Karbon Kounty Moos

after all the bad.

My cattle at home came up negative for brucellosis.

They were tested on Friday and I just got the results.

All of my beautiful heifers tested negative, but are considered exposed and will meet the same fate as the Morgan’s herd.

Aaaaaaaah - calving, my favorite time of year. It’s wonderful to see the calves frolicking. I have been fortunate this spring - is it spring yet? It has felt like it. The weather has been balmy, the robins are back, as are my ringed turtle doves. The redwings are bickering in the trees, driving Ty to distraction. I’ve had so many birds - I bought another bird bath. I think I have more than enough feeders, but if I see one that catches my eye. . .

The other night I saw a calf sleeping alone in a field. I usually drive the Kawasaki Mule, but I walked over to it. As I woke him, I remembered seeing his mother at the feedbunk. A long walk for a sleepy, hungry calf. If I had been on the Mule, I’d have hoisted him on the floor and given him a lift. He decided to run in the opposite direction to the closest available cow. Mrs. 155 - who we did not raise - but bought a few years ago - with a bunch of her sisters. She’s a yellow tagged, notched ear, nutjob, wacko bovine. Great. . . She’s the one who raises her head above the herd whenever she spots me. She’s the one who starts swinging her head if I enter her personal space. Her personal space happens to be the entire farm. Not a mad cow, but she does have serious anger issues. Actually, she’s pure instinct. The mothering instinct is commendable, and killing coyotes that threaten is okay, too. As for me, I don’t go near her. . . I know better. The photo below was taken from outside the feedlot. Isn’t she the stuff nightmares are made of?

I left the field and headed to find mama. There she was, in her full bagged glory. I got behind her and we started walking to the field. I could see the wheels turning as she bellowed, “Oh, yeah, I did leave that baby out here, didn’t I?”. Of course he wasn’t exactly where she left him. He was now by Mrs. 155 and her son (who has not been tagged or banded yet). Now everyone was bellowing - except Mrs. 155 who was roaring and running straight at me. I was backing up and hollering, “No, no, no,” as I wondered what good the two foot long branch in my hand was.

Mrs. 155 was so excited she was slobbering. She was so intent on destruction that she tripped and fell to her front knees. I was still in reverse as I watched her bulky bovine noggin hit the dirt a few feet in front of me. I ran as fast as my bum leg and aging body allowed, scrambling through the barbed wire. I may have left some clothes on the fence, but I was alive!

It’s that time again, my favorite season has begun. It will always amaze me. Especially when things go the way that they should. On a bleak day, a calf will leave a warm, safe place. Born into this world, dropped on the cold, hard ground. Instinct goes to work. The mother will lick the calf dry, sometimes lifting it off the ground. Within minutes the baby is on wobbly legs filling its belly with warm milk.

That’s as close as I get. No, not to her, but to having anything resembling good luck. After a morning full of delays - waiting for someone, I took off for Billings with the stock trailer yesterday. I had three old cows and three huge steers of my father-in-law’s to bring down to the yards. Sugar came along for the ride, which was relatively uneventful - on the way down. After I unloaded the cattle I discovered that I couldn’t close the trailer door. Hmmmm. . . one the helpful employees of Billings Live took the panel off and we put it in the trailer. I closed the middle gate behind it, wondering why I’d changed into clean boots and Levi’s. Where would I be without that ubitquitous orange twine?

It has saved me on several occasions. I always pick it up, being sure to have some in every vehicle. Along with gloves, sunglasses, tarp straps, toilet paper, blankets, dog hair, horse treats, knives and miscellaneous tools. When I drove through Silesia, an oncoming vehicle kicked up a stone that cracked my windshield. Between Edgar and Fromberg, the mailman pulled out right in front of me. Thank goodness the trailer was empty (not counting manure), because if I still had my fat load on it, I would not have been able to brake like I was forced to. Note to mailman: that little flashing light on the top of your car does not give you the right to pull out in front of everyone. Try looking first. At Fromberg, I stopped for a calming cup of coffee. It was either that or wait for the mailman.

I was in the feedlot, bedding down the steers and bulls. I had a bale of straw in the bucket and a bale on the spear. I dumped the bucket, to distract the boys from what I was doing at the rear of the tractor. Cattle get excited when you bring them straw, they start jumping and leaping, slamming their heads into the dry bedding. While they concentrated on the bale I had dropped, I worked on the speared bale. A large part of the bale was frozen solid, so I was having quite a time cutting and pulling the twine off. I knew that some of the cattle were banging into the other side of the bale as I worked, so I paid attention to that, too. From around the back of the bale came Bull #508. The photo below was taken eight months ago, he’s quite a bit larger and heavier now.

Uh-oh. . . He looked like he had on a halter. Except it was made out of orange baling twine. He must have buried his head in the bale that I had dropped, and got caught in it. It was wrapped around his muzzle and ears. It was tightly wrapped around his foreleg which he held off the ground up to his head. He had probably twenty pieces of uncut twine wrapped around him - taut. He had twine between his back toes, and around his legs. He was starting to freak out, and some of the other boys were taking an interest in his dilemma. They were playing - yes, heavy cattle do frolic - which can be fun to watch. But he was panicking. I was getting close to panic myself. Straw is not something you want to have to run on - it’s slick. I called Lynn on my cell, “You’re not going to believe this one, I’ve got a bull who is completely wrapped in twine. I’m in the bull pen. This is bad“. 508 ran as well as he could on three legs, with two bulls following and a bunch of steers. I watched and followed them. He went by the self-waterer, and then behind the bale. I half hid on the side of the bale and reached out with my knife. The twine was so tight it cut easily. As soon as he got his right leg back on the ground the rest loosened. I called Lynn, “I got him out.” Lynn came down to check on me anyway. By then I had all the straw spread and the twine picked up. Too much excitement to attempt any photos.

It shouldn’t be too long, though. I put the bulls in on the 20th of May. A cow’s gestation period is 283 days. There can be extremes either side of those days. I’m hoping that the girls start around the first week of March. According to the weather forecasts it should be warmer and drier then. We’ll see. . .

This little bull was born to one of Lynn’s first calf heifers.

Yesterday was unseasonably warm. We had our warnings, though. The temperature dropped twenty degrees in about forty minutes, just before dusk. By six o’clock it was snowing and blowing from the north. I know, it is winter and this is Montana. I had plugged in all of the equipment that I’d need for feeding.

This morning it was still snowing and blowing. It was just below zero Fahrenheit. The yard was full of drifts. I had to shovel out of the front door and into the garage. When I went to start the feeder truck, I noticed cattle huddled by the new barn. They had knocked down the electric wire. They could have walked right into the yard, but they hadn’t. I put Sugar in the truck, but I didn’t dare start it. I chased the cows into the pasture, and picked up the wire. I didn’t have enough slack to connect it, and I couldn’t find the insulator. I dragged a couple of Powder River panels out of the ice, across the non-existent gate, and wired them shut. Then I got into the truck, which would not start. I cranked the window down, so I could push the outside button to open the door. I let Sugar out first, instead of having her knock me out the door. I held tightly to the door as I got down and out, so the wind wouldn’t slam it into the already demolished windshield.

I went into the garage, started the pickup and left it idling. I went in the house and called Lynn. He said that he’d come down and give the International a jump. I told him that I’d go get the tractor started. The tractor is in a shed about a half mile away. The road was dry - but there were some incredible drifts. There was one right against the shed doors. I had brought the scoop shovel. I got the tractor started and let it idle. When Sugar and I got back to the yard, the feeder truck was running, and Lynn was getting the hot wire back up. Thanks Lynn!

Then I saw the drifts in the alley. There was no way I would be able to feed on the north side of the lot. I had gotten stuck twice on Christmas Day in smaller drifts. The bald duals on the driver’s side probably didn’t help, either. I was not going to do that again. Fortunately, there was still silage in the north bunk. The north side of the board wall - where I usually drive around the lot was even worse. I wouldn’t attempt taking the pickup back for a look. Lynn said to leave it for today, but that he’d clear it with the tractor tomorrow. I thanked him for getting things going. He told me that Jan wanted me to come up for lunch. Everyone wants to make sure that I’m eating. I am. I put the pickup back in the garage.

Next, Sugar and I brought the feeder truck to the silage pit. Then we walked across to get the tractor. I loaded silage for the cows and heifers, and left the tractor running at the pit. I fed the girls, sliding around the alley on the ice under the snow. Then I got the pickup and drove to the shed. Back in the tractor, I speared a bale of straw and hooked a bale of hay in the bucket. I took the tractor back to the lot. After struggling with panels and gates, I fed and bedded down the boys. We went back to the stacks to do it all over. The heifer pen was so badly drifted, I didn’t think I’d ever get in the gate. Where would I be without the scoop shovel? I called Jan on my cell phone and told her that there was no way I could be there by noon at the rate I was going. I did use some words that I won’t repeat. She told me not to worry, and just come up when I could. Thanks, Jan.

I finally got enough of the drift out of the way of the gate, and went into the heifer pen. Sugar was bored, but she stayed with me the whole time. I brought the tractor back to the shed. When I came home, I took off a few layers of clothes, cleaned up and drove to Lynn and Jan’s for lunch. Which was great - and was my breakfast, too. It was wonderful just to sit and visit for a while.

I went home and I put the layers back on. My canine assistant insisted on coming with me. Once again we went to the shed and I fired up the John Deere. We went across to the stack yard for bales for the cows and bred heifers. Up and down the lane a couple more times to feed and bed down. With some luck, tomorrow I may only have to feed silage.

It’s just cold. There is nothing romantic about not being able to wash your face because the pipes have frozen. Which means that my cattle don’t have access to water. That is far more important than washing my own face. There’s nothing romantic about a distress call to a friend at 7 A.M. There is nothing romantic about layers of clothes when you’re still cold. There is nothing romantic about not being able to tell if your nose is running. There is nothing romantic about driving twelve miles to buy insulation. There is nothing romantic about plugging in pickups and tractors. There is nothing romantic about diesel gelling. There is no romance in telephone calls about barley, strays, fuel tanks, vaccines and sugar beets.

It may not be romantic. It is my home and my life. I love it.

For many long years I’ve played a lone hand
I rode my horse in many strange lands
Until one day I stopped for awhile
For two warm eyes and a sunny smile

So howl away you old coyote
I hear your sad and lonesome song
You’re calling me back to old Montana
Back to those hills where I belong

One day I rode away from home
I’m a’ traveling back and it won’t be long
I’ll see you again in a little while
You’re my darling sweet, my welcome smile

So howl away you old coyote
I hear your sad and lonesome song
You’re calling me back to old Montana
Back to those hills where I belong

So howl away you old coyote
I hear your sad and lonesome song
You’re calling me back to old Montana
Back to those hills where I belong

From the BBC NEWS

comes this startling claim:

Cows have regional accents like humans,
language specialists have suggested.

Click on the link to read the article. You can hear the proof.

MOO. . .