It's a clear and hot fall afternoon way out on the dry eastern plains of Colorado, nearly 1 1/2 hours beyond no where, with corrals full of noisy cattle. Weaned calves are bawling for their rescue while their mommas beller from separate pens to be reunited. The noise is deafening.
Horses, sleepy from the gathering, stand idle outside the corrals as a huge dust cloud pillows skyward from all the churning hooves in the dirt paddocks. My next assignment is to dump cows into the alley that funnels down to a single file width that ends at the squeeze chute where each cow is examined.
While choking on dust that makes my eyes water, I hoot and holler at the cows to keep filling the alleyway. Armed with only a wimpy fiberglass rod, I occasionally poke a forehead to get someone to turn around or joust a hindquarter to get someone to push forward. As I work, a high-headed, red cow circles to stay out of the narrowing funnel. In nearly panic mode, where the whites of her eyes are showcased, she plows into other cows and demonstrates a willful disregard to enter the single file alley.
Her tenacious skillset makes her last in line and it's time for the showdown. I press forward, she stands her ground. I move closer and she tosses her head up, slinging sun-glistened snot and saliva into the air like a pissed-off rodeo bull. "Haw...get up there!" I yell and she does not budge. I close in to pressure her into moving and she takes a step, so I counter. She reacts, which forces me to adjust. Our foot work is like professional salsa dancers, except we absolutely despise each other. Suddenly, like the running of the bulls every year in Spain, I encounter the running of the renegade cow. She's coming full speed, head down, and it's my turn to stand my ground and bluff her.
"Yaw! Yaw!" I yell and raise my feeble fiberglass rod of destruction. She keeps coming and I do a mighty samuri sword swing with a downward cut, "Hi-yah!" It clips her right ear and my world goes black.
Vision is regained 20 feet down the alley with my right arm over her neck and feet lifted to avoid going under her. I get dumped, and despite my planned dismount, I'm trampled by her anyhow. I slowly crawl to the fence and assess the damage. A ripped shirt, a stepped on thigh, broken and bruised skin, but nothing overly serious. However, blood is noticed dripping off my chin, sputtering as it hits the powdery dirt.
I touch my face and realize I had my upper teeth foolishly grimaced over my lower lip when she blasted me, causing my teeth to sink through and make a ragged hole. And to think youngsters actually pay money for such a piercing...
Meanwhile, the hot-headed cow faces me at the opposite end of the alley, eyeballing while patiently scheming how to deliver another good ass-whoopin'.
Because of my cussing and all the commotion, Brian enters the alley to appraise the situation.
"I see you've met the Hell Bitch," he comments. "She's tough to handle, but always brings in the heaviest calf," he adds, justifying why he doesn't have her made into hamburger. I'm just thankful she doesn't have fangs, claws and an opposable thumb to assist her bulk and evil intelligence.
"You could have warned me about her," I suggest to Brain with a lispy voice due to my super-sexy, newly rearranged lower lip.
Next time I want to handle Buttercup or Bessie or Petunia or Marigold or Clarabell or Daisy or....
No comments:
Post a Comment