All night the house shook.

Our half under ground house sits behind a couple of layers of windbreak. And still the rook felt as though it would lift off any moment.

The cows huddled against the fence in the corn stalks. No good shelter out there. Without snow and not terribly cold, we thought they would be alright. Come morning we would lead them up to the corrals with the tractor and bales of hay. With feed it would be simple to lead them to a more protected place, out of this infernal wind. The cows did not think they were alright. They also did not think it was worth following the feed like they usually do.

Instead they went along only as far as the very top of the hill. Then stalled. There at the crest where the wind hit the hardest. There they would stand and fight, not wanting to go forwards nor back. This is where they have been fed. This is where they will go no further.

I was feeding the calves. When done I was to wait there and cut the netwrap off the bales. Looking across the corn I could see the top of the payloader. Then it was gone again. Then it would come back. Finally my husband came over the radio. The cows would not follow. Could I come chase them.

I took a deep breath and looked across the cornstalks and hay ground. The sky was brown with dirt. The wind howled and pulled every drop of dry powdery dust up from between blades of dry withered grass. Bare fields weren’t required to let the dirt blow. My phone showed 24 degrees.

Those cows are mine. I want them. They are my responsibility. Fighting down reluctance and that inner voice that begged to say no I answered. I’d be right out with a 4wheeler.

My husband my not like cows, but he does like me. He ordered me to bring his suburban despite my fear of ruining the tires on corn stalks. That did sound better than fighting wind and dirt on a 4wheeler.

At the gate I clung to the door as the wind caught it. I was able to slow it’s opening crash, but not prevent it. Getting back in there was no way I could pull it shut against the wind, until I pulled the suburban through and sideways. Then it slammed shot. Grimacing as sharp corn stalks met the tires I tried to avoid as much as possible, keeping wheels between rows. My cows are usually, helpfully, trained, to come to vehicles instead of moving away. I wasn’t sure I could actually chase them with the suburban. Parking I chased the cows on foot.

It was working!

Kind of. They would move away. Then stand and look. Moving back and forth behind the bunch meant half the time going into the wind. With it at my back it wasn’t so bad. Had to brace to keep from blowing over. Lean hard into the force of it. Turning to face into it wasn’t quite as fun. It was better than when there is snow and wind.

The full force of wind like this sucks the air from your lungs. Breathing becomes impossible as you suffocate from an excess of air. The complete inability to take air in is shocking at first. Then becomes scary. Even when expected after years of  experience. Tucking my mouth into my sweatshirt I tried again. No help there. The wind whipped through the cloth. Dang. That usually helps. Turning my back to the wind again I was able to get a few breaths, but not see where I was going or effectively chase cows. Forward and back. Each way just long enough to accomplish the desired task. Then back to the suburban to move it up and get a brief respite.

Until the cows were coming back harder than I could keep up with. My husband leaped out of the payloader and ran to help chase. I realized that my hat was gone. With brief tears, only on the inside, for my beloved hat, I ran. Ran after cows. Ran back to the suburban when I realized it was hopeless. There was my hat! It had hung up on a corn stalk. Yay!

In the suburban I picked up my husband who had cows streaming around him on each side. Nothing to lose. Might as well see if they would run from a vehicle.

I chased and honked and quit worrying about corn stalks through tires.

And the cows moved!

I should have done this in the first place. Then maybe my teeth wouldn’t crunch with the grit between them every time I closed my mouth. Slowly they worked towards the tractor. My husband was easily able to beat them to it. He lead them again. Although they were still not doing their usual great job of following. I was mad by then. And the chase was on. They would move. Whether they wanted to or not.

Finally through the gate out of the first field and into the next, the one over the hill and slightly sheltered, they remembered where they were. That there was the shelter of corrals ahead. That they like following their feed. Off they went. I carefully followed the rows of corn around the edge. Corn stalks will stick through combine tires. Weak little street tires are nothing. Along the way I stopped to pull the covers that had been ripped off the planter off of the electric fence and wedge them as much as I could under the planter. Although the ropes were shredded, at least they hadn’t blown off across the field.

With extra bales out for the cows we hauled a couple up to try to save the n laws 4wheeler shed. An interesting contraption with a pickup topper for a roof and plywood for sides it serves as shelter for a 4wheeler right outside their door. It has seen better days and nearly blew away in the last wind storm. We propped it up with bales. And were finally done for the morning.

Except for getting equipment put away. We took turns. One holding the big sliding doors against the wind while the other quickly pulled the equipment inside the quanset. The closing the doors before they could be ripped of the rails. I couldn’t get the worst one shut alone and needed help with the wind blowing it so hard against the tracks that it would barely slide.

Now, cows sheltered and fed, equipment as safe as we can get it, I can sit in the house for a bit and think about how pioneer women went crazy in this wind. About how easy it would be to join them.

We got the cows home today.

The weekend after Thanksgiving works best for us time wise. It’s not deer season and it’s not Thanksgiving. Any earlier would be too early. We need to get corn out and electric fences up and there’s plenty of grass there to hold them.

But the week after Thanksgiving is just too late. The cows are ready to come home. It’s getting colder and colder. They just need to com home earlier.

Hello deer season for next year.

Our wonderful neighbors who let us use their corrals to haul them out of also come along to help get the cows moved out of the pasture and into their corrals. They were out in the brisk morning when we got there and ready to go. We had to run into the wind to get to the cows. It was cold. Have I mentioned that? We got to the pasture gate and my ears were froze. They asked why I didn’t put up the hood on my sweatshirt. Obviously because it would just blow off. So, why don’t I tie it? Tie the sweatshirt hood?!?! But that’s not cool. My husband does it without shame or self consciousness. It’s not something I would ever do!

But it was cold and although we had made it to the pasture we still had to go across the pasture. So I tied my hood up and you know what? It was SO much warmer.

We split up at the pasture. Two in each direction. My son with my friend in one direction. Hopefully the shorter easier way. Her husband and I the other way. The long run to the far side of the pasture. My daughter and husband waited at the road to make sure the herd went the right way when we got there.

I stopped to shut off the tank. By the time I got the solar pump unplugged he was way ahead of me. To the other side of the pasture already. Wow he’s fast. I started to follow, then looked behind me to see my darling Ghost leading most of the herd at a trot in the exact wrong direction. So I turned around to try to turn her.

She turned right around and with the whole herd following went in the other wrong direction. Back and forth we went across the base of a triangle with the gate we needed at the tip. Then everyone else showed up. My son and friend had found a calf outside of the fence. They got him in. The husband found nothing. All the cows were close at least. With a few more people around we were able to pursued the cows to leave their endless back and forth and turn towards the gate.

At a trot they set out across the next pasture towards the road. They had finally remembered the way home. We got to the corrals with no excitement.

My friend had not only been there and ready to help on a bright and early cold winter morning but she had also made it to the big city before that and picked up donuts! She had delicious food ready for us and hot drinks to warm our frozen fingers. It also made me realize how badly I fail at these things. Talk about goals to strive for.

We started sorting and loading. Got the first semi full. Told him to wait, we just needed a moment to get help to send along. Getting cattle unloaded is easier than loading them, but that still doesn’t make it easy. Help is important. As the helper worked his way out of the corrals, the semi disappeared into the distance. Alone.

Ok. Back tto loading the second semi.

Again loaded I hopped in to ride along with my husband and to help him unload. We didn’t meet the first semi as we traveled down the road and were starting to get worried. My Ghost cow was on there. Hopefully nothing went wrong.

At home the semi was at the chute. The cattle still unloading.

They hadn’t wanted to unload so help had been called. A neighbor made the trip over because we had failed to send anyone to help unload. How terrible of us.

Cattle unloaded the first semi pulled away from the chute. And stopped. My husband was able to squeeze around it enough to get backed up. The neighbor and I started unloading while my husband went to see what was going on.

The semi had died there. Issues that were thought to have been fixed by a recent trip to the mechanics had not actually been resolved apparently. Luckily it had waited until he was away from the chute to break. We could still unload. And go for the rest of the cows with just the one semi.

Back to the corrals we started loading. Then the phone rang. He had gotten the semi running and was on his way.

The semi made it over and home again without breaking completely. The weather had warmed up enough that we all were quickly shedding clothes. The bulls, yes, still in the herd, only got in one big fight. As the rest of us cleared the fences my friends husband dove into the middle of the fracas flag whipping about, screaming, dust flying. Most importantly no one dying. From the relative safety of outside the fence I pondered this new evidence that I will never be a true cowboy. That great feat would never have occurred to anyone else there I think. All in all the day went wonderfully.

At home the cows dove into the bales we had ready for them. They can hang out int he corrals tonight. Rest. Find their calves. Tomorrow we will let them out on cornstalks. I think, no, I know they’re happy to be home. I also know I’m happy to have them here. Next spring we’ll all be just as happy to go the other direction.

No pictures because I was slightly busy and my fingers were frozen.

His lack of worry and understanding was frustrating to say the least. Here I was dealing with what seemed like a major emergency and there he was being all calm and not getting what a big deal it was.

I tried to explain that the dart had mostly disappeared into the hindquarter of the calf and he was checking the company website to see that it should drop out within half an hour. I understand that this is weird, rare, and unusual, when something has never happened before it’s hard for someone to understand what is going on. Something was wrong enough for me to call my husband, at work no less, and ask for help, that means something is really really wrong.

He likes to help me, but he thinks I need his help. Which makes me vow to never need his help.

The calf had a touch of pink eye. I was there to doctor a different calf, and to go through the herd carefully to make sure there wasn’t anything else that needed help while I was there with supplies. My daughters calf, her only calf, is a bald face, pink eyed, black Hereford. Yes, I know, Herefords are red, not arguing about it, he’s a black Hereford. Those pink eyes make him so delicate to out bright sunny summer days. It wasn’t surprising to see him with signs of pink eye. I’d just give him a quick shot while I was there.

A quick shot out in the pasture means the dart gun. Loaded with a blank 22 shell it shoots a dart full of medicine at the calf. In theory the needle goes in, sticks for long enough for the dart to discharge it’s load of medicine, then it falls out.

Immediately after shooting the calf I was impressed with how long the dart was hanging on there. All the medicine would get into the calf. Yay! Then it still didn’t fall out. Then I realized I could only see the very end of the dart. I had shot the calf! For real. I had shot an 8 inch long at least a quarter inch wide dart deep into the calf!

Panic did set in a little. This was my daughters calf. Her only calf. She lost her calf last year to coyotes, she didn’t need to lose this years to her mother.

I called the neighbors. If I could rope the calf on foot, like I did the last one I had needed to get a hold of out in the pasture, then I could pull the dart out. But the long drive home to get a rope would take forever. If I could get one from the neighbors that would save some time. They weren’t home. Fat lot of help they are (which I say because I know she’ll be reading this 😉 ) But their daughter ran back home to get a rope and meet me. She brought two ropes just to be on the safe side. Smart girl. I need to get a rope to leave in the pickup.

My husband called back to see how things were going. Still smarting from his lack of concern over my predicament I told him not to bother to come out. I would figure something out. That might be going home for a horse and waiting for the neighbors to get home, but I would manage something. Then I got back to work.

The other calf that needed doctored still needed his shot. I was scared. I was also in the middle of a text conversation with my vet. She was unconcerned about the first calf. Calves are tough, cattle are tough, amazingly so. If I couldn’t catch the first calf, it would fall out eventually. I suspected that like my husband she didn’t understand how deep the dart was embedded, but was still comforted by her lack of concern. She also assured me that I would be fine, this sort of thing doesn’t happen. Go shoot that other calf!

I did that first so I wouldn’t be tired or injured for the chase if I waited until after. This time the dart bounced off and I have doubt it made enough contact to deliver any medicine. Sheesh.

The I went calf hunting. It was mid day and most of the cattle were at the tank for a drink and they settled in to hang out and nap. The calf in question stood next to his mother. I walked up close. The cow is quiet. Not a pet, but not worried about people either. Knowing my only chance at holding a three or four hundred pound calf was to heel both hind legs I tried. I almost got it too. I’ll blame the stiff rope made for heading not heeling. It’s possible it could be my complete lack of roping ability. Either way, I made contact, but did not get heels.

My husband texted. He was on his way. He had a moment he could get away from work and would come help me. I was grouchy and mean. There was no point in him coming out, nothing he could do anyway. He said he was coming anyway.

I spent the meantime stalking the calf around the tank. The cow herd is quiet. I squeezed my way between cows who saw no reason to move. Walked by my napping bull quite a few times, he saw no reason to get up. All the other calves hung out or came to check me out. I could have caught any of them. Except the one I was after. I got a few chances, but missed my loop. I am no cowgirl. A horse might have made it easier, unlikely though.

My husband showed up. He parked his suburban at an angle to my pickup so we would have a spot to corner the calf if we got that chance. Then we went hunting together. The calf was by the tank. We split up to try to catch him between the tank and the windmill pond. If we could hold him up there for a minute I might get a shot.

It was working. The cows just needed to get out of my way! How did they always know to stand on my right of the calf??!! Then, I aw the calf go to squeeze past my husband. Why was he letting it go! It stepped into the pond and went right around him. There went that chance.

My husband turned back to me and held up his hand. He was holding a dart!

As the calf slowed and squeezed by him, not wanting to get too deep in the pond, he had reached out and grabbed the dart. As simple as that. I had been fighting for a couple of hours by then. Some of that was doctoring the other calf. But I had gotten to the pasture about 11 and it was now 2. He showed up and solved the whole problem in five minutes.

Sometimes I forget that just because he doesn’t like cows doesn’t mean he isn’t completely capable of handling cattle. Being a farmer with no interest in being and no pretenses of being in any way cowboy doesn’t mean he isn’t completely capable. Boy did I need to apologize. Guess there was plenty he could do after all.

He did admit that he had never seen anything like that dart and wow it was deep. That doesn’t quite make us even.

The calf is going to be sore. That was a very deep injury. Luckily he’s already been treated with an antibiotic. Hopefully that helps. I sure wont be shooting him again with a dart. Cattle are tough and can take amazing injuries and be fine. This one is one for the record books.

As my husband headed back to work, slightly more dirty than he had left, he called to tell me his suburban was reading 99 degrees. Hadn’t even noticed the heat with all the other fun we were having.

That brockle face calf had been nothing but trouble from the time he was born.

Sickly and weak I doctored him and kept him coming along. He made it to branding time. We hoped the vaccinations would keep him healthy enough to get to grass. He made it to pasture but I kept a close eye on him and he wasn’t thriving like the other calves. I let him go, he was on all the grass he could eat and with his mama. The best thing for him was to stay out there.

Until it wasn’t. It became apparent that he was not getting any milk. His mom was showing signs of sickness and they were quickly getting worse. The swollen brisket meant heart failure. I would need to catch the calf and bring him home where I could supplement his feed. Maybe one of the milk cows could still adopt him. But, I had a 4wheeler in the back of the pickup and nothing on me to catch or tie him with anyway. No way to get him home immediately. He had survived this long, he could wait a couple days till I was back that way again.

As I pulled into the pasture I saw his mom. She had been grazing with the other cows and they were headed in to water as the day got warm. The calf wasn’t with her. Maybe I had been wrong and he couldn’t wait a couple days. Or maybe he was off with some other calves. I drove on to the tank.

Walking through the calves there, checking the water and salt, I wandered around the water tank. Then I saw him. In the pond that catches the over flow was the brockle face calf. Laying there with his head barely above water level I had to look close to see if he was alive.

He was alive, but barely. I stepped to the edge of the mud and reached to pull him out. He didn’t budge. Like not even slightly. It was like pulling on an anvil.

I kicked my sandals off, because of course I check cows in sandals. I might get bitten by a rattle snake but I’m guaranteed to die of heat stroke if I wear boot on a hundred degree day.

Sandals off I waded into the mud of the pond. Reaching into the water I grabbed him around the chest and lifted him out of the water. Except he didn’t budge. Reaching down one hind leg to pull it out of the mud. I kept reaching and it kept going deeper. His leg was buried in the mud clear up to his belly. Grabbing hold of it I pulled with all my might and finally managed to drag it free. The procedure as repeated with all four legs. It was iffy whether I’d manage to pull them free or not.

He must have gotten in the mud and struggled until his legs got worked in deep. There was no way he would have gotten out on his own. He could have been there for a full day, his legs were cold, he hung limp as I drug him away from the waters edge. I left him and went to bring the pickup closer. He was tiny but water logged and a lot to carry. The cows gathered around sniffing him while I was gone. His mom even came over to take a look.

I heaved him into the pickup bed and took off towards home. Pansy dove through the back window into the cab of the pickup. There was not enough room in the bed for her and a calf.

At home I wanted to take him into the cool darkness of the barn, but his legs and mouth were still cold. As wrong as it seemed on a 100 degree day, he needed to be warmed up. With painkillers and feed he made it through the afternoon. After a couple of hours he lifted his head and was looking around.

Only time will tell if he lives or not. He has some scratches, there is a good chance they walked on him while he lay in the water. There could be damage inside. He was already in bad shape before this ordeal. Hours spent submerged in mud and muck would have been hard on a healthy calf. Hopefully he makes the morning.