shoes to their grandparents...*SIGH*  And they even failed to pack a single pair of JEANS!  Good grief, who ARE these children?

As you can see the cattle were quite interested in the treat the horses were receiving...

And also you can see that I did NOT get to ride a horse back to the house.  I was informed that the girls were riding by themselves.  I shrugged to myself and decided I could use the exercise to walk back home.  After all, carrying two buckets through the hot dry pasture wasn't enough exercise.

So, the girls left me and my buckets and headed off, no saddles, no blankets, nothing to pad Bookworm's delicate derriere from old Appy's bony back.  Remember, Appy is 29 years old.  I have all sorts of sad thoughts about how hard this hot summer has been on him.  But we will not get into that right now.

What you are interested in (hopefully, and I apologize for taking twenty minutes to get here) is why I fear my future as a bull fighter...

So, I put my kids on the horses, and sent them off.  I watched them ride off with a little catch in my chest at a memory of happier, simpler times, picked up my now empty buckets and headed off to the road...

I had walked about 25 feet when I realized I had company.  Two black angus cows were walking at my hip.  And head butting each other.  And trying to stick their heads in my bucket without actually touching me.

Now, I realize I've been away from the country for a while, but I was completely inappropriately dressed.  As in, bermuda shorts (I realize nobody calls them bermuda shorts any more, but I'm not sure what one does call them), tank top and thin tennis shoes inappropriately dressed.  I tried to ignore my bovine companions and continue on to the gate.  And they kept head butting and shoving each other.

I kept visualizing them shoving each other into me, and consequently stepping on my inadequately shod foot...In addition to the fact that my brother was barely moving as a result of a run in with a cow two weeks earlier...Oh, I'm sorry but simply have to give a back story here:

Due to the severe drought my dad and brother have had to sell off a good chunk of their herds to avert a bigger financial disaster than they are already facing.  David had decided to sort some cattle (by himself, I think) while my parents were on vacation.  Apparently one mama cow did not appreciate being sorted from her calf.  She took off after David...

Okay, I just have to back track even further right here and say that many times as I was helping sort cattle my Granddad Marvin would say "Quit jumping out of the way!  The cows don't want to run over you.  Stand your ground.  They will back off."  In fact I remember very clearly him saying that very thing to me just before I found myself plastered against the fence with the wind knocked out of me.  I can also remember marveling at my dad's ability to put one hand on the top rail of our six foot corals and vault over them when a particularly angry cow was quite upset with him...

I never did master that fete.

So, back to David.  The cow chased David.  David tried the one handed fence vault trick, and suddenly found himself flying through the air.  From what I understand the cow caught him and threw him, and he landed on his tail bone...I don't know if he cracked it or what (he doesn't tend to believe in doctorin') but I do know two weeks later he could barely move.

Now.  Back to the hungry cows.  I was thinking of my toes.  And the fact that I like having all of my nails on them.  And I was thinking of David who could barely move without groaning...

I decided to just set the buckets down and let the cows satisfy their curiosity.

They kicked and snuffled and licked the buckets...And they licked and snuffled them some more.  Eventually they lost interest in their game, and moved on.

I chuckled to myself and picked up my buckets and began to whistle the Andy Griffith tune as I headed to the gate.  As I walked I heard a cow bawling behind me, and it sounded as if she was quite close.  I looked behind me, and I saw this not so little lady not walking up to me, but flat out running, neck stretched out and bawling like I was in the feed wagon, complete with caker and hay fork on the back.

I looked around and though there didn't seem to be any other cattle paying attention, I decided to abandon my buckets.  After all, there was a perfectly good pickup at the house that I could drive back to fetch my abandoned buckets.

So.  I walked the mile back the house.  Bucketless.  As I got to the house and told my tale, I only had one thing to say to my parents.  "Please don't tell David I couldn't get home with the buckets.  He will never let me live it down."

Nope.  Sibling rivalry never dies.

P.S.  I feel compelled to explain cattle terminology.  I realize 98% of my readers know this, but just in case:  The term cattle refers to a mixed herd of cows, calves, heifers, steers, bulls, whatever.  It's kind of like saying "people."  Heifers are females who haven't calved.  Cows have had calves.  Calves are calves, bulls are bulls and steers are....well....They just don't rattle when you shake them.

Kapeesh? 

My Dog is Determined to Die a Traumatic Death...

Or at the very least have me die of a heart attack....

I'm sure all of you remember our harrowing experience last Thanksgiving. If you feel compelled to refresh your memory, you can click here to read the entire drawn out ordeal of mental anguish and suffering she caused me...

On Monday morning, Bookworm and I decided to go for a ride. My dad asked if we would mind riding through the cattle near his house. Our goal was to count 86 grown and 76 calves...

We headed off to do our duty, and of course Kelsey decided to accompany us. I told her to go home, but really, I only have so much ability to enforce her leaving while I'm up on the horse, And since I was too lazy to go back home and tie her up, I decided she'd be fine. She had been around cattle before, and knew to not chase them and pretty much stay out of their way.

As I got off and opened the gate, I noticed a black calf watching the dog. Sure enough, as soon as we got through the gate, he chased after Kelsey. She quickly ducked back under the fence and out of harms way. She then followed us up the fence line until she was safely away from her 400 pound attacker and trotted back up to our horses...

Where she was fine as long as she was diligent enough to stay close to us the cattle would watch her, but not approach...

You realize some things are just so tempting that they override common sense, right?

Well, a jack rabbit jumped up in front of us, and of course Kelsey tore after it...But, she quickly spun around and ran right back to us when a cow took off after her! I chuckled and tried to keep a closer eye on her, and keep my horse between her and any cattle that seemed bent on removing the four legged canine threat from their herd...

Well, Bookworm had counted 51 calves, and I had 53 cows and 1 bull, when we noticed that the rest of the herd were north and west of the pond where the gate is to go into the remaining pasture land Dad has this particular herd on....This is the pond that my brother and nephew happened to be hunting around, and as I know Appy to be acutely terrified of guns, and I did not desire to test Sugar's tolerance of fire arms with my sweet baby on her back, we decided to ditch our assigned duty and return home...

Well, as we returned home, Kelsey got comfortable in her surroundings and anticipated where we were going. Consequently, before I knew it she was quite a ways in front of me...By the way, how far is "a ways?" I'm totally unsure. I'm pretty sure it's improper grammar, but this is a blog, not an English paper, and "a ways" is truly how far she had gone...In this case I will clarify it to be maybe 50 yards or so...

I noticed the black calf that Dad surely needs to wean, watching her...I had just began to mentally debate what was about to occur when the scenario played out...

The calf tore after Kelsey...

Kelsey panicked.

She was right along the fence line, but instead of darting under it, she turned to her right...

Directly into the herd.

Did you know that cattle consider dogs a threat? My heart leaped into my throat as I saw about 6 cows immediately begin to charge and circle around her...

Remember Appy? He's all of 28 years old. Well, apparently if you kick him hard enough and start to yell at the cattle, he responds rather quickly...I didn't know he & I could still sort cattle off so quickly, or that Kelsey would so quickly understand that she needed to keep the horse between her and the cattle...And she tore back to the house like as fast as her little legs would carry her.

Gentle Reader, please do not be overly impressed with my sorting abilities...It was all over with very quickly. I think the cattle were startled to have the horse go from a calm walk to tearing up to them, so they all decided to get going while the getting was good...

I'm sure the entire episode was over in a few seconds...And I was shaking when it was all said and done...

I breathed a gigantic sigh of relief...

Then I heard a voice yelling "Mooooommiiiiiiieee!"

I looked behind me, and there was my precious child with her horse running up to me, and the reins both on the left side....

Apparently, Bookworm decided that she did not want to see Kelsey die a horrible death, and she had closed her eyes...

Of course when Appy & I took off, Sugar did not want to be left out of the fun, so she shook her head and took off...Flipping the right rein over her head, and leaving Bookworm uncertain of what to do but yell for her mother...

Of course, the horse stopped as soon as she reached her destination...

And we had a safety lesson on never closing your eyes, keeping a tight grip on the reins, and remembering to drag the horses head to your knee if they ever try to run off with you...

After we got home, we unsaddled the horses and laid on the ground with the dog, hugging her neck and telling her how stupid she was for pulling stunt like that.

A new baby

Last Monday evening I finally decided to harvest my plethora of green tomatoes before they were completely obliterated by frost. You can read more about that here.

While I was picking, I noticed a lone cow in the pasture behind me. It was nearly dark, and she was at least 100 yards away, but I could see she had a new baby calf, as she was licking it...

The next morning, before the sun was even up, I went out to feed the dogs (the little beggars were whining at the kitchen window, so I went to feed them so they'd quit bugging me.) I went to make sure they had plenty of water, and the cattle were right at our back fence. Actually, they are usually right at our fence first thing in the morning this fall, so at first I just gave them a glance, felt my typical little bubble of happiness that God blessed me with "my" herd of cattle and headed back to my coffee.

I love having a herd of cattle out my back door. It's really a great scenario. I get to watch them and enjoy their new babies, but I have no responsibility for feeding, vaccinating, or anything...I only have to contend with the flies when they congregate at my fence every evening at 5:30 in the summer. I have no idea why they're on this schedule, but it has made eating on the back deck a virtual impossibility as they bring thousands of flies with them.

However, now it's fall, so they just give me pleasure to watch. As I stood drinking my coffee and looking at them from my kitchen, I noticed some erratic movement. It was the mama cow. She kept chasing a black calf away, and then leading her newborn red calf away...Apparently the little fella had never been weaned before she dropped her next calf.

I wish it would have been light enough to photograph any of this, but I'll give you my personal account....

Mama is calmly grazing amidst the herd. Her newborn calf is doing his funny little leaps that all brand new calves do....I don't know if all of life is just that exciting for them, or if their little legs just aren't quite coordinated, so they occasionally do little hops or what...But it is an adorable sight to see.

Pretty soon a large black calf wanders over and begins to try and get a little smackrel of fresh milk...Imagine the poor little fellas surprise when his nuzzling is met with a sharp kick! Then, to add insult to injury, his mama chases him away!

"Mama? Mama? What's the matter Mama?"

In confusion, he trots after her....Only to be chased away again....

"Mama? I don't understand....Mama, please come back." He is so confused. And so hurt by this seemingly sudden rejection of his overtures...

"Mama?"

With no noticeable concern for her older calf she continues to lead her newborn further away....

*"Mama?"*

And, suddenly seeming to realize that he no longer has a place with his mama, the black calf stands. And watches. And occasionally lets out a small cry....

But he does not approach her. His place is no longer with her....

The weaning of young since I've had my own babies has struck a chord in me. It seemed such a harsh reality the little fella had to face. But, I doubt it would have been any easier for him had the rancher bothered to wean him before the new calf came. The sever still would have been sudden and complete....And of course it is necessary and completely natural.

But it still seems kinda sad.

I guess I'm getting sentimental....


*sigh*


Either that or Aunt Flo is about to drop in again....