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March 16, 2001

"People can say whut they want to, but there ain't no better life than ranchin', an' compared to ever' other lifestyle, it still gives you more peace o' mind," my husband remarked recently.

"Why, eben when I was in the bidness big, if I had trouble sleepin' nights, a worryin' the bottom wuz fixin' to fall out, I'd jist count cows—black baldies, tiger stripes, whatever the flavor of the month happened to be—until I'd doze off. Eben when cow prices wuz in the tank, I'd sleep like a baby...."

"Yeah. Seems like I recall you waking up and crying every two hours," I chirped.

Mel ignored my sarcasm and said, "Cattle are therapeutic, the grandest critters God ever made. Half the people on anti-depressants could git off 'em if they'd git 'em some cows."

"And they'd be begging for stronger stuff than that if they were to get ahold of cows like some of them we've owned," I said. "I've got to hand it to you, dear. You really know how to pick them. Talk about contrary..."

Mel gave me his furrowed brow look and countered, "We tawkin' 'bout pickin' cows or women?"

"Anyways, I always did admire a cow with a li'l spunk, a cow with some sense," he continued, "a cow with what I call personality."

"That's what I call bull," I replied. "Those so-called `personable cows' of yours always turned out to be more trouble than they were worth."

"Speakin' of cows with spunk, I remember this ol' milk cow we had when I wuz a kid...I wuz just a wee little boy, an' ever' day, Mama'd send me to the pasture to brang up the milk cows. We had a Shorthorn, an' a old Jersey cow we milked of a evenin'. 'At Jersey cow wuz shore nuff ornery. She had one ol' nub on one side of her head, an' she knew how to use it to keep li'l boys on thur toes. The other cow wuz as gentle as a lamb.

"Anyhow, we had this li'l ol' cur dawg—part Border Collie—an' ever' afternoon, me'n 'at dawg wud fetch the cows together."

Mel paused to chuckle.

"Only thang 'at Jersey cow hated worse'n me wuz 'at dawg. She chased 'at pup with a vengeance. They'd go round an' round, an' after a bit, the dawg would take off runnin' fer the barn. While the mean un was distracted, I'd brang the other cow up.

"I'z about eight an' Roy Lee wuz ten or 'leben. He done the milkin', so he'd be waitin' inside the barn. We had a head chute and a stick. Brother'd put the feed out, open the gate and jump behind it. When he opened the gate, I was far enough I'd jump ahead where the head chute wuz. She didn't want to go in that staunchon, but she thought it was worth it to git a shot at me. I figger the feed was a bonus. Anyhow, I'd jump up in the rafters an' wait while Roy Lee milked her. An' that's the way we caught 'em an' milked 'em ever' day the sun come up an' went down.

"Wouldn't you have been better off with two cows with dispositions like the Shorthorn's instead of having to deal with Miss Congeniality day in and day out?"

"Prob'ly so," Mel sighed, "but it shore would have made an awful borin' story."