He’s the hardest worker I’ve ever seen. He is up before the sun is and doesn’t rest until everyone else is safe in their beds. On hot days, he will jump into a tank for a dip.
His name is Spud and he is a ranch dog.
He helps round up cattle on foot. Spud runs from the front of the herd to the back, barking and biting at the cows to get them to move faster. He knows how cows act when you are behind them or if you stand in front of them. He has taken down coyotes, rabbits and anything else that moves that comes too close to the house. He greets people by dancing around them before collapsing on his back for a belly run in the sun.
With all the running he does, he still weighs almost a hundred pounds. His back is so wide you could balance a tray full of drinks on him.
Lately, he is becoming too old, tired and big to do the long cattle drives. A younger dog named Hank will soon step into Spud’s spot of lead ranch dog and Spud will retire in the shop. It’s bittersweet to take a different dog on a cattle drive and coax Spud into staying in the shop. He had already tried to jump on the truck twice to come along.
This weekend, Spud hung around my feet as I doctored a cow that had been mauled by coyotes. The rest of the family had gone to round up calves to be branded. Spud tried to follow them and I yelled after him. He came back reluctantly and was on pins and needles until the rest of the crew came back.
After about 20 minutes of passing back and forth through different corals, a small herd of cows came over a hill with my mother-in-law and husband behind them. Spud’s tail began wagging like he was just presented a big pile of deer guts, his favorite treat. He danced around me until the cows passed us and went into the corral. My husband and mother-in-law took off over the hill on their four-wheelers and Spud ran after them at full speed. I yelled for Spud but he never looked back. He was on a mission to help. His tail zigzagged between the tall weeds and brush.
A few minutes later, he came back down the hill at a much slower pace. He collapsed at my feet and I told him to stay. He repeated his gallop up the hill two more times. Every time he came back slower and panting heavier. He tried so hard but never did catch up with the rest of the crew and the cow herd.
During the weekend branding, Spud lay in the middle of the corral, fast asleep. After a pair of calf testicles were tossed his way, he would open one eye and gobble them up. He never moved, only to get under a truck when it started to rain.
It made me realize how much the ranch is a part of Spud and how much Spud is a part of the ranch. He is stubborn and wants to help even when his body is telling him to just stay in the sun with his belly pointed up for any passerby to scratch. I don’t think he will ever stop helping, it’s in his blood to help out. Spud could never get enough love and praise for the work he does. He is the definition of ‘man’s best friend.’
Sunday, May 3, 2009
A really gross, but funny story
Let me set the scene for you. It’s Saturday morning, 40 degrees and cloudy. I’m wearing my torn coveralls, boots and I hadn’t combed my hair since the night before. I was grumpy, cold and tired. We were branding and castrating 125 ornery calves.
“Hey Sarah,” called my sister-in-law, “come see this, but plug your nose.” Being the curious person I am, I wandered over to where she was sitting on top of a calf.
As I got closer I noticed a baseball size growth on the side of the calf’s mouth. “What the hell is that?!??!” I said.
My father-in-law held the calf down and cut open the growth, the calf bawling and kicking. He proceeded to squeeze the growth until a nasty looking pus/blood mixture came oozing out. My mother-in-law screamed, “hey, does that smell?”
I was thinking, why on God’s green earth would anyone smell this oozy crap coming out this nasty growth? Who cares what it smells like, no one is going to put their nose close enough to that nastiness to smell it.
But sure enough, my father-in-law leaned over from his stance over the calf and smelled it. “Nope, it don’t smell, we’re good.”
I later learned that if it ‘smelled’ it would mean the calf would receive heavy medication. Still, I ain’t smellin’ no calf pus.
I stood there about 5 feet away from this disgusting scene as my father-in-law squeezed the living crap out of this growth. All of a sudden, pus shot out of it like a cannon on the Fourth of July. The pus flew clear across the coral, about 10 feet, and a big wad of it hit me straight in the forehead.
My knees went weak as I wiped that crap off faster than you can say the word pus.
Later, my father-in-law told me I should have wiped it off my forehead and licked it to see if it was the pus or just a raindrop. I about puked.
I looked across the coral and a stream of white pus could be seen on top of wet cow turds and mud. My husband pointed to the stream of pus and said, “let’s not wrestle right there.”
I laughed and five minutes later I was sitting in it holding another calf down.
Later, I remembered my sister-in-laws warning. Next time, I’ll bring a shield.
“Hey Sarah,” called my sister-in-law, “come see this, but plug your nose.” Being the curious person I am, I wandered over to where she was sitting on top of a calf.
As I got closer I noticed a baseball size growth on the side of the calf’s mouth. “What the hell is that?!??!” I said.
My father-in-law held the calf down and cut open the growth, the calf bawling and kicking. He proceeded to squeeze the growth until a nasty looking pus/blood mixture came oozing out. My mother-in-law screamed, “hey, does that smell?”
I was thinking, why on God’s green earth would anyone smell this oozy crap coming out this nasty growth? Who cares what it smells like, no one is going to put their nose close enough to that nastiness to smell it.
But sure enough, my father-in-law leaned over from his stance over the calf and smelled it. “Nope, it don’t smell, we’re good.”
I later learned that if it ‘smelled’ it would mean the calf would receive heavy medication. Still, I ain’t smellin’ no calf pus.
I stood there about 5 feet away from this disgusting scene as my father-in-law squeezed the living crap out of this growth. All of a sudden, pus shot out of it like a cannon on the Fourth of July. The pus flew clear across the coral, about 10 feet, and a big wad of it hit me straight in the forehead.
My knees went weak as I wiped that crap off faster than you can say the word pus.
Later, my father-in-law told me I should have wiped it off my forehead and licked it to see if it was the pus or just a raindrop. I about puked.
I looked across the coral and a stream of white pus could be seen on top of wet cow turds and mud. My husband pointed to the stream of pus and said, “let’s not wrestle right there.”
I laughed and five minutes later I was sitting in it holding another calf down.
Later, I remembered my sister-in-laws warning. Next time, I’ll bring a shield.
Housecleaning
Housecleaning is a thorn in my side. It pesters me in the early mornings when I wake up and trip over laundry and trash that needs to be taken outside. It also greets me when I get home from work at night. It’s like man’s best friend, or not.
I am by no means a slob, just ask my husband. In fact, he thinks I am obsessive when it comes to being clean. I give him dirty looks when he has more than one pile of ‘to dos’ on his desk. I run around the house like a mad woman when I clean, wiping every surface and vacuuming every corner. I can’t stand clutter and I can’t stand mess.
So, once again, I am linking to an old Dave Barry column about housecleaning. (By damn, I think I relate my life to Dave Barry columns…..good grief. Can you say ‘obsessed reader?’ Haha.) I love his practical homemaker tip of putting baking soda in the refrigerator. Check it out.
The column reminds me of when my husband I were first married (don’t I sound old now?). I mean, like the first month he and I were married when we were still learning all the quarks about each other. I put baking soda in the microwave one morning after we made the easy-cheesy microwave bacon. My husband pulled the tiny bowl out of the nuker and looked at me with a severely puzzled look. “How long should I set this for??”
I about fell off my chair laughing.
“No honey, it’s just to absorb the smell.”
“Oh.” And with an even bigger puzzled look he put it back in the nuker and closed the door.
Another thing we learned fast about each other was who puts the laundry in the washer and who folds it. Our first load of laundry consisted of the following:
My husband so lovingly tossed the whole basket of laundry in the washer and turned hot water on. I flipped out. The jeans were with the kitchen towels and they were with my nice dress clothes and his dirty work clothes were right next to my undies. No!!!!! I quickly explained the color coded system I grew up with. Darks, lights, towels, jeans. Darks, lights, towels, jeans. I feverishly pulled all the laundry out of the washer and selected a few pairs of jeans to start.
Long story short, I start the laundry and he finishes by folding it. Teamwork everyone, it’s a wonderful thing.
After being married almost a year (whoo hoo!) I thought I had learned all my husband’s quarks. Nope. I don’t think I will ever stop learning about the way he does things or the way he doesn’t do certain things (like the way he can walk by the trash bag sitting by the door). It’s all just a fun part of marriage!
I am by no means a slob, just ask my husband. In fact, he thinks I am obsessive when it comes to being clean. I give him dirty looks when he has more than one pile of ‘to dos’ on his desk. I run around the house like a mad woman when I clean, wiping every surface and vacuuming every corner. I can’t stand clutter and I can’t stand mess.
So, once again, I am linking to an old Dave Barry column about housecleaning. (By damn, I think I relate my life to Dave Barry columns…..good grief. Can you say ‘obsessed reader?’ Haha.) I love his practical homemaker tip of putting baking soda in the refrigerator. Check it out.
The column reminds me of when my husband I were first married (don’t I sound old now?). I mean, like the first month he and I were married when we were still learning all the quarks about each other. I put baking soda in the microwave one morning after we made the easy-cheesy microwave bacon. My husband pulled the tiny bowl out of the nuker and looked at me with a severely puzzled look. “How long should I set this for??”
I about fell off my chair laughing.
“No honey, it’s just to absorb the smell.”
“Oh.” And with an even bigger puzzled look he put it back in the nuker and closed the door.
Another thing we learned fast about each other was who puts the laundry in the washer and who folds it. Our first load of laundry consisted of the following:
My husband so lovingly tossed the whole basket of laundry in the washer and turned hot water on. I flipped out. The jeans were with the kitchen towels and they were with my nice dress clothes and his dirty work clothes were right next to my undies. No!!!!! I quickly explained the color coded system I grew up with. Darks, lights, towels, jeans. Darks, lights, towels, jeans. I feverishly pulled all the laundry out of the washer and selected a few pairs of jeans to start.
Long story short, I start the laundry and he finishes by folding it. Teamwork everyone, it’s a wonderful thing.
After being married almost a year (whoo hoo!) I thought I had learned all my husband’s quarks. Nope. I don’t think I will ever stop learning about the way he does things or the way he doesn’t do certain things (like the way he can walk by the trash bag sitting by the door). It’s all just a fun part of marriage!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
