Last weekend we took our cows out west where I grew up. From here, it’s a four hour ride in a car…a six hour ride for a cattle pot and truck and trailer with seven people packed into the crew cab. Saturday was one long hectic day. But it was one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time, because to me it meant going home.
I’ve been going to a lot of cattle sales lately, at the local auction barn. Inevitably, there are two or three horses there every week, and I’m always curious at what they bring. I wonder why they were brought there, and where they are going after that final winning bid. It always makes me wish I had multiple pastures and unlimited funds so that I could take them home with me.
I was at the cattle auction last Friday watching our feeder heifers sell when I got a text message from my brother-in-law that said, “You haven’t been checking on your adopted calf lately, have you?” I panicked, thinking maybe it was dead. “No, why? Is it sick?” I typed back. “Emaciated, lethargic, and has a runny nose and scours,” he replied. Great….I had quit checking on the mama cow, several days earlier, thinking she had adopted it and was caring for it. Evidently not.
