I’ve been helping the neighbor work cattle this week. We sorted pairs, vaccinated and de-wormed his steers and heifers one day and did cows and calves the next.
He is good to work for, furnishes a good lunch and plenty of rest stops. He likes his coffee and takes a break about every 45 minutes. We would have been done in one day but for the breaks. I won’t complain too much; I am old enough that a rest period is welcome when I am the one pushing cattle into the chute.
I said all that to say this: We beef producers are a very diverse and opinionated breed. We raise what we like, and the last thing a feller does and lives to tell it to the paramedics is to make fun of another feller’s cattle or hat. I know that rule and, therefore, have learned to keep my mouth shut until I get home and tell my close relative all about it. We had help that was young and had punched a bunch of bovine through the sale ring at the local auction, but they were, well, young.
We must have been about through the pen of steers when one of the boys said he would just shoot an animal that looked like that if it appeared on his land.
In the first place, the kid didn’t own any land; and in the second place, his opinion should have been kept under his hat.
That pulled the plug on the whole operation. We had to stop while the animal was explained and the reasoning that went back several generations as to why that particular animal was owned and kept discussed in full. Only took about 31 minutes, give or take a few seconds. I prayed silently that no other derogatory statements would issue forth from the unlearned mouths of the help.
I traded with the chute help and gave the vaccinations while a younger man pushed the heifers through the chute. It was a slow process because of needing to keep the medication cold during the activity. A steel thermos kept the coffee hot, so no worry there!
I was worn to a fare thee well by the time I drug myself in the house. I was covered in dust, mud and blood and looked as beat as I felt. I had already said I would return the next day to get the pairs done and that was weighing heavy on my heart!
I ate a good supper, had some beef steak, fried spuds, beans, biscuits and blackberry cobbler to sustain me until breakfast. Sitting in my chair sipping iced tea and thinking about the day and the upcoming work the next day, I thought about what I was doing. I was helping, and helping is just that. It isn’t deciding how long, how fast, what manner of sorting or anything else. It is just helping.
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, helping a feller is an important endeavor and one I enjoy being able and called upon to do. I have needed help, and sometimes it didn’t come. But when it did, I sure was thankful. I fretted and stewed entirely too much, and I refused to do that again.
Let me tell you, it was much the same speed the next day and yet I enjoyed every break and all the stories that were told. Sorta reminds me of stopping to smell the roses, but not really sniffing where I was!
Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column.
Opinion, Pages 6 on 06/05/2013