Spring in the Step

Ah! Starting to look like spring! Clayton & crew at an early branding.

This is one of my favorite days of the year. I finally got tax stuff done! Every year I intend to keep files up to date, and every year I end up entering everything in March of the following year. Time to get out and enjoy some early spring sunshine. And wind.

I'm not complaining. It's really not too bad here. At least in the house. In the last house my office was in the loft, and the whole house would shake. It was a constant roar that always made me think it was no wonder some pioneer women on the prairie went crazy with nothing but a constant roar of wind to listen to. Sometimes I would go down to the basement just to get away from it.

The baby calves and horses love it though. It's amazing how a spring wind stirs up the life in them. They run around bucking and jumping with their heads and tails up in the air, and bounding about a foot off the ground with each step. I've had 2 horses in the past that tended to bounce a little more than I was comfortable with, and really made me suck it up in the spring.



Kristy and Koko. High School rodeo.

Koko, who was a powerful, athletic, cowhorse; and Drifter, who we sold this summer. I was never good at getting a horse to give his nose anyway, and it wasn't too hard for them to take it completely away from me if they really had a mind to. Especially Koko. He was the first horse I actually broke. He was a lot more horse than I probably should have been messing with, but I was too naive to know it. Kind of like having babies. I always said if I was going to have twins, I'd want to have them first since I'd think that was normal.

I preferred to ride alone the first few times, since I didn't like them worrying about other horses. And I didn't want any witnesses. I had to go through a pasture one spring where there were some loose horses who had a bad case of spring fever. Koko's head went straight up in the hair, and his tail was raised in a big old plume I could see out of the corner of my eye. His back was dished like a moon sliver, and I could feel the power as he started prancing around like he was going to join them. It was like floating on top of a coiled spring, and he didn't even know I was there. I didn't waste any time getting off to open the gate. Even though we weren't to it yet.

Drifter was always like riding a pogo stick. On good days. In the spring he was like Tigger the tiger. Only he snorted. At everything. Big wide eyes, and even wider nostrils. You always had to be riding because he'd jump out from under you in a heartbeat if you weren't paying attention. He didn't miss a thing. He was never broncy though. In later years I'd get Clayton or Ray to take the edge off.

Maresy's a peach. She's ready to go. Ray's got the arena done and sand hauled in. In a couple of weeks we'll have some roping cattle. Ray made a roping dummy that can be pulled around the arena so we can get Flash (and me) trained for heeling. I roped a few times on her last summer, but she's a cutting horse and really wanted to run to the head. She's also very responsive to leg pressure, and just about the time I'd be getting ready to throw my rope, she'd make a big sashay to the left. I think that means I need to pay attention to what I'm doing, since she's probably doing exactly what my leg says.

And Ray? Well he's been roping at Rooster & Benny Reynolds all winter, and just won the 10-header grand finale Sunday afternoon.

That'll put a little spring in your step too!

Clayton & Peter Paint wrangling at cowcamp. Koko as a 3 yr old with his
typical headset.

Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: Job 39:19-21

 

A Lot 'a Bull



Ray working angus bulls at Friday's
 Leadore Angus Ranch bull sale.



There's been a lot of bulls pass through the sale ring already this spring. Payweight. Right Time. Retail Value... It's been fun to watch the trends over the years. These names are just a few lines that come to mind-- Black Angus registered lines that have lived up to their names helping ranchers produce the kind of calves that keep the ranch in business, and satisfy the end consumers at the same time.

Bulls really have the life O'reilly. They only have to work about 2 months a year, and that work involves a harem of about 25 cows. Their sole responsibility on the ranch is to make sure those cows produce a calf. Then they get turned out to pasture for a few months before they get brought in where they can be fed hay, so they can be in good condition to start the process all over again come late spring.

You'd think that would make them happy. But “Happy” isn't usually the word that comes to mind. “Ornery” would be more like it. Bad, Bull-headed, or just plain Mean are a few others. Fortunately, that reputation is not really accurate for the majority. Most bulls just go quietly about their business, and don't raise much ruckus. It's the few bad apples that make the reputation.

And, they also serve as a good reminder that bulls are not pets no matter how slow and docile they may appear. Ray's had a run-in or two over the years, and since we used to run straight Herefords, those run-ins usually involved horns. BIG horns.

Today we got one of those wet spring snowstorms that I mentioned
in my last blog.  (And Ray won another roping!)

The first year we were married and living at Sage Creek I went to help him retrieve a bull we had let drop back because...well I guess because he'd decided he'd gone far enough and would charge anybody that came within 20 feet of him. Ray figured if we let him alone until evening or the next morning, he'd be cooled down, and still be within a mile of the weaning pens where he could simply be loaded instead of trailed.

He was right. The next morning Mr. Bull was still where we dropped him. But his mood hadn't improved. In fact I think he'd had time to think about it and had gotten even more bull-headed.

Ray was riding his own rope-horse that he used for pro-rodeo. Shadow was a great horse and a super athlete, but he didn't like working out in the brush, and having to deal with a mad 2,000 pound bull was not exactly his forte. I was riding Luke, a line-back dun that was one of the best, most solid ranch horses any cowboy could ever dream of. The kind you wished would live forever.

Mr. Bull had no intention of going to the pens, or anywhere else for that matter. So, figuring he needed a bit of an attitude adjustment, Ray roped him. Around the neck. Before I could move in for heels, Mr. Bull charged Ray and Shadow. Shadow froze. Mr. Bull rammed his horns under Shadow's belly lifting him and Ray off the ground. Before they could recover from the shock, Mr. Bull charged again, and freight-trained them again.

This time Ray turned his rope loose, and kicked some life into Shadow who had managed to keep his feet. But now we had a bull, roped around the neck, running loose in rough sage country. Ray decided if we could just get that rope off, we'd be doing good. I still had my rope, and a horse that could handle the situation, so we traded horses. Ray used my rope to catch both heels on Mr. Bull, and get him tripped and down.

Once he had convinced Mr. Bull that he might as well lay still, he got off Luke, and I got on, to make sure Mr. Bull stayed down while Ray sneaked up and retrieved his rope. By then Mr. Bull was a little more agreeable, and we managed to ease him to the corrals.

He was lucky. We've gotten smarter over the years, and figured out the real cost of taking that kind of risk. I know of at least one bull in recent years that never even made it to town. He got shot on the spot. No sense getting someone at the livestock auction killed.

Clayton and Braxton helping get sale bulls ready to pen.

Once we started cross-breeding with Angus, and had good background records, it was a little easier to know something about temperament. Ray always tried to avoid genetics that were known to be “hot”. Or if a bull would spring into the ring blowing snot and kicking sawdust halfway up the stands, he pretty much assumed that was not something we wanted to be breeding cows to no matter how good his EPD records were, or how good he looked.

Safety-ing-up was a huge transition for a crew of typical cowboys who have an in-grained tradition of getting things done regardless of what it takes. It took a few years for everyone to make the mental transition from “accidents will happen”, to, we need to work smarter because “most accidents are avoidable”. (Well, actually they say ALL accidents are avoidable, but even I can't get my head around that one.)

It's paid off handsomely. Going from an average of 12 recordable accidents per year, to zero to 2 per year is a huge savings of time and money, not to mention the human and family aspect. You can't put a price on that.

Not even a $5,000 bull.

“I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.” Ps 4:8