Semi-Handy Man

Backhoe operator, carpenter

 My Father-in-Law is an engineer.  I joke that the problem with engineers is that they know a little bit about how everything works, which means they also know how to fix pretty much anything.  It's a wonder they can get anything done; they must fight the urge to fix every problem they see.  Ranchers are like blue-collar engineers (And I know, some of my ranching friends are actual engineers. I'm not talking about you).  We have to be able to do -- and fix -- a million little things to keep a ranch running smoothly.  I have to be a veterinarian, cowboy, mechanic, carpenter, trucker, butcher, logger, hydrologist, electrician, farrier, nutritionist, and plumber.  We're generally just not as precise as engineers. 

Trapper

I was thinking about all this on Sunday as I lay face down in the mud with my head in a hole as I repaired an 1 1/4" pvc pipe that fed 3 water troughs.  I'd hit it with a pair of post hole diggers while I was being extra careful and digging this particular hole by hand because I thought there might be a pipe down there, somewhere.  I was right.  It was the last thing I wanted to do on a Sunday and I wasn't pleased.  Just that afternoon, I'd already been a heavy equipment operator, carpenter, and surveyor. Now I was a reluctant plumber.  And, as my wife and kids pointed out, I could add sailor to the list, because I sure was swearing like one. 

Can You Still Hear the Bulls Screaming?

Baby jerks

The bulls were screaming last night.  If you've never heard bulls bellowing, it sounds a lot like a bagpipe and a chainsaw had a very colicy baby, and then forgot to change its diaper.  They woke Regina up at 1:30 AM, which means Regina woke me up at 1:31 AM.

"Do you hear that?" she asked.

I told her that I do now.

"I think they're in with the heifers," she said as she went outside.

Old jerk

When your wife goes outside in the middle of the night to see if the bulls are out, it's a good idea to join her.  And she was right; an Angus bull jumped the fence and was in with our 2 young Belted Galloway heifers.  Not the cross breeding we want, so we had to chase it out.  And man, was he pumped up.  Two bulls on the other side of the fence cheered him on as I ran laps, chasing him around the pen.  The bulls across the street thought they were missing out, so they joined in on the loud noises contest.  Everyone was hollering, including me.  I won't tell you what I yelled, but it was certainly colorful.

After 3 laps around the pen, the jerk finally found the gate and joined his compadres.  Regina and I spent another half-hour fixing fence by dying flashlight while the bulls kept up their choir.  It sounded like we were in the middle of the elk rut in Yellowstone.

We finally got back to bed, and know what?  They shut up, mercifully.  I suspect they moo-ed themselves hoarse.  But I was so amped up from running (probably less than 100 yards) that I lay awake for another hour, and kept thinking, "The bulls, the bulls, the bulls ..."

   

Manic Spring

Springtime on the ranch is bananas.  It's a little like getting in the passenger seat of a car with an overly-confident 16 year old.  Lots of go fast, stop quickly.  When the sun comes out, as it usually does in February and March, every tractor fires up, every calf needs to get a vaccination, and every project we've put off for the last 3 months needs to get done, NOW.  It's 100 mph until, undoubtedly, it rains, or snows.  Everything comes to an abrupt stop.  The tractors get parked, the corrals get too muddy, and everyone sits at home at stares at their Weather Underground app until ... magically, the sun shines (usually the next day), and we repeat.  It's exhausting.

These 2 photos were taken just seconds apart

Every season has its rhythm.  Summer is when you put your head down and work long, steady hours.  Fall is, well, almost as crazy as the spring (working cattle and haying collide), but it's also hunting season, which makes it exciting.  In the winter we take a breath, and then, blam, here comes spring.  Spring is everyone's scary drunk uncle who has a neck tattoo and crashes your kids 3rd birthday party 
and brings a puppy and hooker so no one knows if they're mad or ecstatic.  And here we are, it's not even technically spring, but it sure feels like it.  So, spring, welcome.  Come on in.

Nothing Hurts

Ranch MD

 My big toe hurt, and I was sure it was gout.  Everyone's most trusted doctor, Web MD, confirmed it, and I prepared myself for a new, healthier lifestyle.  Running shoes were purchased.  Then, like a Phoenix rising, a crescent of black emerged from the base of my toenail and I realized that I had somehow smashed my toe, probably by a large animal, and forgotten about it.  

It made me laugh because I should have known better.  Bumps and bruises are just a normal part of ranch life.  For far, in 2021, I've had my right thumb caught in a halter on a calf I was halter-breaking and sprained it; sliced the base of my left thumb while castrating calves; fell, headfirst, off a feed truck that was about 13 feet off the ground, and landed, fortunately, on the back of a cow who wasn't pleased, and face planted in the dirt.  My pupils didn't match for 2 days, but I sure slept like a baby.  And that doesn't count the bruises, nicks, sore muscles, tweaked back, or black toe.

This is from a cow kick to the lip

A few years ago I came off a horse in a bad spot and broke a few ribs and a vertebrae.  I was laid up on the couch for a few weeks and my kids would see me winching in pain whenever I moved.  They'd ask me what hurt I'd tell them, "Nothing hurts."  It was supposed to be a bigger message about grit and perseverance, about hurt vs injury, and probably about self-care.  I think they saw it as a lesson in dad being dumb.  But, hey, it's just part of the job.  I try to be safe.  I try to be careful, but cows kick, chutes pinch, swather blades spin, and feed trucks are pretty damn high off the ground.

Little Fuzzy Scrotums

 I've never been good at meeting new people, and I'm even worse at starting conversations with them.  I usually say something about the weather, then instantly regret saying anything at all.  But there's one topic I can bring up, in the right company, that I'm always eager to hear people's opinions on.  And that topic?  Castration.

It's calf working season here on Hanna Bros and a few of the other local ranches.  Every ranch has their own style of not only castrating bull calves, but of livestock handling and vaccinating.  When I help out on another ranch, I always try to go with the mindset that I'm going to learn something.  Sometimes I learn how NOT to do things, sometimes I learn new combinations of swear words, and sometimes I learn a better way.  

If you ask most cattlemen why they castrate the way they do, their answer would probably be, "Because that's the way my dad taught me."  And there are, surprisingly, a lot of ways to skin a cat, or, more specifically, cut a scrotum.  Some slice open the sack, some cut off the top, and some use rubber bands.  Some are slow, some are fastidious about cleanliness.  Some go at it like they're killing snakes.  Each way has its merits.  I never realized the variety of methods until I helped some friends works calves a few years ago.  Their castration process was just a little slower than most open-heart surgeries.  They asked if I'd like to cut one and when I castrated in the way I'd been taught they were equally horrified and impressed at the speed it took.  I knew no other way.

Every rancher I know is just trying to do right by their animals.  It's why I like to ask about it.  We are a "Cut off the top of the scrotum" family.  We flip the the fuzzy little scrotum away and hope the dogs don't eat them.  They're worse than hairballs on cats if they eat enough of those.  My niece used to collect them and make little Russian hats for her Barbies.  We pull out one testicle at at time and cut off the little tubes that come out with the nuts. (I should have paid more attention in sex ed.  I'm sure I could Google that, but the ads that would pop us as a result of that internet search?  No way.)  Lastly, we spray on a little antiseptic spray and turn the calf loose.  They're sore for a couple days, and then, with their minds changed from ass to grass, they're back to normal.

So if you ever find yourself in the awkward position of meeting someone new, and that person happens to be a rancher, go ahead, ask.