Karbon Kounty Moos

The girls went to their new homes on Friday.

It was time. It is sad, but it’s also exciting.

It was time to bring the boys to town. They were getting too big and I really didn’t want to keep feeding them. I also had a late bull calf to go with them. There was a bit of dancing in the trailer on the way down, but it wasn’t bad. When I arrived at the yards, it looked like it was going to be a while. There was a trailer in front of me, waiting to unload. I made a call to my aunt and uncle in Florida, but wasn’t able to speak long. I moved up, closed the gate behind me, and opened the trailer. One bull jumped out. The calf was acting as though he didn’t know which way to go. We call it dingy. I went in the trailer to show him the way out. Ha! All he knew was that he had been taken away from his mother, loaded in with a big old bull, and went for a ride. He continued flinging himself into the sides of the trailer. Then he kicked me in the thigh. Hard. My first thought was, “Thank goodness that wasn’t my kneecap.” I got out, went to the pickup and got a paddle. I opened the front compartment. The two bulls ran past the calf. Then he figured it out. “Oh! An open gate.” I had a perfect manure imprint of his hoof on my jeans.

One day last week I looked back at the chain on the bale spinner as I fed. I thought, “Allan used to break that a couple of times a year.” Apparently, I called on the Law of Attraction. Yes, all I did was think about it two days earlier. Two little spins and the roller chain was split.

I dropped the bale in the pasture and headed for the shop. Rudy was at the gate, so I showed him my broken chain. Thank goodness for Rudy. It was cold and windy, and we were working without gloves. Neither of us have hands that work well. I didn’t have reading glasses with me. I can’t see anything close without magnifying glasses. Rudy’s vision isn’t any better than mine. We worked together, not like “the blind leading the blind”. Neither fell in a pit. Rudy removed the broken link ends and explained how to put the new one on. We managed to loosen the box that the sprocket was on and get the chain on. The fun had just begun.

It took tears (not really), teamwork, thanks and time, but I got the new pin link in. I’m sure that we used tools never intended for the job. The connecting link plate went on easily. The spring clip was another story. Tears were called for, but I didn’t cry. I did swear once. We were working by feel without working fingers with a wicked west wind. Wow - what an alliteration! When I did get the clip on, I was shocked. Rudy tightened everything up and got the grease gun. He found a zerk that was plugged and removed it. I stuck it in the vise, grabbed a hammer, found a nail and unplugged it. We get creative, and we get it done.

I returned to the pasture, picked up the hay bale and spread it. Then I let the cows out. You’d think that they were starving.

Later that day I had my Remicade infusion. We’re all in need of repair. Even Mister Ty is wearing the lampshade on his head again.

The calves are gone. The cows are not happy with me right now.

They have.

This sounds familiar.

It was a last minute decision. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s do something. I have half a hundred things that I should be doing, but. . . they will still be there later. No one else is going to do them. N suggested a ride. Good idea - as long as we didn’t head to Red Lodge or the Beartooth Pass. Not on Sunday, at the beginning of the tourist season. The thought of driving behind motor homes up the switchbacks, and then on to Cooke City wasn’t appealing. We headed out on the gravel. Not far from home we found these cows in search of shade.

I drove through Elk Basin and cut across to Frannie, Wyoming. A bit further south we stopped for something to eat. Bad move. We walked in the cafe and looked at the salad bar. Hmmmmm. The mushrooms were rotting. I don’t like mold with my fungus. The lone waitress directed us to a booth. It smelled like bleach. The table was wet. So was the seat. The waitress moved us to a dry booth, and tossed the menus on the table. I said, “I hope that the kitchen is cleaner than the menus”, as the waitress brought N’s coffee to the table. N opened a half and half container and poured it in her cup. It curdled. We walked out.

Crossing back to the car, I suggested knocking on someone’s door and begging for a meal. A few people were coming out of the LDS Church. We asked a woman if she had any ideas on a place in Lovell to eat. Lovell has never been known for its fine dining. The lady told us where not to eat. I continued south. We stopped at Minchow’s Food Court. The teens working there were very entertaining.

I was still eating my ice cream cone when I noticed the Buelingos from the previous post. The next stop was one of the overlooks in the Bighorn Canyon. There are incredible views from every direction. I was amazed by the speed (and the sound) of the swallows that buzzed over my head.

Wait until I tell you about the horses.

On the way to the wild horse range I spotted this eye catching herd of Buelingo cattle.

This was just sent to me from Kristi Pettis, Associate Ag Director at Northern Broadcasting.

A little more wait and see.