SORROWFUL CREATURES

 

May 2017

     It was the third week of May and time to move the mamas and babies up to the “Stuart field” in the foothills.  Here they could graze in belly-deep grass for a month before driving them to the summer range.  I was looking forward to this day of calm sunshine and high clouds, to trail cows for a short drive.  Having just come from Texas to witness the birth of Sally and Bryan’s baby girl, Camille, I needed a peaceful reprieve because Memorial Day weekend was approaching and Jacob and Sofia’s family would join us, then I would be off to  Seattle to visit Livvy, who wasn’t feeling well with her first pregnancy. Three days of work in the NICU would follow, so I wouldn’t be at home again for a stretch of time.
     This day was for soaking up for the days ahead.  As we began, the cows were all too willing to move forward and seemed to understand that getting a “move-on” meant good prospects.  The babes frolicked in a mad dash across the Izatt dry farm, kicking up a tumult of dust, startling a coyote from its place of security.   There was a yearling steer in the cows and Doug singled it out and began trailing it back to where we came from, leaving Rick and I to move the cows across cemetery road, over the hill and up the dirt road to the Stuart field.  Doug would rejoin us shortly. Rick and I began our steady move of the cows, calling out to keep them moving.  Rick’s language, always colorful, was flavored with a new term I hadn’t heard him use. “You sorrowful creatures! Get a move on!”  It was “You sorrowful” this and “You sorrowful” that, and the cows responded wonderfully. The word tickled and delighted my ear with a certain authentic ring, and I thought Rick had stumbled onto some ancient cowboy terminology.  We were getting along fine until Rick rode to get ahead of the cows, wanting to open the gate and count head as they entered the field.   I was left to bring up the rear and feeling pretty good about it, until a robust hereford calf decided to split, running at a sprint back down the hill.  Once calves get separated from their mothers on a drive like this, they head straight back to the spot where mama was last seen, be it a few yards or a few miles.   Bonnie and I gave chase and headed it back with a few sorrowful words of my own.

       Coming back to the herd, Bonnie and I faced a bedeviled little black calf standing with planted hooves, staring us down.  We shifted this way and that in an attempt to dissuade it, instead the little beast shot past us, running back down the hill at full speed with tail in the air.  Bonnie and I responded with all our energy but could not get anywhere close to the sorrowful thing.  Way off in the distance I saw Doug coming back on his trusted mount, “Wrench”.  The calf ran past him, darting under a barbed wire fence.  Doug opened a gate, galloped off in the direction he had just come, and persuaded the calf to turn around.  Now the black devil was coming back in the right direction and I got to witness “Cowboy Incredible” do what he was born to do.  Galloping at full speed with circling lasso, he brought it down over the calf, the rope finally tightening on one hind leg.  Doug let the exhausted calf lay still a moment while I caught up.  I wondered what had happened to the rest of the herd in my absence, but didn’t wonder long, for over the ridge coming our way were five more calves at the trot.   I yelled at Doug to turn around. When he saw the calves, I was privy to his version of sorrowful language as he pulled out his phone to call Rick.  “Bring them all back!” he yelled. “We’ve got a bunch of loose calves!”   Rick, riding his green broke horse "Max", and under time constraints because Weston needed to be picked up from preschool, would now be required to turn the determined cows completely around.  Meanwhile, Doug and I held the grouping of calves to a temporary halt.
     It didn’t take long before the blessed bunch was heard and seen coming back down the road and over the hill in front of Rick. I stayed behind the little black renegade who had started the show, easing it back to the coming group.  When we all came face to face, of course it was time to make an “about face”, causing a perplexed and sorrowful chorus from moms and babies.  Heading back up the road once more and reaching the Stuart field, Doug opened the gate and every last one of the sorrowful creatures went through.  Rick took off at once to pick up Weston, while Doug and I spent the next hour circling the cows in the tall grass until they “paired up” and quieted down.

      So I ask two questions.  Was this all my fault? And:  Did we really think the whole thing through before Doug left to chase the steer back home?  Any which way, folly ruled the day.  When I asked Doug if he knew I had risked life and limb for his cows, his only response was,      “Thought you liked being a cowgirl.”
    A few days later while joining Doug in prayer, I spoke words of concern for our families, specifically for Livvy, who was suffering from morning sickness and homesickness while living in Seattle, removed from family.  “Please, especially bless Livvy”, I prayed, “who is experiencing some sorrowful difficulties….”
     The prayer ended with a very quick “Amen”, because Doug and I were bent over in stitches.