Bull Fight

One of the best aspects of ranching is that each of us gets to choose how to manage our livestock our own way.

We all know that there are lots of ways to accomplish the same task.

This is one of the true joys of ranching and we all respect the others’ choices.

My way of doing things doesn’t impact my neighbors and my neighbors’ choices don’t impact mine.

Until they do.

My brother, Roger, my daughter, Abby, and I planned to sort off my yearlings so I could take just some cow-calf pairs to summer pasture while the yearlings stayed home.

This simple task shouldn’t take very long.

But a few of the neighbor’s yearling heifers were mixed in with my herd.

I brought the neighbor’s heifers to my corral with mine. I would haul them back to his house and he said he would fix the fence.

We funneled the herd into the corral, then turned around to watch the neighbor’s bull coming behind us.

I didn’t need him to tear up a fence -- as bulls tend to do -- so I rode up to show the gate to him.

He charged my horse.

I yelled and he backed off, much to my relief.

I realized he had probably never seen a horse before.

My neighbor uses a 4-wheeler to move his cattle.

My top priority changed from herding the bull to staying alive.

While Roger, Abby and I conferred, the bull beelined for the corral, bellowing at my bulls that were in the corral. They were glad to accept his challenge.

We moved my bulls away from the fence while I still had a fence.

Then we loaded the neighbor’s energetic heifers into my trailer and shut the middle door, desperately hoping the sweet young things might bait the bull into the trailer.

That was a naïve dream.

I have two sets of corrals. At the upper corral, I load my trailer through a narrow alley. My loading system at the lower corral is wider, more bull-sized, but far less stout.

I needed that bull in the trailer, but he was too big for the alley at the upper corral.

I had to drive him away from the cows and down to the lower corral.

He charged my horse again.

This was getting serious.

I don’t own a 4-wheeler so I decided I could sacrifice my flatbed pickup.

Roger drove, Abby rode shotgun and I stood on the back, ready to swat the bull with a long rope.

Pickups don’t maneuver as tightly as bulls.

Roger stepped out to turn the bull.

The bull charged at him.

Roger’s inner beast manifested in assertive driving.

As we encouraged the bull with the truck bumper, we hollered to one another, discussing how to actually capture him.

Maija the milk cow, grazing contentedly on green grass, rescued us.

At 15 years old, Maija is more sack-of-bones than beauty queen, but she caught the bull’s eye.

I jumped on my horse and guided Maija into the lower corral.

That sneaky bull followed her.

Ever so slowly we maneuvered bovines until the bull stepped into the trailer.

Then Abby spotted another heifer in my herd.

I had missed one.

Darn it.

I wanted to load her with the bull.

The bull wanted out.

We sorted the heifer toward the trailer, slamming various gates behind her.

Roger reached into the trailer to turn the bull away. Abby and I opened the trailer door.

The heifer slipped in before the bull slipped out.

We all sighed a breath of relief.

Nobody died.

I’m still not going to buy a 4-wheeler.

I suspect my neighbor won’t buy a horse.

That’s the glory of independent ranching.