~ set 'em up, knock 'em down ~

9:14 a.m. Everett is in his room with the door closed. “I’m doing art for Mother’s Day,” he told me.

11:17 a.m. A young calf died. They examined (don’t ask for these details, I guarantee you don’t want to hear them) it and found a broken rib and likely a punctured lung. Calves sometimes get stepped on or bunted hard when they are out in the corrals with the other cattle.

Its mother is mooning around, looking for her baby, calling it. “Come out and help me comfort her,” Scott said to me last night. He has been phoning all over the country trying to find an orphan to “put on her.” We may have had some luck this morning, I’m not sure yet.

~ handy round scratching post ~

I offered to wait 10 minutes for a water trough to fill, and then shut it off, so that he could go on to other things without worrying about forgetting the tap. I had to scrape through a barbwire fence. Picking up a big stick made me feel safer. I pressed it down on the bottom wire of a second fence I nearly tripped over first. That was the electric one; I’ve yet to have a jolt.

The trough was only half full when I got there, so I stood in a calm corner out of the cool breeze for a while. A young Black Angus was the first to approach me, timidly, yet I was more chickenshit.

I walked away, around the old tractor tire rim (probably incorrect terminology, but you don’t know that, right?), keeping the rusty junk between me and the heavy beast. I was nervous, stick or no stick.

Then more of them had to come and check me out. I offer you here, exhibit one, the stick, which if I waved it around made them back off a step, but if I stood still with one of its ends in my hand and the other on the ground, they’d come up and scratch themselves against, bold as you please.

I am glad these yearlings are just as afraid of me as I am of them. One quick move on my part and they’d be off and running. On the other hand, look at the size of them in comparison to me! But of course, all their predators are smaller than they are, and I am a predator even though I forget that from time to time. They are smart to be wary. I've got beef in my belly and leather on my feet. It doesn’t stop them from sniffing my clothing and licking at it with their massive pink tongues.

Look at the size of that schnozz!

1:50 p.m.

The kid’s still in there, still drawing and cutting and glueing.

I meant no more cow pictures after today.

Blackie, the mother cat, watched Everett hand them out to me one at a time, and there are five, not four. The fifth is fully one-half the size of any of the others. That's it on the left.

Scott and his brother have been midwifing new calves today. Which means they've been "pulling" them.
 

Mm, yum.