"Two riders search the hills at the base of the Elkhorns, the Montana range above my family's ranch. Another rider and I go low, and as we round a bend, our offending cows come into view. Some lounge, others twitch their tails as the neighbors' three red bulls drool and huff. As we move our cattle into a bunch, calves find their mothers and knock noses into milkbags."
"Ah, Moody: If there's any sort of mess, my favorite cow will be in the middle of it. I first noticed Moody when she was a pregnant heifer, chewing her cud atop the manure pile, ignoring her fellow cows. When she had her first calf, she found something to care about but still couldn't resist sneaking into the hay or over a downed fence."
"We push. The cattle become a stream of black hides that surges forward, bottlenecks, swirls with calves who can't find their mothers, and tries to change direction. We work to push the neighbors' bulls back; they're like three red-headed jocks, ogling our cows and getting into fights that could topple our horses if we aren't careful. Impatience blooms in my chest. I yell and ride hard against the edge of the herd."
Half the herd is missing and remaining cows linger along the neighbors' fence, where cattle from both ranches are separated only by brands, ear tags, and barbed wire. Cowboys ride through a gate to gather the strays, with two riders searching the Elkhorn hills and others working lower ground. The cattle form a surging, bottlenecked stream as calves seek mothers and bulls from the neighboring herd harass the group. Riders push to corral the animals and fend off bulls while preventing chaos that could unseat horses. A particular cow, Moody, repeatedly causes trouble yet shows devoted maternal behavior when needed.
Read at High Country News
Unable to calculate read time
Collection
[
|
...
]