Dodgeball with a Porcupine
Last Sunday morning, I saddled my horse and smiled at the lack of wind.
As the warm sun helped me decide to shed my sweatshirt, I had to remind myself that this is October.
My morning job was to gather a few pairs and steers.
The calves would learn to live without mother’s milk.
The steers would take a trailer ride to the processor.
After all, it is October and time to fulfill my promises to beef customers.
I ambled east, toward the sun.
About a mile from the corral, I watched a coyote trot down into the coulee, then stop and sit on a little knoll.
From 500 yards away, I rode straight toward him.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t carrying a rifle, but I wanted to see how close I could get.
He glanced at me unconcerned.
Finally, at 50 yards, he bolted, racing across the coulee and up the other side.
I watched him leave, then circled around the pairs and steers I wanted.
I cut out what I needed and eased them toward the corral.
They didn’t want to leave their friends.
A few suspenseful minutes and a few giddy turnbacks convinced them that the corral was their true friend.
As I swept from side to side in the back of my little bunch, I spotted some short white stripes along the noses of a couple of steers.
My steers are black.
White stripes do not belong on their noses.
A closer look revealed a lost battle with a porcupine.
One steer had quills on the left side of his nose; the other steer boasted quills on his right side.
The movie in my mind showed curious teenagers circling a waddling pricklebush, oblivious to body language warnings.
I bet they don’t try that game again.
While my bunch of cattle headed for the corral, I made a quick circle to see if any other steers had played dodgeball with the porcupine.
Apparently, only these two enjoyed the fun.
My brother, Roger, helped me catch each prickly steer in the chute.
I splashed some vinegar on the first nose, caught it with my nose tongs and went to work with my pliers.
The sharp quills came out easily.
The second steer rebelled against the consequences of dodgeball with a porcupine.
His eyes watered when he pulled against the nose tongs tied to the side of the chute.
When I broke off a quill and Roger had to go find his needle-nose pliers, the poor steer rocked the chute with his jerking.
I got the quill out of his nose and released the head-catch.
Luckily, the steer threw himself backward instead of bolting out forward.
That’s when Roger spotted more prickly stripes on the steer’s ankle.
I slammed the chute closed before splashing more vinegar on the ankle quills.
As I kneeled on the ground, I hoped the steer wouldn’t kick my teeth out.
One by one, I reached between his legs and pulled out the quills.
The steer didn’t flinch.
Until we let him out of the chute.
He jumped into the lamb lot where I am weaning the lambs.
That pen certainly is not designed to hold yearling cattle.
If he jumped again, all of my lambs would escape with him.
We eased around him.
He dashed for another corner.
Before he could decide on an escape route, we circled in front of him.
He dashed around to a few more corners before spotting the open gate that led to his friends.
An hour later, all of them were lolling in the warm sun, chewing their cud.
No short white stripes were in sight. The coyote and the porcupine are still out there somewhere.