Moving Cows to Pasture

I get to move my cows to summer pasture today.

I’m taking them to this pasture later than I usually do.

At the beginning of June, the grass was still brown and I wondered if it were even worth it to graze this pasture this year.

Now, the grass has finally greened up so the cows will have something to eat for a couple of months.

The pasture is in a beautiful valley with a creek flowing through it, but it doesn’t border the rest of the ranch.

I’m a planner and this requires some planning.

Usually those planning sessions occur from 1 to 3 am over several nights.

This job is one of my favorite summer tasks, but there’s a distinct possibility that I over-think it.

My daughter, Abby, my apprentice, Hannah, a couple of friends and I will saddle up for the morning ride.

Any time a saddle is involved, the day will be good.

But a few things might go wrong.

I know this because they have before.

My pasture isn’t far away, but it is surrounded by my neighbors’ pastures so I move my cattle through their cows.

A neighbor’s cows might be in my pasture.

Their pasture is on rolling hills and includes two water gaps at the creek so their cows can drink.

The creek rises and falls so keeping a stout fence between my cows and theirs is an ongoing challenge.

Having water at the bottom of a hill while the grass is at the top never compliments natural bovine behavior.

A rational bovine brain will step across barbed wire to enjoy grass at that is just right there.

After all, none of us wants to walk up a steep hill with a belly tanked full of water.

My cows find a reason to visit their pasture, too, so we all work together to keep our brands where they belong.

Yesterday, Abby, Hannah and I chased some visitors back to their own side of the fence and fixed a hole.

I worry about finding visitors again today.

We will be moving cows with calves so we will invoke some artistry to keep the herd bunched together yet moving slowly enough so the calves know where their mamas are.

If a calf loses sight of his cow, he will instinctively go back to the last place he nursed, even if that place is through three gates behind him.

The cows know they are about to get to new grass so, like every mother with a child clinging to her leg, they get distracted with a vision of freedom in the land of plenty.

Distracted cows and frightened calves require attention from the saddle.

I worry about the attention span of inexperienced, chatty riders.

As we move my little bunch through the neighbor’s pasture, we could attract some of his cattle.

Then the fast fun of keeping the two herds separate begins.

The only boundaries are half-buried barbed wires from long-ago fences.

None of the cows – mine or theirs – seem to worry about bogeymen barbs grabbing at their ankles, but last year, I watched my friend’s horse drag 100 yards of barbed wire with his hind hoof.

It wasn’t pretty.

This memory creates a distinct disadvantage in my battle to separate herds.

I don’t know why I worry about all of these potential challenges.

They all have occurred before and I’ve fixed the problems.

I’ve rounded up calves to haul them back to their mamas.

I’ve separated herds and fixed fences.

Today, I promise myself, will be different.

I’ll pack water and enjoy the view from my saddle.

Maybe I’ll sleep well tonight.

Unless my brain decides to over-think my next project.

Hmmm. I wonder if I have enough tin to patch that steep roof.