Lessons Learned at The Ranch...

So this weekend, my family went up to our ranch to help my grandparents. We were working out in the pasture cutting the herd (separating the calves from their moms and sorting them - not actually cutting them, for you animal protection activist people....). It's a really tough job - My grandpa decides ahead of time which calves he wants to sell, and our job is to go and find them all. And that's AFTER getting them all in the pasture! (That part is actually pretty fun! I get to drive around on the 4-wheeler chasing the cows through the ginormous field :D)

My grandpa seems to have every cow memorized. I'm not just talking the different tag numbers. He remembers who the mom was, who the mom's mom was, when it was born, WHERE it was born, any health issues, and how each one looks. (That's pretty impressive when they're all solid black angus!) "...270 has a small head but good shoulders.... She's had really good health but her mom was the one that had that prolapse...." It's really quite scary how much stuff he can remember!

Anyway, the first part of the day went something like this: get up from our warm, comfortable beds at 7:30 am and get about ten to fifteen layers of clothes on: jeans, two or three pairs of wool socks, sweat shirt, another sweat shirt, puffy winter coat, scarf, wind breaker, thick leather gloves, another scarf, a beanie hat, jacket hood, chaps, cowboy boots, galoshes, etc etc etc.... You stagger outside under your 50 pounds of newly-gained weight into the below-freezing Wyoming air. Great way to wake up, isn't it?

We get out to the garage where the trucks and "Buggies" (4-wheelers - not sure why my family calls them that) are parked, and my cousins go saddle up their horses. I throw one leg over the side of one buggy and nearly fly right over the top. Those galoshes get a lot of inertia built up when you swing them that hard.... If you've ever worn them, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't... Well, I can't say that you're missing out on anything....

We take our lumbering army of about 15 out to the cows in the field. We surround all sides of the herd and push them toward the pasture. (I'm going to give you a really quick lesson about cows, because you'll need this knowledge for the rest of my story.) The concept of herding cows is fairly easy: look at where you're standing in relation to the cow's shoulder. If you're ahead of the shoulder, it will turn away from you. If you're behind the shoulder, it'll move forward. Get right in front of him, and he'll (hopefully) stop. Pretty easy to remember, right? Of course it is!

So why do I keep messing up??

That's what I was asking myself almost all day yesterday. Grandpa would shout out the tag number of the calf he wanted, and we would scan the herd looking for it. When we did find it, we would call everyone over, cut as many cows out of the way as we could, and form a "fence" behind the cow. This is done by everyone spreading out evenly in a straight-ish line, covering all ground between the cow and his way to freedom. This way, if the cow decides he doesn't like the idea of being separated from his buddies and tries to make a break for it, we move in front of him as swiftly as we can under all our protective gear (is that how a quarter back feels? hmm....). The cow will usually stop when he sees you in front of him. (Unless it's like the particularly rebellious cow we did last, where he just bolts past you anyway, even if you're whacking him on top of the head with all of your heart, might, mind and strength!)


.....again, this is one of those posts that I'm still writing past midnight the night it's due.... I've reached the word count (exceeded it, actually), but I'm not done with my story.... Methinks (yes, that's a real word!) I'm going to have to finish this later..... like, tomorrow, when I've gotten a nap....... zzzzzzZZZZZZZ...... good night!