I have said, and will say it again, a cranky cow should go to town before she has a chance to hurt me, or someone else.
I have preached this since I was run down and wallered around as a young feller. All the cattle in the world are not worth dying for. Not a one of my cows or the high-dollar bulls on the place are worth a broken neck or back.
The spring calvers are done and I am proud of the looks of the crop. They are full of vinegar and growing almost as fast as the weeds. I see them stretched out in the sunshine or running hard at each other and that is a great part of the payment I receive for the occupation I chose.
My offspring tag and iodine the navels on new calves as soon as they hit the ground. We know when each was born and who the parents are by the code on the tags. It makes the sorting and taking care of each calf so much easier. I know most of the pairs by sight and could almost sort them without tags, but it sure is handy to have it all in their ears.
The younger of the male offspring found the last baby of this year's spring bunch. The baby was still on the ground and he just walked up to the calf and leaned over to tag it when the cow hit him in the side. She lifted him up like a rag doll and let him fly several feet. When he hit the ground she was there and ready to get him again. He rolled up into a tight ball and prayed right hard, dreading the collision, but the mad machine turned and went to see about the calf.
We knew something was not right when the four wheeler died and no one came in at almost dark. I walked out to find him slumped over and blood all over his face. His nose was still bleeding, and I must say it looked like it was spread with a putty knife. My close relative followed close behind, and we loaded him in the pickup for a run to the ER.
After a good cleaning and inspection, the wounds were few and all his teeth were still in place. That is important because many dollars were spent making sure every little tooth was in a straight line, the close relative was adamant! I was so relieved that there were no broken bones and his head was still working -- he knew who the president was, and how old he was.
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, those pretty cows that have pretty calves and blow snot in your hip pocket need to belong to someone else. I have culled some entire blood lines to eliminate such nonsense, and some of the cows were sure enough pretty. The bigger and better they are, the more they are able to squash you like a bug. I am here to tell you that the Golden Arches are not adverse to using hateful hamburgers covered with a special sauce!
Take care and enjoy the frogs in the evenings and the birds in the mornings. Spring is here!
Bill is the pen name used by the Gravette-area author of this weekly column. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 04/08/2015