The Old Blog in the Desert

Contrary to what Charlie Russell said, not everything can be done from the back of a horse. As a rule I tried to stay away, far away from the feed lot and pens when this subject of checking cows for pregnancy came up.

In fact I would much rather be out pounding out holes for fence posts rather than have my Uncle look at me and tell me I had the duty.

He would give it to me because I was usually not fast enough to disappear like my cousins and I stood a good four inches taller than him. It was the height that made me the logical choice as he hated using a step stool.

That and the fact I was a teenager and half afraid of my Uncle anyway.

So without argument I would fetch the long plastic sleeve, which was more like a glove as suddenly one of my cousins would reappear. That one cousin would drive the cow into the chute and my Uncle would clamp the gate shut, effectively trapping the animal in the small space.

It would then be my turn to go to work. Here I will spare the fine details other than to say my arm disappeared inside the cow for a few seconds to confirm or deny the existence of a calf.

It was during this times that the cow had her greatest opportunity to off load on the cowboy standing behind her. It is difficult to escape a defecating cow with one’s arm shoved up its posterior.

After several years of research (meaning having checked several hundred cows and been crapped on in the process) I have figured out that the animal just can’t help it. There is something about the act of being checked that causes some sort of stimulation.

Once this stimulation occurs, it’s all over but the feces, odor and the cursing. There is also the dread of seeing a cow eat just before the big check is about to happen.

It’s at that moment I wished I had become a CPA and taken up city-living. I have also learned that it is worse when the cow feeds on green grass.

By the time the shooting match is over, I’ll look like a side of guacamole.