Every year, cowboys all over the West look forward to the Spring, where they get to brand the new calves. They drive the cattle in on horseback to a corralled area, separate the cows from the calves, then rope, wrestle, brand, and vaccinate the calves. The smell of burnt calf hair brings the experience all together into one delightful aroma. Or, so the cowboy might say.
For the new guy, the aroma is somewhat less pleasing; it smells a little more like cow crap on his hands and nasty burning hair and flesh smell penetrating everything down to his skivvies. The wind enhanced my experience as "new guy" yesterday, by blowing such an aroma right into my face all day.
My first branding! I didn't know what to expect, who would be there, and how much I might stand out among all the cowboys in their complete get-up. I had heard it was a bunch of fun, lots of food, lots of laughter, just a great celebration of what the Lord had provided for the ranch. Who wouldn't want to go?
Shelly with her camera, and me in carharts, a t-shirt, and a broncos ball cap, arrived shortly after the festivities began. With hundreds of cows bawling gosh awful sounds, and calves screaming bloody murder, we entered the scene by the corrals. Two lines of cowboys, real cowboys, stood at opposite ends of the open corrals, the calves all herded in the circle of corral panels. Two ropers on horseback were attempting, time and again, to rope a calf by the two hind legs and drag them out of the cluster of newborns. As a roper was successful, he drug the calf through the mess of other calves. A cowboy in one line would grab and pull on the rope, while a cowboy from the other line would grab the tail on the calf. Together, they would pull in opposite directions, flipping the calf on its side. Then, in one fluid motion, the two cowboys would get down and pull the calves legs back, keeping it from moving anywhere while another group of cowboys would come with huge needles and shoot up the calves. Then, the brander with the hot iron would come and burn the ranches mark on the side of the calf. As I watched a few calves have this encounter, I figured it might take a little technique, but the cowboys made it look pretty easy. I watched a couple of times, then nervously felt obligated to join the line.
The first couple of calves, I sort of got a hang of it, or so I thought. Calf #3 was a big one, 150 pounds or so, only roped by one leg, fighting for it's life to stay with the other calves. Luckily, I had Clint, the retired professional bull rider, as my partner. I knew I was in trouble as the calf turned sideways and the rope got wrapped around the two of us, the horse still pulling. "Pull the tail! Just pull the tail!" Clint yelled, as I tried to man handle the calf from going anywhere (yeah right). Somehow, we got the calf down, but it all happened so fast, I'm not sure how it happened. Phew! Okay, so I didn't do too well, but the calf was down and no one was hurt. Calf #4 continued with Clint yelling, "pull the tail!" I was pulling the tail until I felt bones cracking and separating, but the bloody calf was still up. a few calves later, it suddenly donned on me that I wasn't just supposed to pull the tail straight back, but away from the calf, thus twisting it to its side as the other guy pulled the rope the opposite way. It helps to use the mind every now and then, to assess the situation and realize the effects of one's cause. The next twenty calves were alright. New guy did his job, no one got hurt, and the cowboys got to thinkin' that maybe it was okay to get new guy as a "pardner." But, apparently new guy didn't fully understand the entire process. Once again, a big calf, roped by one leg, flailing all over the place, hooves flying. I made my move, aiming for the tail and doing my best to pull on it. "Pull the rope!" "Just pull on the rope!" I let go of the tail, grabbing for the rope. The big calf, running wherever it seemed the safest getaway on 3 legs, twisted us up in the rope. It might have well been a bull, the way it was bucking and fighting, throwing its hooves at everyone around it. 4 cowboys got it down eventually, with me still standing there, holding the rope like I was told. A deep breath, no help needed from new guy (obviously), I walked back to the line. Now, this "line" might feel like the line at an amusement park for the cowboy, like a line to get on the next roller coaster ride or something. For me, it wasn't much like that. It was more like "The Green Mile," or something maybe a little less dreadful, but only a little. I stood there, dumbfounded as to why that went so wrong, then came the period of "instruction." "When de calf comes out wit de rope on de right side, if yer on de right side, ya gotta grab de rope. De other guy grabs de tail. So ya cen flip em. It's not about muscle, it's about tekneek." "Yeah, I think I'm a little short on...tekneek." Helpful information? Yup. Could I have used it earlier? Yup. But then it wouldn't be as fun to watch new guy klutz around like a calf trying to walk for the first time. Plus, with new guy around, it makes the other real cowboys feel good about themselves and their abilities. That's why you don't ever tell new guy the best or proper way to do something until after he really messes up, because then it becomes less fun for everyone. One of those important lessons I'm apparently learning.
Anyway, The branding wasn't all that bad. They were right about the good food. Maybe, just maybe, when that aroma of burnt flesh and hair comes again from the hot brand in the springtime, it will smell good to me...but then again, I'm not sure I'll really ever be a real cowboy. I'm still learning how to be a carpenter. That's hard enough.
Shelly had a lot of fun taking pictures and watching new guy entertain everyone. She's already excited to watch new guy again next year...
Side Note: Cowboys are men to be respected and appreciated for what they do.
For the new guy, the aroma is somewhat less pleasing; it smells a little more like cow crap on his hands and nasty burning hair and flesh smell penetrating everything down to his skivvies. The wind enhanced my experience as "new guy" yesterday, by blowing such an aroma right into my face all day.
My first branding! I didn't know what to expect, who would be there, and how much I might stand out among all the cowboys in their complete get-up. I had heard it was a bunch of fun, lots of food, lots of laughter, just a great celebration of what the Lord had provided for the ranch. Who wouldn't want to go?
Shelly with her camera, and me in carharts, a t-shirt, and a broncos ball cap, arrived shortly after the festivities began. With hundreds of cows bawling gosh awful sounds, and calves screaming bloody murder, we entered the scene by the corrals. Two lines of cowboys, real cowboys, stood at opposite ends of the open corrals, the calves all herded in the circle of corral panels. Two ropers on horseback were attempting, time and again, to rope a calf by the two hind legs and drag them out of the cluster of newborns. As a roper was successful, he drug the calf through the mess of other calves. A cowboy in one line would grab and pull on the rope, while a cowboy from the other line would grab the tail on the calf. Together, they would pull in opposite directions, flipping the calf on its side. Then, in one fluid motion, the two cowboys would get down and pull the calves legs back, keeping it from moving anywhere while another group of cowboys would come with huge needles and shoot up the calves. Then, the brander with the hot iron would come and burn the ranches mark on the side of the calf. As I watched a few calves have this encounter, I figured it might take a little technique, but the cowboys made it look pretty easy. I watched a couple of times, then nervously felt obligated to join the line.
The first couple of calves, I sort of got a hang of it, or so I thought. Calf #3 was a big one, 150 pounds or so, only roped by one leg, fighting for it's life to stay with the other calves. Luckily, I had Clint, the retired professional bull rider, as my partner. I knew I was in trouble as the calf turned sideways and the rope got wrapped around the two of us, the horse still pulling. "Pull the tail! Just pull the tail!" Clint yelled, as I tried to man handle the calf from going anywhere (yeah right). Somehow, we got the calf down, but it all happened so fast, I'm not sure how it happened. Phew! Okay, so I didn't do too well, but the calf was down and no one was hurt. Calf #4 continued with Clint yelling, "pull the tail!" I was pulling the tail until I felt bones cracking and separating, but the bloody calf was still up. a few calves later, it suddenly donned on me that I wasn't just supposed to pull the tail straight back, but away from the calf, thus twisting it to its side as the other guy pulled the rope the opposite way. It helps to use the mind every now and then, to assess the situation and realize the effects of one's cause. The next twenty calves were alright. New guy did his job, no one got hurt, and the cowboys got to thinkin' that maybe it was okay to get new guy as a "pardner." But, apparently new guy didn't fully understand the entire process. Once again, a big calf, roped by one leg, flailing all over the place, hooves flying. I made my move, aiming for the tail and doing my best to pull on it. "Pull the rope!" "Just pull on the rope!" I let go of the tail, grabbing for the rope. The big calf, running wherever it seemed the safest getaway on 3 legs, twisted us up in the rope. It might have well been a bull, the way it was bucking and fighting, throwing its hooves at everyone around it. 4 cowboys got it down eventually, with me still standing there, holding the rope like I was told. A deep breath, no help needed from new guy (obviously), I walked back to the line. Now, this "line" might feel like the line at an amusement park for the cowboy, like a line to get on the next roller coaster ride or something. For me, it wasn't much like that. It was more like "The Green Mile," or something maybe a little less dreadful, but only a little. I stood there, dumbfounded as to why that went so wrong, then came the period of "instruction." "When de calf comes out wit de rope on de right side, if yer on de right side, ya gotta grab de rope. De other guy grabs de tail. So ya cen flip em. It's not about muscle, it's about tekneek." "Yeah, I think I'm a little short on...tekneek." Helpful information? Yup. Could I have used it earlier? Yup. But then it wouldn't be as fun to watch new guy klutz around like a calf trying to walk for the first time. Plus, with new guy around, it makes the other real cowboys feel good about themselves and their abilities. That's why you don't ever tell new guy the best or proper way to do something until after he really messes up, because then it becomes less fun for everyone. One of those important lessons I'm apparently learning.
Anyway, The branding wasn't all that bad. They were right about the good food. Maybe, just maybe, when that aroma of burnt flesh and hair comes again from the hot brand in the springtime, it will smell good to me...but then again, I'm not sure I'll really ever be a real cowboy. I'm still learning how to be a carpenter. That's hard enough.
Shelly had a lot of fun taking pictures and watching new guy entertain everyone. She's already excited to watch new guy again next year...
Side Note: Cowboys are men to be respected and appreciated for what they do.
I love how the dog in this picture is just kicking back next to the cowboy. Hmm, or maybe he’s hiding.
ReplyDeleteSo do you think your clothes will ever recover from the stench? Sounds like a horrific slash fascinating day.