I was in New Mexico and the hunting was good. On the last day of a week-long Scaled and Gamble’s Quail hunt, I was due to take the drive to Arizona to see another friend and chase some Mearns Quail. That morning, the weather took a turn, and the weather-guessers started getting all riled up about “a major storm” moving in. I figured I could at least get a few hours in on some spots and then hit the road. I called my buddy and he said, “I can’t go today, Randy. A friend called and has 30 or so cows he hasn’t messed with all year that need branding before the State finds out they are not. I need to go help him. I don’t think they’ve seen a human in months. This should be good. Why don’t you come by?” And, just like that, this middle Georgia redneck became a cowboy.
I bundled the dogs in the back of the truck and drove to the ranch house. I only knew one guy there. I was the guy with hunting boots and no cowboy hat. It was colder than a well-digger’s back pocket and the wind kept increasing. The storm was supposed to arrive in earnest around noon. Even with all that, I was surprised at the number of people there, especially the women and children. The cowboys brought their wives and children- even some four, five, and six year olds. The little girls had dresses, hats, and cowboy boots and the boys were all carbon copies of their dads- even down to the belt buckles and folding knives. I wasn’t too sure they weren’t chewing something, too. Everyone was bundled up pretty good.
Horses were saddled to push the cows into the chutes, and lariats were unrolled to rope the calves and get them on the ground to vaccinate and brand them- and castrate the males. The women and girls were assigned that task, while the men and boys worked on moving the enclosed adults in to the chutes headed to vaccinations and branding. It was highly organized chaos. All this took place inside a maze of six foot high steel fencing with gates and separate corrals. Everyone,
it seemed, knew what to do- except me. One grizzled veteran, the owner, ambled over to me and handed me a plastic pole. He said it would be helpful if I could stand along the chute, on a ledge, and when told to, tap whatever cow they told me to on the rear end with that short pole to keep them moving. “Be careful with the end of that. It’s got a good punch to it.”
The propane flame started up (I learned later the usual wood fire was deemed impractical in the 30 to 40 mph winds), and the branding irons were laid out to heat up. The horses and riders moved slowly into the large catch pen and began separating the calves and moving the adults in to the chutes. The noise of the cows and calves bawling was constant and loud, until it was just tuned out. I watched one male calf get roped and led in to a separate small corral while a man walked the rope down and picked him up and laid him on his side. Then the cowboy stretched the calf out while lying alongside him and the woman branded him and vaccinated him. Another woman removed what needed removing and sprayed the incisions with antiseptic. The entire operation lasted a few minutes, and the calf was let up and led over to a larger pen and released. I noticed one little cowgirl watch intently as mom performed the procedure, then she started crying and ran away. Mom immediately went to her and picked her up and gave her a hug and set her down with her older sister. Sis took the little one’s hand as they joined mom again. It was ok after that. From top to bottom, the little girl was cowboy hat, thick coat, dress out the bottom, and cowboy boots. She had heart-breaker written all over her. The boys were a little more stoic with hats as big as them and hands in jeans pockets as they followed dad.
Back on the chute, I was dutifully ready with my stick as the line of cows came though the narrow chute one-by-one on the way to the squeeze chute. There they were held while a cowboy applied the brand to their right rear hip. Once that was done, the cow was released into a bigger corral and the next cow was brought up. These cattle had horns wider than the chutes, and it never seemed to be an issue that they would get caught up on gates or each other. But I was careful to pay attention to what was happening around me. Once, a cow stood on her hind legs for a minute before she dropped back into the chute. I noticed that action elicited a few shouts from the cowboys. I was careful to stay out of the way, off the ground, and ready with my little stick. I was happy to be ignored during the seeming confusion and noise, as I took it all in.
Once. a thousand-pound cow wandered in to the calf area with the women and kids. Where she came from, I have no idea, but two cowboys jumped up, opened a gate, and herded her back in to the chutes. Moms and kids never stopped working.
 |
| You lookin' at me? |
The temperature dropped as the day wore on. The calf operation finished and the women and girls disappeared. Clouds thickened and it was obvious snow was coming. The last of the cows were in the chute. I’d been told to tap a few of the cows on their rear a few times to keep them moving. Each time it did the trick. The end was in sight. “Hey, Randy, do you want to brand a cow?” a cowboy yelled over the wind. “Heck yeah!” I yelled as I jumped off my station. I watched a few times up close, then the grizzled guy handed me a poker with the end red-hot. “Push that on the cow and hold it to the count of three. He’s gonna jump some, so don’t let it come off him or move around. Put it right there,” he pointed at a spot on the cow. I did what I was told and noticed two things immediately. One, that cow was huge. Big, Muscled. Two, she didn’t like it. I pulled the branding iron off her side and was handed another. It was a two part brand and had to be put in the proper spot. I applied the second one with confidence as the cow protested a bit. As soon as I pulled the second one off, the squeeze chute opened and the cow came out and, thankfully, kept going. “Great job, cowboy, let’s go get some food!” the grizzled cowboy said. Rapidly, the set up was broken down and put away, and we all drove to the ranch house.
Everyone was inside the warmth of the house. A fire was going strong, the kids were playing, the kitchen was crowded with cooks and pots and pans were moved around. Beer appeared from somewhere and the conversation was constant. The grizzled old cowboy turned out to be the owner of the ranch, from one of the original ranch families on the Llano Estacado in New Mexico. There were sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters present with neighbors and friends sprinkled throughout the group. I was welcomed completely and regaled with tales and stories about ranch life. The stories were all amazing, and I wondered if I wasn’t being played with a bit.
The old man stood up and the house got quiet. He thanked God for the successful branding and keeping everyone safe, and asked for blessings for everyone there, and thank You for the food. We all said “Amen”. When the food came, it was steaks, beans, salad, and mountain oysters. The beer was cold and the house was almost as warm as the fellowship. I realized what a special treat I’d experienced that day.
After dinner, I had to get on the road. The storm was arriving and I had to drive right into the teeth of it before the roads became impassable. Regretfully, I made my goodbyes with the men and women. One young man, maybe six years old, came over, hat low on his eyes. He stuck out his hand, raised his head and looked me in the eye, stuck his hand out, and said, as serious as a judge, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Randy. I hope you come back.” I squeezed his hand a little and said, “I hope so too, son. Thank you.” He nodded that cowboy hat one time and walked away. I glanced up at dad and saw the pride he had in his boy, the future of his ranch.
I got into my truck as a real New Mexico blizzard arrived. The North wind was howling as I pulled onto the two-lane headed to Arizona. Just to be clear, I never did then, nor do I now, consider myself a cowboy. But, I sure saw some real-life cowboys, cowgirls, and ranchers in action. I was warm inside and thankful for what I just experienced. It was a piece of real America.
