Feudal kings were known to keep jesters to mock themselves and their courts. A dose of ridicule provided perspective to the smooth-tongued courtiers applying false praise trying to curry favors. Without perspective one gets lost. Cows provide the same service.
Separating the steers out of the cows was to be a quick easy chore. The weather was calm, balmy. The sun was up. The dog was mindful, staying close as we walked into the field since he has lost his eyesight over the years. The field hadn't been irrigated so there was no water to slip, step or fall into. The animals, noticing us enter the field, started to gather together.
The cows calmly call to their calves in a low foghorn tone. The calves like surly teens, walk slowly to their mothers, dragging their feet. The big black bull stands to the back of the gathering herd making sure everyone was grouping up and there was no threat.
Then as fast as you can say, "Now what?" the old red cow sees the open gate at the far end of the field and starts her heavy run for it. Her calf not wanting to be left starts off right behind her. The rest of the herd decides it is best to take off at a quick jaunt too. The bull does his huge rocking horse imitation run and takes off after them all.
And then, for no visible reason, one cow galloping along lowers her head and swings it into the side of another cow catching the other cow under the right hip. The first cow pulls her head up under the other cow. Like watching a crash scene in slow motion, the second cow loses her balance and rolls onto her back and then her side. Stunned she lays there for a second. Only a second though, because she does not want to be left behind, she attempts to stand.
The cow that put her head down was not looking for a fight. She was probably excited to be moving toward the open gate, something new, a fresh field. Tossing her head like a giddy girl caused a terrible accident. The cow she rolled kept trying but could not get her back leg under her.
I walk past the reclining cow in a wide arc not wanting her to feel pressure to move. I just want the steers anyway. If she stays in the field with her bad leg and calf it will make separating the steers easier for me up at the corrals. Which was easy with the help of two cowboys who happened to be driving down the lane as I was moving the cattle up it. One and two, the steers are out and I'm pushing the herd back to the field. The big rolled cow is still not standing.
Two weeks have gone by. Water and fresh hay has been taken to the down cow every day, twice a day on some. Her calf has weaned itself. A final decision needs to be made. I was hoping for a miracle that didn't come.
Ranching is not all magic and nice. It isn't always spring out here and the flowers don't always smell sweet. Sometimes cow reality is not nice. It ridicules your best intentions, ruins pleasant days and makes you feel bad. Ranchers don't like to talk about it, ever. But you need to do the right thing for the animal. With no tears, just a terrible twist in your gut, a "so sorry" under your breath you set the target and you get perspective.
n Marie Johnson is a Carson Valley rancher.
