Out Damned Spot!

There is an unspoken rule to working cows: the one you want will be in the middle of the herd, head down so her tag doesn’t show.  That way you can only guess which of the black or red hides belongs to her. And the cow in the lead will go the wrong direction. She will probably have spots and hold her tags high and proud because, quite frankly, she’s the Gloria Steinem of cows and she needs you like a fish needs a bicycle. She might wear a brand other than the one you put there. It might say ‘WILD BI7CH’. Just sayin’.

And the cow directly in front of you will be old and in no big hurry to get anywhere. Her tail swats at flies and occasionally at your horse’s muzzle.

Your horse is not amused.

Somewhere along the way, Spot Face High Head Wild Bi7ch lines out at a 45* angle away from the trail. After a few seconds, the next cow in line looks around. You can actually see the bubble of thought forming between her ears. If she can leave, I can leave, too.

Rebellion spreads like the ebola virus.

So you give the slowpoke in front of you one last disparaging Hah and set out at a high lope to cut off Spot Face. She senses you are coming and angles back in, her expression as pure as the driven snow. But alas, behind you, the slow one has now drifted to a stop. You reverse gears and head back to pick up drag. She trots obligingly for a few steps, then slows back to a crawl.

The only variation to this rule is in spring when the calves are on the ground. They sprout out of the herd at all kinds of crazy angles, like wild hairs from an old man’s ears.

If you are a man, you dip snuff and swear.

If you are a mom you just think you’re dang lucky not to be doing laundry.

Over the river and through the woods, to the steel gate you go. When you get there, you do a quick count. One short. Which one?

I’ll let you guess.

Nary a spotted face in sight.

Thoughts enter your mind. Shooting, hanging, carnivorous thoughts.

Backtrack. There she is. Standing behind a tree with only the end of her spotted tail exposed.

She turns her head and gives you the look. You make a mental note of her tag number: she will be going to the sale barn soon. But when you get home and check the records, you see she’s already on the list of ‘to sell’ cows. She’s been on there for years. Apparently, the only reason she hasn’t already been disposed of is that she disappears whenever it’s time to haul them to the sale barn.

At this point, you realize she’s actually smarter than you. She probably has a nice home somewhere with a calendar featuring pictures of cowgirls doing stupid things and hunky bulls flexing muscles at the camera.

And you put a star by her tag number with a note: WILD BI7CH.