Tuesday = Sale Day.

This post is to give you a glimpse of what exactly my hard-working, cattle-loving, bale-making husband was doing last week while the boys and I somehow managed to survive without him. Now I wasn't there, so I don't know how {exact} my "this is how you do it" of the whole "gather, wean, vaccinate, "work", and "push them back into the lower pastures" process" will be, but I'm going to give it a shot.

My husband likes to be clean. Yes, he usually ends up very dirty at the end of any given day - covered in any of the following: grease, dirt, oil, chemical, seed, dust, hay, crap, and straw just to name a few - but honestly, he truly does not enjoy being {dirty}. When he leaves for an overnight trip, or even a three hour trip, he always takes an extra set of clothes. Extra shoes, extra socks, extra jeans, an extra shirt, and even a coat - because you never know when you might get in a pinch.
Right.

His bag, which is really the entire back seat of the pickup, was packed with clothes, boots, hats, coats, a sleeping bag, pillows, and much, much more when he left on Monday morning. Lucky for him none of the rest of us were joining him ... otherwise we would have had to of driven separately ... no joke.
I've learned to not question the amount of items he takes, or what he takes ... I just smile and shake my head, knowing that there will be loads and loads of laundry for me in approximately 6 days, and I'm sure he'll find himself in a pinch. ** Note** He did call on Friday as I was home sick and asked me if I'd bring him another pair of jeans. I hung up.

For the week of "gathering," Karl's cabin is inhabited by two Lonesome Dove loving, coffee drinking, cattle barons. (and Jack and Jill)
They rise early in the cool mornings, stoke the fire, drink some coffee, and wait for daylight. The horses are saddled, their spurs are slipped on, and off they go into the hundreds (or maybe it's thousands) of acres on which our cattle and their calves roam. The first day Ian rode 26 miles, got lost at least 4 times, and found only eight cows. Not a good sign. But each day got better.
Each evening, they shower, discuss the mishaps of the day, make a game plan for the next day, head to elk camp to "pillage" ... is that even a word?? Ian insists it is and can't believe I don't know what he's talking about ... and watch a little Lonesome Dove before falling asleep in the cabin.

Each day, a new pair of pants, and clean shirt is put on (even if the one from the day before wasn't that dirty, a new one is necessary) ... because you never know who might see you on your horse in the middle of the forest. The daylight hours are spent searching for cows and calves, soaking in the beauty of the area we are blessed to have our cattle graze (thank you Karl), and "pushing" those red and black pairs toward home.

Wednesday is weaning and shipping day. The babies (not so little anymore) are vaccinated and then loaded onto the trucks parked in and around the pens to be taken to Terrell's for a month. Calves and cows are bawling. Now, again I know I wasn't there, but the sound of a mother being separated from her calf only needs to be heard once to remember for a lifetime. It's bitter-sweet & is a sound that has to happen. It's a day that is full of sweat, blood, and muscle.

Thursday is when the cows are "worked" and "preg-checked" ... and the cattleman hope and pray that the bulls had been busy over the late spring and early summer months. The pregnant mamas are given the opportunity to "roam" the mountains another month, but the "open" ones are loaded up and brought home. Some years there are just a couple, other years, there are more. This year, Whitey joined them.

Whitey is Mason's favorite cow. Every day last winter he would search the group for Whitey and quickly check to see if Whitey had had her baby ... and right up until the end of calving season, Whitey had not had her baby. The day she did, we had a party!!

When Ian called me on Saturday as he was bringing a load of cows home, he mentioned that Whitey was open. 5 years ago I would have thought Whitey was a store, but on Saturday just this last week, I knew exactly what it meant. Whitey was going to the sale.

Ian: I've gotta drop a load off at Karl's. Then I'll be home. Oh yeah, Whitey's open.

Me: No way. Are you sure.?

Ian: Um. yeah. Did you want to check?

Me: No. That stinks Ian. (long pause) Do you have to sell her?

Ian: Well, she's open. (long pause) Do you think Mason will notice?

Me: Yes he'll notice. The only cow that has ever been named is Whitey ... it's his.

Ian: Well, we'll see. Tuesday is still a few days away. (long pause) I'll talk to him.

** Later that night **

Ian: Mas - should we sell Whitey?

Mason: no.

Ian: well, Whitey isn't going to have a baby.

Mason: Yes she is.

Ian: no, she's not. I checked her and she's open.

LONG PAUSE & some staring off into the distance by both "men"

Ian: Should we sell her?

Mason: yep. she's open.

End of discussion.

I so wanted to say something. Something about the picture Mason has of Whitey. Something about his favorite cow being Whitey. Something. But I didn't. I just sat there in disbelief that my 3 year old understood what "open" meant (or at least he acted like he did).

So today... Tuesday ... is sale day. Ian left early this morning to get a load of "open" ladies. Just as he was about to shut the door, I asked, "Are you taking Whitey? ... there's always next year ...."

His reply: I don't know ... and then he just smiled and kissed me goodbye.

So later this morning, when the sun starts to make it's way over the Blues, Whitey may stay at Karl's home pasture ... or she may arrive at the sale.

And today, I learn one more thing about life as the wife of a cattleman and the mother of a future cattleman. It's not easy being me, but I keep telling myself, "someone has to do it - so it might as well be me... and I might as well enjoy it!"

** Note to self: Thank God that I'm not a cow, because today - I'd be going to the sale.