Under the Wire

“OK, somebody’s got to be the first to go,” the rancher said to the group of cows and calves milling in front of the gate as he pushed his horse into the herd.

Normally, his words meant that one cow, calf in tow, had to go through the gate with the rest taking their cue from her, following out into the small adjoining pasture. The spring ritual was part of the chore of splitting the herd into smaller groups destined for waiting pastures of green grass where they would spend the summer. This year, however, the words had new meaning. “The first to go,” meant the first of many to enter the shipping corral and become part of the herd that would be sent to the auction instead of a waiting pasture.

The cattleman was joining many others who had no green pastures waiting for eager grazers. He and his family, as had hundreds more, came to the harsh realization part of the herd they had spent their lives building needed to be sold in order to conserve what little feed remained for the rest. Careful selection in past years meant there were few real “culls.” It would be good productive cows and their latest offspring who would be loaded on trailers and shipped to the auction.

The words of an older relative experiencing the same thing years ago echoed through his brain, “They’re just cows. It’s not like I’m married to them.” The thought made business sense but was not doing much to lessen his sadness as one by one he cut off and drove a cow/calf “pair” through the shipping gate.

Since every cow had been born on the ranch, the event also was a trip down memory lane. One cow, now probably the oldest member of the herd should have been shipped years ago but was granted “one more year” about four times. Sad to see her go. Another younger cow had caught him by surprise once after calving and sent him to the hospital. “Not going to miss her,” he thought. A couple left with no calves following them. “Not earning their keep, ”he thought. One after another received a production review carefully penciled into the cowman’s Bible, his little red record book, always snapped in his Wrangler shirt pocket. After a while, the task became easier as a younger, perhaps more docile group of remaining cows began to take shape. A couple got a free pass including one born the same day his own father had passed away many years ago. The cow who always leads the herd in just the right direction earned another year as well.

By the time the chore was completed, the cowman had decided this wasn’t as bad as he had dreaded. The cows in the shipping pen just might help a young couple kick start their ranching dream. Some might cross several state lines to areas where ranchers herd experienced severe draught a few years back and were struggling to rebuild their herds.

His final thought as he loosen the cinch on old Sorrely’s saddle and led him towards the barn was, “It’ll start raining again one of these days and when it does, we will be ready. We still own the factory.”