“My grandson just had to walk away,” our friend, Roy, shook his head as he snapped his flip-phone shut. “If he quits me, I know we’re in trouble.” This should have been our first clue that moving these cows might not be as easy as we expected.
Our friends, Roy and Virginia, invited Bruce and I to hole up at their ranch in southern Colorado for most of the Spring and Summer. When we weren’t singing at various venues around the valley and beyond, we helped out on their ranch as well as other places in the area.
This particular day, Roy had asked us to help out by moving the lessee’s cows to a water tank located on his land. Somewhere around 30 miles away, 30+ head of these cows and calves, and a bull, were being loaded into a potbelly cattle trailer. They were to be at the corrals by 9:30am, but they had yet to show. That’s when the phone call had come in.
We patiently sat on our horses and pondered the situation. Even though that proverbial ‘red flag’ waved in the wind, we were still game to drive these cows to the tank. Besides, it was about a long-arrow-shot from the corrals. How big of a deal could it be?
We scanned the distant highway for any sign of the cattle rig. Nothing. Well, at least the weather is nice, and we had an excellent view of the surrounding Sangre de Cristo Mountains, I thought.
Finally we heard the rattle and banging of the potbelly bumping along the washboard, dirt road. Roy’s grandson, apparently rejoining the lessee’s crew, slowly backed the semi-truck and trailer to the loading ramp. The door crashed open and hooves clattered down the ramp as the cattle trotted into the old wooden corral. Dust swirled and bovines bellowed as calves mothered-up with their mamas and matching ear tags were snapped on the calves ears.
They began to settle, and it appeared that they’d be a quiet bunch. Except maybe for a bald faced cow that watched us like a hawk. I reckoned that might be the lead cow.
Roy returned from checking the water tank and Bruce and I got in position. Roy swung the gate open.
The herd meandered out, sniffing the ground and eyeing us. They moved a little further and three of them stopped and stared at Nocona and me. I inched towards them, and they turned, walking in the direction of the tank. I reined Nocona in so not to pressure them too much. We wanted them to move along nice and slow.
Everything looked good…for about 5 seconds. Ole Miss Bald Face decided nice and slow wasn’t her style. Like a wild hair blowin’ in the March wind, she blasted off like a rocket, veering the opposite way… and taking the rest of the herd with her! There was nothin’ for it but to spur Nocona and bolt after her to try to head her off. Nocona, however, felt fresh as the morning dew and decided to let out a little steam. So, bucking and tooting, squeaking and snorting, we bounded through the sagebrush, dodging prairie dog holes and unyielding foliage.
Daylight shown through the gap between my rear and the saddle seat, and I about lost my hat. Trying for a death grip with my thighs to stay seated, I grabbed at my hat with one hand while my other hand white-knuckled the reins. By some miracle, we caught up with Baldy and turned her towards Bruce, who held the line on the other side of the herd.
The lead cows finally slowed when they got to a wide, shallow water hole with good, plentiful marsh grass. They dropped their heads in the shallow lake to drink and graze. Perfect. The water tank peeked through the greasewood, and we could smell victory. I swung Nocona around and headed back to check for stragglers.
The rest of the group moved in a tight bunch, so I slowly moved to the front of the herd. Suddenly Baldy threw her head up and charged across the lake like her tail was on fire. Bruce and I watched in dismay as the rest of the herd followed suit. There was no way to catch them over that terrain, and we had to let them go.
Roy returned from checking the water tank and Bruce and I got in position. Roy swung the gate open.
The herd meandered out, sniffing the ground and eyeing us. They moved a little further and three of them stopped and stared at Nocona and me. I inched towards them, and they turned, walking in the direction of the tank. I reined Nocona in so not to pressure them too much. We wanted them to move along nice and slow.
Everything looked good…for about 5 seconds. Ole Miss Bald Face decided nice and slow wasn’t her style. Like a wild hair blowin’ in the March wind, she blasted off like a rocket, veering the opposite way… and taking the rest of the herd with her! There was nothin’ for it but to spur Nocona and bolt after her to try to head her off. Nocona, however, felt fresh as the morning dew and decided to let out a little steam. So, bucking and tooting, squeaking and snorting, we bounded through the sagebrush, dodging prairie dog holes and unyielding foliage.
Daylight shown through the gap between my rear and the saddle seat, and I about lost my hat. Trying for a death grip with my thighs to stay seated, I grabbed at my hat with one hand while my other hand white-knuckled the reins. By some miracle, we caught up with Baldy and turned her towards Bruce, who held the line on the other side of the herd.
The lead cows finally slowed when they got to a wide, shallow water hole with good, plentiful marsh grass. They dropped their heads in the shallow lake to drink and graze. Perfect. The water tank peeked through the greasewood, and we could smell victory. I swung Nocona around and headed back to check for stragglers.
The rest of the group moved in a tight bunch, so I slowly moved to the front of the herd. Suddenly Baldy threw her head up and charged across the lake like her tail was on fire. Bruce and I watched in dismay as the rest of the herd followed suit. There was no way to catch them over that terrain, and we had to let them go.
What the heck just happened?
And then we saw Bailey, the ranch dog, happily bounding above the sagebrush in hot pursuit of a jack rabbit, ears flopping in perfect time with every bounce. She sailed away into the deeper brush, oblivious of the chaos she just caused. And, I ain’t gonna lie. Our thoughts were none too friendly towards that dog, right then!
Bruce called Roy to give him the unpleasant news. We saw the cows in the distance, settling around a huge rock pile. Suddenly they spooked again and plowed through the rabbitbrush. We had no idea where the end of the pasture was and for all we knew they could keep running for decades.
“You can go after them, if you want,” Roy said. “If not, we’ll try for them later.”
We scanned the horizon. There was just no “give up” in us. These cows needed to know where that tank was—when the weather warmed, the natural water holes and canals dried up pretty quick. Finally we spotted them. They had splashed across the wide canal, taking a breather next to a cross fence.
As we swung our horses towards the canal, a tiny brown calf appeared through the sage. The abandoned calf stared at us, unsure of what to do. We moved in behind him and gently drove him within earshot of the cows.
Reaching the canal, we noticed another abandoned calf. Huh. Funny what fear will do—the helpless get left in its wake. The two calves joined each other and decided to take refuge on the soft bank. The black calf plopped down amongst the brush while the brown calf decided to explore the edge of the canal for a way to cross the water.
About that time, low, throaty murmurs from a large black cow drifted across the pasture—a mama calling her calf. We assumed that she was looking for the black calf—solid black cow goes with solid black calf. Right? Not. She was aiming for the brown calf. Her scrappy little fella took the plunge in the water and waded the width of the canal to join her.
The black bull-calf rested in the brush, his sides heaving with exhaustion. Odd. Smaller calves than him made the trek, so why was he struggling? We climbed the embankment, out of his vision, so we wouldn’t further stress him. As we waited, we prayed.
While contemplating the calf, we faced another challenge. How do the two of us maneuver those flighty cows back through the canal, over the path between the waterways and into the pasture that lead to the tank?
OK, Lord, need some wisdom here.
As we pondered what to do, we watched in amazement as the herd began lining out along the fence and splashing back through the canal…like unseen riders drove them. They fanned out in the wide, grassy depression and continued moving in the direction we needed them to go.
Sweet. Now…what to do with the calf. Do we leave him? Stick with him? Call Roy to bring the ranch truck to pick him up? More prayers. In the meantime, “nature called” and Bruce and I took turns behind the rock pile.
Bruce cautiously walked to where the little guy lay. The calf jumped to its feet and limped across the embankment. We saw the cause of his troubles: He walked on the tip of his toe. He could’ve gotten hurt in the cattle truck or in the pen. But most likely, he got hurt when the cows stampeded to the back of the pasture. Who knows? At any rate, Bruce and I mounted our horses and slowly, gently moved him along the trail, not wanting to leave him for any lurking predators.
After about 100 feet, he found a sparse area between some scrub brush and plopped down again, tuckered out. We glanced at the cows. To our astonishment, the whole herd was moving steadily in our direction like an unseen force, again, drove them. Cowboy angels? I have no doubt!
As they moseyed past the calf, its mama finally showed and claimed him. They were officially mothered-up. If nothing else had worked out that day that was the most important!
Before the cows could get any ideas about crossing the canal again, Bruce and I moved around them and slowly turned them back towards the way they had come. As I drove them along the canal bank, Bruce swung down into the sloppy ground to keep them from turning from the direction of the water tank.
I prayed and held my breath as we reached a cross-fence: The cows needed to turn left across a small dirt bridge. I blew a sigh of relief as they drifted left.
They continued drifting into a low depression on the other side of the bridge and spread out across the pools of squishy grass. We tensed as we moved over the marsh. We were all too familiar with dangerous bogs, having dealt with these tendon-blowers in the past. Thankfully we splashed and sloshed through the shallow water without a problem.
We worked to keep the herd in a semi-tight bunch as we all emerged onto drier, brushier ground. We were home free! Almost. Unfortunately the bull decided he didn’t like his herd going the direction we wanted. For every foot we moved those cows, he’d push them back. This belligerent bovine charged back and forth in front of them, blowing, stomping, and pushing them with his nose to turn them around. We’d never seen anything like this.
Brush crashed and split to our right. We whipped around in time to see Bailey, once again, leaping over rabbit brush chasing cottontails. (Insert eye-roll here). However, we cooled our hot-heels in the realization that, though painfully slow, we were miraculously moving the herd, (albeit inch by inch), closer to the tank.
Finally we reached the edge of the pasture where we had started … about four hours before. We realized the bull wasn’t giving up, refusing to let his herd move any further; The cows weren’t complaining as they contentedly munched on marsh grass; And the calves decidedly flumped onto the soft sand, signaling the end of this whole broo-hah-hah. It was time to let ‘em be.
Well, except for the two cow/calf pairs near to us that were still wandering around. We drove them across a small water-filled ditch and onto the hard dirt next to that water tank. (Maybe they’d get the word out to their friends?) At any rate, we knew we’d driven the herd near enough to the tank for them to scout it out for themselves.
We swung our all-too-willing horses towards the ranch and happily trotted home.
P.S.: For those wondering what happened to our little friend—the black calf, we checked on him later that day and he was back running with his buddies amongst the sage. :)
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go”—Joshua 1:9.
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Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled—https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812
