You know when a cow is missing, and it’s not calving time, that something is sure enough wrong. You run along fences in your mind. Remember any holes? Nary a one, but is it that old hateful cow that makes holes where there aren’t any? Yep, that is probably the one, and you shouldn’t drive so fast in the pasture, but you just can’t help yourself. Old Dog hunkers down in the seat and looks wild-eyed up at the driver, me.
I have more than one cow. I won’t go plumb brokeif I never find her, but she belongs to this outfit. She is branded with our brand on the left hip, is carrying a calf that is out of our bull, the high-dollar one. She was born here, belongs here and had better be here before dark!
I called in the offspring and got them moving on four wheelers toward the joining pastures, one on the east and one on the south. A county road runs along the north and west of the place, and she surely didn’t take the road. I roundedthe last few feet of the fence line and I had found exactly zero holes. Now, thinking rustlers, I was getting hot.
I believe in helping your, or my, fellow man out when things are tough. I sure would have offered him, or her, some beef and would have even taken them to the grocery store and paid a bill. I was still analyzing the absence of our cow, thinking the worst.
I drove back through the herd and checked numbers and of course it was the one I thought. She was a short three year old and we had weaned one calf and she was bred again. That is the kind a cattleman likes; they tend to make money. She came from a line of cows that always did good for us and produced early and yearly. There stood old curlytoes, a good enough cow, but her hooves were always curling up and had to be trimmed each and every spring. She would do to butcher for a hungry family, but did they take her? Heck, no! Had to load up a young good cow, didn’t they?
I could hear the four wheelers coming as I closed the gate. I could almost bet, if I was a betting man, that they both came up empty as I did. I waited and kicked a little hole in the dirt. A patient man and easy going is something I am not when cattle are not accounted for. What in the dickens was taking so long for the offspring to get to me? I could hear them, but one was coming from one direction and the other from the other way.
Old Dog was twisting oneway and then the other, watching and waiting. We were both confused. Then I saw a black spot wiggling along in front of the ATV. Dog took off to help and I breathed a sigh of relief. She was coming from across the pasture from the east, slobber strings out of her mouth and shining like spider webs in the sunshine. She was mad, snaking her old neck and wheeling around to challenge the machine behind her.
The lost was found and returned home. I still wonder if she just flat-footed jumped the fence or sprouted wings and flew.
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, it doesn’t much matter what the value of the object is, it’s the principle of the thing. I already had the sheriff’soffice number in mind and was ready to name a couple of suspects. Made me feel real ugly about the whole deal. If I knew someone in bad shape and suspected they might even rustle a cow to provide food, why didn’t I go to help them? I am ashamed, I am asking forgiveness and on my way to take both of the families some grub with a big red ribbon tied on the top. Turkey and potatoes, cranberries and a big old sack of oranges should restock their larder for Christmas at least.
That is salve for my soul, but I still feel guilty and am going to try to be a better feller from now on!
Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column.
Opinion, Pages 6 on 12/26/2012