In Plain Sight
In the day-to-day life on our hilltop, there are often little events that require my immediate attention. The health of a cow or one of the calves, or either of our horses, mean I have to care for them, and usually sooner than later. The fences are always a project needing repair, especially if the nubile neighbors woo my bull to come join them.
Sharon is really good at seeing problems, so good in fact I sometimes think she goes out looking for something to be wrong. I suppose that’s not very fair, because she really is quite observant. However, often when she sees something and brings it to my attention, there really is nothing to be worried about. My experience of being raised on a ranch often tells me she’s worrying about nothing.
Perfect example is when she hears a calf crying. Quite often the cow is out of the calf’s sight. Junior, or Little Missy, wants to eat. Since Momma is carrying dinner, the little one bawls plaintively. Sounds a little like children, doesn’t it?
This often starts a back-and-forth conversation between cow and calf. If this cowspeak were translated into humanspeak, it might sound like this. “Hey Momma. I’m hungry. Come here.”
“I’m right over here behind the trees dear. Come on over.”
“No, I’m hungry. I want you to come to me.”
“I’m grazing on delicious grass. You can have dinner if you come to me.”
“Aw com’on Mom. Come over here. I wanna eat dinner.”
By this time Sharon is convinced there is a real problem and is telling me a calf is crying. She’s heard the calf bawling plaintively, trying to convince Mother to bring dinner to him, and she’s answered, though unconcerned. To Sharon it sounds like everybody’s upset, and maybe I should go check. Usually, by the time I go outside to listen, the calf has given up on getting Mom to bring dinner, has trotted behind the trees, dinner is served and all is quiet.
However, there are other occasions when Sharon’s concerns are valid, and I really do need to attend to some problem. This morning she asked me if I’d seen Mr. Boo. I was about to check my irrigation, and agreed I hadn’t seen him for at least one full day. At least not that I remembered.
I drove the quad into the pasture to adjust the irrigation, and glanced around for the big bull. He wasn’t with the group grazing on the pasture. When I passed the olive tree, I checked in among the cattle gathered in the shade. No Mr. Boo.
He must still be out in the back field somewhere, so I drove out there. I drove to the top of the knoll where I could see into the draw area. There were no animals there either.
I thought maybe I might have missed him under the olive, so drove back to look more carefully. Several animals were there, but not our herd sire.
By now I was getting concerned. Maybe he’s gone visiting the nubile neighbors. He could either go to the east and up the hill, or to the west and down into the river bottom. I made a quick circle of the entire back field fence, looking for holes in the fence. The hole would tell me which way he’d gone. However, there were no holes in the fence on either side.
I made a fast trip on the road to the river side of my neighbor to the west. There was no familiar white-faced bull with those cows. The field to the east had no cows in the area, making me think maybe Mr. Boo had gone up over the hill with them.
Now it was time to really get serious about looking. I realized I better go back to the house, fuel up the quad, put on my boots instead of rubber sandals, and change out of my shorts into long pants. I’m probably going to have to go some distance looking for my wandering bull.
With the tank full of fuel, boots and levis on, I decided I best to put my hearing aids into my ears. Even with the quad engine roaring, I can hear my phone ringing in my hearing aids.
I made a couple of calls while I was back at the house, asking them to keep an eye out for Mr. Boo. I feared maybe he’d gone with the cows on the east side, and up over the top of the hill to the field on the east. To go up there was going to require going through a locked gate, if I could even get permission. First though, I was going to look in the all the fields on the west. I can drive all over those pastures with the quad, and cover a large territory. If I couldn’t find him on the west, then I’d have to worry about trying to go to the east.
Resigned to a long hot ride searching for Mr. Boo, I started down the drive. Before I got to the first cattleguard at the top of the hill, I spotted a very familiar black animal with a white face. There was my bull, grazing peacefully on the irrigated pasture below the ditch.
How did he manage to stay avoid being seen? I’d looked under the olive tree. I drove all over the back pasture. No Mr. Boo anywhere. And now, he appears, grazing in the middle of the irrigated ground. I know my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, but they aren’t so weak I can miss a one-ton bull. Obviously, he was hiding in plain sight.
Brent Gill lives in Springville and is the author of: “Fire on Black Mountain” which is available now on Amazon in paperback or Kindle edition. His “Daunt to Dillonwood” column appears regularly in The Porterville Recorder through the generosity of Weisenberger’s Hardware on West Olive in Porterville. If you enjoyed this column, follow his blog at http://brentgwriter.blogspot.com.