The Witching Hour

Our week that had been fairy planned out took a real twist with the call from the farm at Brookings needing an emergency bull delivery after the sire they were using sustained an injury and is out of breeding commission for at least two months.

We shuffled our schedule around and freed up the pickup from any other duties like hauling firewood bundles or trips to the farm store, then we began shuffling the bulls around to get #58 out of the crowd of nine that are in the bull pen. We had to move gates around in the show barn in order to make a pen for the temporary hold before loading the next day, then we opened the proper gates between the bull pen and the show barn and began to sift. Many times critters move better with a friend or two along, we didn’t really want the whole bunch dancing their way through the melting frosty grass making big footy prints. When we started to round up #58 with the younger #101 we were surprised when #101 backed up just before walking through the open gate and so #58 moved all by himself toward the show barn.

By the time Mike and I got the gates closed behind us and walked to the barn, #58 was already inside the correct pen. All I had to do was close the gate and secure it with a chain, a latch and a second gate to inhibit the thoughts of escape. #58 seemed perfectly content to check out the pen and was eager to eat in peace without all the jostling that goes on during the feeding times in the bull pen. With #58 in a secure and comfortable location, Mike would move the pickup with stock trailer into place early the next morning for loading before taking off down the highway.

We finished up the evening chores at the bull barn, the show barn, in the nursery field and with what remains of the main herd, and all looked fine. We settled in to an evening at the house and an early bedtime for us humans.

Two hours before the wake-up alarm, the bulls in the bull pen were making a tremendous racket. This happens to be the closest pasture to our bedroom and the din had us bolting upright and slapping on clothes as fast as we could. Mike was worried that #58 had gotten lonely in his pen all by himself and may have started the frenzy. With as many layers as I could pull on, the temperature was 27 degrees, and the strongest flashlight I could find, I headed out to the show barn.

At the barn I could see that the two cows, two heifers and the calf 3T were all absent, they were spending their night in comfy piles scattered throughout their pasture. The pen with the three butcher animals were outside and resting quietly in their own pasture. #58 had been all tucked up in a sleeping lump but stood up when I came bursting into the barn area. It was obvious the ruckus was not being caused by any critter from this barn.

Going out to the bull pen next, I fed a couple of bales of hay in the manger so the bulls would step away from along the electric fence and into the barn for an early morning snack. That was when I noticed that the main herd had come across the river in the middle of the night and were taunting the bulls from across the county road. While the bulls were eating, we fired up the Gator and went across to see what the heck was the issue.

When we got to the barn we saw that the mothers and babies from the nursery field were huddled along the side of the barn and bellowing at Plum and Knuckles inside. Plum is very vocal anyway and when she has critters hollering, she tends to holler back. We loaded a bale into the Gator and coaxed the mothers and babies to the far back of the field so they could eat away from the barn area. Inside the barn, we fed Plum since now she had eaten all her hay and was expecting more.

Then we went back over the bridge and rounded up the rest of the main herd that was on the wrong side of the river and shooed them across. By the time everyone was settled down, it was time to get up and get moving for the day.

It seems like the only critter that had not been mixed up with all the commotion was #58 who was calmly waiting for transportation.