I have calved a lot of heifers
in my life…thousands. All of us who have that type of experience know
that after the sweat and strain, the slick and sticky, the hope and
pull, the grunt and sigh, when the wet little creature plops on the
ground, sometimes there is a moment that time stands still. A second, or
two or five, we stare, our world suspended, waiting for a sign.
Then the new baby sniffs, or blinks, or
sneezes, or wiggles an ear, and at that moment it feels as though a
burden has been lifted from our shoulders. We did it. We did it again.
Just regular common people like us, engaged in that age-old profession
of stockman, have participated in a miracle; life being passed from one
generation to the next.
It is no small thing to be a part of and
every time it happens, it renews us. The miracle never diminishes. As
urbanization inexorably isolates people from the land, fewer and fewer
humans are able to participate in this ancient experience. It is our
loss.
We have finished calving at my place;
none of the cows needed help delivering, for which I'm thankful. But
each new little critter trailing after his mama or kickin' up his heels
makes ya smile.
Last week the high-horned red cow finally
calved. Baby was solid red like mama. I sat there the next day
a'horseback and studied him for a few minutes. Long enough to figure out
it was a bull calf and getting' plenty to eat. Satisfied, I swung away
and started back through the mesquite on a cow trail. I heard a mama
bawlin' and looked back to see that it was the high-horned red cow. I
swept the horizon for her calf, then looked down. There he was right
behind my horse's hind leg trailin' along with us. I stopped. The little
calf bumped into my stirrup. He looked confused. He could hear his mama
but something didn't smell right. I reached down and patted his head.
He looked up at me, as if to say, "What are you doin' here?"
About that time my dog stuck his nose to
the baby's tail. He jumped like a deer, straight-legged and trotted back
toward his mama in his ungainly tryin'-out-his-new-legs, kinda gait. It
was pretty funny.
The dog and I couldn't help but laugh.
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