Last week we had a few heifers in the corral for preg checking (That's another one of those non-romantic ranch jobs. You try to look Marlboro Man cool with your hand up a cow's butt. It's impossible). My job was to bring the cows from the back pen and into the chute. One girl was feeling especially spritely and decided that a flying Jet Li kick would be fun. Her hoof caught me right in the ... yeah, there. I hit the dirt, then thought, "That didn't hurt that ba .... aaaaaah." I spent the rest of the day with a very specific type of stomach ache, wondering if Lyle Alzado would ever drop back down to join his friends Jim Plunkett and Howie Long.
|Protecting Grady from wild chickens|
|Bring on the kittens!|
Regina, somehow, has stayed on the good side of our livestock and pets. The rest of us need to get some pointers from her. Dylan will keep covering her scratches in Hello Kitty bandaids, and Grady now eats his meals like a gunslinger - his back against a wall so that no one (or no chicken) can sneak up behind him. And the next time I have to swim a river and fight off savage beasts to save a newborn calf, I'm going to make sure the little sucker doesn't try to kick me.