Not what you want to find in the frost and fog.
It is calving season again. The time of vigilance and tedium when I am constantly checking the cows and heifers for signs of impending birth. We have twenty first calf heifers that are calving now, having started about 10 days ago. The cow herd shouldn't start until the end of March, but I have been casually watching them because my neighbor's bull jumped the fence last summer and sasheyed around my gals for three and a half hours, and I'm guessing that the bull had good reason to. Actually 'jumped' is too kind a word. He busted the top two wires and broke three fence posts.
Calving season, especially with first calf heifers, means keeping a watchful eye on the herd. I try to check them every five hours; unless it is cold, wet or windy. In those conditions I try for every four hours. This is why I am so tired, and this is even more of a reason why writing these posts will be trying.
Ten of the heifers have calved, and all but three have done so without assistance. Three have required some help. Unfortunately, things went awry with one of the pulls and the heifer managed to break Gary's finger in the ensuing chaos.
This morning I drove out into the maternity pasture to count and check all the new calves. It was quiet, bright, and cold, with light fog lifting, and blue sky occasionally showing through. We had cold fog all day yesterday, and with the temperature staying right at freezing there was a layer of ice coating everything. Driving slowly through the white frosted prairie the black heifers and their calves stood out clearly. In the distance I could see a coyote watching me. Coyotes are common during calving season - they eat calf poop (full of undigested milk) and afterbirth. Counting the calves tags I come up one short. I drive on looking for the curled up mound of a sleeping calf. Then I realize that the coyote is still watching me from the same place. It's not moving away, not running off as they usually do. Shit. When I get to where he was standing I find the thing that ranchers hate the most during this time of year. Death. The loss of a calf.
Now I am really pissed. The carcass is oddly beautiful; a vivid red against the monochrome icy grasses. There is no blood anywhere, just small pieces of bright crimson flesh scattered about, the serenity of the scene belying the violence that proceeded it. The calf's head is intact with its blue black nose and green ear-tag, and the eyes clouded with death; and then right behind the ears such an expertly cleaned skeleton. The line between that new life and that quick death is immediate and arresting.
The coyote has moved about a quarter mile away, but is watching me and waiting for me to leave. I put the remains in my pickup and head home to get my rifle.
I'm mad at myself for not checking the calves sooner and more often. A carcass this clean has been dead for at least a day or two and I instantly feel guilty. I want to blame the coyote, but I don't know if he killed it, or just found it already dead. Either way he has eaten well and will come back. Occasionally, in the past, one or two coyotes have grown too brazen, and Gary or myself will resort to chasing them away and trying to shoot them.
The coyote trail follows the gully that stretches east to west across the section. I drive to the other side, park, grab my binoculars and rifle, and start meandering through the icy grass. I see an eagle in a dead elm. My coveralls are soaked from the knees down. I'm sure the coyote is watching me, and that this is a pointless pursuit, but it is so quiet and peaceful I keep going. The fog and my anger lift as the sun starts to warm up. Finally, I sight the coyote about one half a mile away. At that distance he is in no real danger from me, but I take two shots just to make me feel better. Of course I miss, but I do feel better, and then the sun warms the ice coated barbed wire so slowly that the ice gently peels away without breaking, leaving a clear and frail mimic.
This album on the photo page has more images, but be warned, some of them are rather graphic.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010 at 02:41PM
Reader Comments (8)
My brother the rancher. I am thinking,not the youngster I helped raise in Park HIll and took to movies on Saturday. Always a deep soul and zest for life. Sorry about Gary's finger. LIfe,birth and death are separated by very little indeed. Take care of yourself and see you soon
What a gift you are sharing. Thank you.
OK. so I sent your site to my friend Jackie, a full-time, not fully published, writer in NYC and this is what she shared back to me:
Those pictures are gorgeous, mesmerizing. He’s really got a talent. Interesting lives we all lead…so different, and yet not so different.
Lois and Sue,
Wow. Such beautiful comments. Thanks for sharing the site, and for sharing the responses. I am having great fun so far.
I'm not surprised, but was unaware of the talent in our neighborhood. Whooda thunk it?
hi ned i've seen my first blog !!!!!!! mom
Beautifully written. Thanks for giving the coyote a fair shake. After all, they are just trying to make a living and will eat a natural mortality even more quickly than they will brave stealing a calf away from Momma.
That coyote is a coward.