Migration and the Wayward Bull

After we branded, we gave the cows a couple days to loaf before starting the three day trip to the summer pasture. I had been sick and welcomed the extra rest before the tough climb out of the canyon.

They cows probably did rest a day, but when Mike went back down to brush out the trail, he saw fresh sign. The cows had found a way onto the road and had trailed five miles along the bench to the trail-head, climbed up the trail and were now munching bunchgrass in a steep little basin below the rims.

Morning drink

By the next day, they topped out on their own, climbing out of basin and threading the rimrock to find a hole in the fence. We found them early in the morning, resting in the timber, not far from a stock pond. It was hot and I was glad to be reminded of the pond's location as I had not been there in years.

Herders

Getting close to Thomason

We trailed on foot to Thomason and over-nighted the cows in the road pasture. Come morning, a stray Hereford bull the size of a Mac Truck had taken up with the herd. He made our 2 year old Longhorn bull look tiny and even dwarfed the biggest cows. Mike had to push half the herd through a funky wire gate in a flimsy stretch of fence and then try to cut the big bull out as the cows came back through the gate onto the road.

Hereford near the front, our bull by the brindle

The bull was not aggressive. But when he decided to make his move, he was like a mountain in motion. And he wasn't slow. All Mike had was an old horse, our other geldings were still in the canyon. All I had was a stock whip. I held it straight up, zinging the air with a few hard flicks of the wrist. The bull looked me in the eye, his neck and shoulders towering about the cows' backs. I stared back trying to look tough.

As a bunch of cows ran through the gate, the bull made his move. Mike was trapped behind a tangle of cows and calves. I stepped between the cows and the bull and snapped my whip in the bull's face. His thick flesh rolled forward over his powerful neck as he slid to a stop and hesitated, poised to plow past, or over me, I snapped the whip back and forth. "Don't you dare," I said staring him in the eye. "Don't you even think about running over me."

The bull swung his head and took several steps side to side.  "Hit him!" Mike hollered  from his horse. "Hit him on the nose."  "I can't," I yelled back, feinting slightly and snapping the stock whip, afraid to go closer, knowing I'd have no chance to get out of the way. The bull turned and ran and Mike went after him with the horse and dogs.

Luckily the bull didn't test the worthless fence, but high tailed it west over the ridge. In a cloud of dust, the bawling cows and calves milled off into the timber and we were on the move again.

At last, on the summer pasture

The rest of the day was uneventful, hot and slow. When Mike finally brought the herd through the last gate into the summer pasture, I was relieved. Thank you cows, for mostly trailing yourselves to the summer range this year.

Loaded up

"Smile. We're done."

From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of  Bunchgrass Beef