A year ago, last month, we had received approximately 15 inches of rain.  Last month we were at 5 inches.

A year ago, last month, the four-wheeler wasn’t running right, and the only way we could get it to run was to take the airbox completely off.  I had a lot more power that way, and it definitely had a throatier sound.  But I didn’t like running it much that way because the dust could be sucked straight into the engine.

A year ago, last month, the sweet daughter and Bryce had just finished a corral in the pasture where we normally ran our spring purchase.

A year ago, last month, the corn was at much the same stage it is now, tasseled and close to 9 feet tall.

A year ago, last month, we hadn’t had nearly as many hot days as we have had this year, but we still had experienced some low hundreds for temperatures.

A year ago, last month, Bryce was newly engaged, not that it necessarily made such a huge difference, and then again, maybe it did.

A year ago, last month, I told Lex, Bryce, and my good wife at the supper table that I wanted to gather the calves in off the pasture and into that new corral, bring them to our corral, and have them ready to ship by the next day since the grass was about grazed off.

I got out there on the four-wheeler and started them all moving in the direction of the new corrals.  I had Bryce in his truck down below and west of the corrals that I was moving northward towards.  Lex was in my truck, not as far below and to the north of the corrals.  I was hoping that once they encountered Bryce’s talkative diesel and the front on, lights on approach of my truck, they might veer from north to east and if they did that, then the three of us would form a moving fence behind them that would funnel them up against the hot wire fence on the south side, and the rails and open gate of the corral on the north side.

They all got started easily enough, and it wasn’t long before we had a quarter mile of blacks in twos and threes, some kicking up their heels to the sky, others twisting their tails straight up and running in short bursts around each other.  I sat back for a bit and got a feeling that I thought could have been akin to that of the wild west and a good summer’s evening drive towards Dodge City, or maybe even as far as Abilene.

But things kept moving along, and I knew I couldn’t sit back for long or I’d lose the show.  They moved on over the hill, met Bryce and turned as I hoped.  We three eased in behind them as they neared the corrals and started bunching up.  I motioned to the other two to let up on pressure and we all sat back about 100 yards behind them as they grouped up in a tight, slow-moving circle. 

In a few minutes, a couple of them saw the gate and moved through, and less than a minute later, all 150 head were in the corral and we skittered up there swung the gate shut.

Even though the sun was only fifty feet above the dusty horizon, Bryce and I hooked on to the gooseneck and got started ferrying those heifers to the home corral where we had a load out system that worked better than the one we were at.

We fell into an easy, on again off again conversation as we loaded and unloaded.  I could tell from the small twitches at the edge of his mouth that he was messaging someone down in Florida, namely his betrothed.  We chatted about their family and ours, what was the same and what was different.  I listened to a discourse given by some man on what hymn style music was and what constituted proper emotion in music when Bryce and I weren’t talking back and forth. 

I had been jumping out when we got to our place and opening the gate of the trailer to offload the calves.  It was getting dark, and I told Bryce this would be our last load; I would chain things up at the corral we had been loading out of, and he could go kick that last load out and close things up at home.  We met back at the house, and I checked my count with his as to how many we had here, and it agreed at 111.

It had been a hot, dusty evening and the shower felt good.  I dropped into bed and was soon oblivious to the occasional bellow and general shuffling noise of 444 hooves moving here and there in the dark.  In the morning, we’d go get the few odd head left at the other corral and be ready to ship the next day.

I awakened early for some reason that next morning and rolled over to look at my phone.  “Strange,” I thought, “to have a missed call this early.  I’ll quick see who it is and maybe catch another hour of sleep.”

My missed call was from a man who was driving by a half mile south of our place and had encountered some calves on the road with what he thought might be our brand.

Okay.  So I didn’t find that next hour of sleep. 

What I did find, as I walked dazedly out to the corral, was the bottom gate hanging open, smiling jauntily at me, and one, again, only one calf moving around in circles like she was lost, looking for her mates.

All but one. Gone. 

For an insane moment, I thought of swinging the gate wide and urging her out to join the rest.

For the next hour, the daze I had walked out to the corral in pretty much enveloped me and rendered me speechless.  I remember my good wife calling me and asking me what she should do, and I replied that, “I really don’t know.  This thing is too enormous for me, I can’t even think.”

I took a picture of our brand and posted it on my status and asked that if anyone saw our calves they should call or message Jan, since I figured I’d be to busy to take calls.

And that’s when the unthinkable happened.

People started showing up on four-wheelers and pickups.  I was south of our place about ¾ of a mile working with a group of around 30, slowly edging them back to our place.  But then they spooked because of a loud four-wheeler coming by with a neighbor man on it moving a couple of ours back to our place.  They broke through a hot wire fence and got in our neighbor’s pasture.  I quickly cut juice to the fence and repaired it to hold them there for the time being.

There was a group of 40-50 farther south that a couple of guys were easing back our way and doing a fine job of it, when over the hill popped a guy in a truck that didn’t know of what was going on.  He was going at a good rate of speed and the resulting skid to slow down and quick move to the side of the road spooked the whole group into a field of standing corn.  There was no way of finding them in there.  We’d have to wait until they made their way out.

In ones and twos, sometimes threes, others were found here and there, the farthest being about two miles from the home corral and herded slowly back this way.

Things were getting to where it looked like I could break away to see about those in the neighbor’s pasture.  I eased my air filterless four-wheeler over there and saw that a few more of ours had joined, making it a group of about 40 of ours and 13 of the neighbors. 

There was a set of panels there, otherwise written about in a post called ‘Brahma Cowboying’, that I was familiar with.  But these girls were extremely edgy.  And it was a set of panels sort of out in the middle of 120 acres with really no wing setup up to ease them down and in.  And besides, it was just me out there.

I changed the position of a few of the panels to make a straight line on one side of a very small 10-foot opening into the main part of the panel corral.  The other side was more rounded.  I employed all the Bud Williams cattle moving savvy I had and started riding at a right angle to them in long sweeps back and forth, slowly moving in closer against them.

I prayed fervently.

They were jumpy, cagey, and in an unfamiliar pasture with an unfamiliar set of corrals. 

Every notion of common sense said it wouldn’t work.

I started them a little more to the rounded side of the approach and they began following it around to the opening.  I had to resist every urge within me to put a shove on them.  In fact, the closer they got to the opening, the farther away I started riding flank on them until I was far enough away, they really weren’t paying me any mind. 

I shut the four-wheeler off and waited. 

After about 5 minutes of sniffing and jostling around the opening, one or two ventured in.  A few had wandered on down the straight side of the panels, and I figured they were gone for the time being.  I knew if I tried to bring them back, I’d mess with the others.  But they saw their cronies moving in the opposite direction and turned around to join all the rest in the enclosure. 

I could hardly drive up to close the gate, I was shaking so bad.

But I knew one thing for sure.  It wasn’t me who had penned those cattle.  I’m sure the ringing in my ears from the high strain on my nerves prevented me from hearing the wings of those come to my aid out there in that lonely pasture.  But I know they were there, just the same.

After that, it was a simple matter of sorting off the neighbors’ heifers, loading ours out and trailering them back home.

It was becoming unmercifully hot.  By a little after noon, it looked like most that could be found had been, including quite a number of those that had spooked into the corn field.  The last ones coming in had ran hard and were foaming badly.  I told the guys that we needed to stop; we’d kill them if we kept driving them in this heat.

We gathered for lunch around two, a worn out, overheated, glazed-eye bunch.  Austin and his new bride were soon to arrive with a load of sod that had to be laid yet that day or it would perish without getting water on it.  Those younger than me recovered quickly and offered to go whack that job out.

Later that evening, we got a few more calls of ones and twos and by the time we had them back home, a final count showed us missing some 10-13 head out of the original 111.

The next day, we got a call with several more calves spotted about 7 miles from home.  I knew if we didn’t get them quickly, we’d be had, as they were moving south at a good clip.  Again, I was helpless to help.  I was on the truck hauling the first load of the runaways to the sale and a good 100 miles from home.  But the neighbors pitched in again and after roping and dragging a couple of them in managed to bring them back also.

This left 3 or 4 unaccounted for.  We knew where a couple were last seen and decided to see if they would show after a few days.  They did, in another neighbor’s pasture and he offered to let them run with his until he gathered his. 

In the end, one died due to heat exhaustion.  It was one of those they had to rope and drag in, so had we not caught it that way, we would have lost it anyways due to it leaving the country. 

The rest all brought a good price, and four of them are still on the place today with little calves by their sides; we were going to save some back anyways and they fit the description as well as any.  For quite a while they were rather jumpy, to say the least. 

Two things hang fire in my mind about that episode.

How can a person ever thank their neighbors sufficiently in a deal like that?

And I really wonder how the man who bought them at the sale the next day faired with them. 

Then again, maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that.

I looked back in my gallery to see if I still had the photo I took that morning to set on my status.  I see I do, and it looks like I took it over in the neighbor’s field.  I didn’t see until today, the silhouette of another of our calves standing near, on the flank of the first one. 

As I tell the boys, “It’s all about making memories.”

Although I would hope my neighbors don’t think I’m saying that flippantly.

A year ago, last month, we lost all but one, and in the end, found all but one.