Assortment

There Now

 

   

 

There now, is that better?

Before We Get Back to Our Regular Programming

I have a question to ask. 

May I do just one more post about Montana?  May I?  May I, please?

Okay!  I thought you might say that!  (For those of you who didn't say that, please check back tomorrow, when we will resume our regular programming.)  After all, springtime on a ranch is all about the calves, and it would be a crime not to give these little guys (and girls) their fair press.  I mean, just look a the fuzzy face of 692 up there, and tell me I can't write one post all about them, too! 

So, springtime on a ranch is all about the calves, and keeping them fed... and well.

 

Speaking of which, its feeding time for the bottle-feeders in the calf barn.  My guy (on the left) is getting the low-down on who needs what from his rancher cousin on the right.  These two grew up on neighboring ranches, and boy, do they have stories to tell.  In fact, Rancher Cousin looks like he might be telling a story right now...

 

Meanwhile, Ranch Girl was getting the bottles ready. 

  

This is Ranch Girl.  She is one of Ranch Cousin's daughters.  She can make a mean bottle of milk replacer, just ask 692 and his buddies. 

 

And, if the milk's a little too warm, the nearby snowbank will help out with that.

 

"All right, who's got the goods?"

 

 

Ranch Girl showed the nine-year-old boy how it's done while I took blurry pictures in a very dim barn.  

 

He and the calf were both sticky before they were done, I wasn't! 

 

This little guy got breakfast in bed.  Standing and walking?  Over-rated.

 

With the bottle-feeders all fed up, it was time to find the newborn who needed an ear tag.

 

It's been a while since my guy ranched for a living, but, like walking, once you've done it most of your life, you never forget how. 

 

Getting closer to the mama with the new calf.  Slowly. Slowly. She could be mean, or she could be nice, and you want to know which before you get too close to her calf.

 

She was nice!

 

Ranch Girl and my guy made quick work of it, while Mama Cow watched and worried a short distance away.

  

Hey! Nice piercing!

  

Another one for the book. 

 

All were fed, but all weren't well. A calf with pneumonia was somewhere up here on the hillside. 

 

And we were gonna find him!

 

There he is. This guy needed the one shot cure.  He'll be breathing better by tomorrow.

 

He'll be like this guy; kickin' back, enjoyin' the view. 

 

I think calves kick back and enjoy the view.

Except when it looks like this:

 

Uh, that's not a ranch dog, folks!

 

That's a coyote! 

Don't you be thinkin' about hookin' up to the food chain here, Mister!

You just high-tail it on over that hill.

We want the calves to relax and enjoy the view! 

He did.

Awe, Shucks!

Good thing we'd torn into Big R Ranch Supply, fifteen minutes before closing time, and had snatched up three pair of rubber boots.

 

We were NOT in flip-flop country, folks!

This was springtime in a barnyard.

This was muck boot country.

 

But, what happens if, in your squishin' and squashin', you get your mucks stuck? 

Then, in a twist of bad luck, you've sat in the muck, and can't get yourself up?

 

Hey, there, boy! The day isn't ruined; don't fold up and head for the truck!

Just look at your britches all messy with muck, give your shoulders a shrug and say,  

Awe, Shucks!

 

On The Job

 

So, if you're a Montana rancher, your 'cubicle' is probably a tad dirty and all your 'co-workers' are on the hairy side, and they bawl a lot, but the scenery...

My goodness, the scenery.

Bring on the hairy, bawling co-workers and the stinky cubicle. 

That's what I say.

In fact, that's what our whole family said one morning, and gosh darn it if the cousin who ranches next door to the home place didn't take us up on it. 

 

That's him in his cubicle there, taking some round bales up to the hungry, bawling co-workers.

Good thing his cubicle has wheels.

His job would be much more difficult otherwise.

 

Here are the hairy co-workers, working very, very hard. 

Eating hay on a regular basis is in their job description.

 

 

See the line of black specks way out there?

More hairy co-workers hard at it. 

It was a productive bunch.

 

Even this little guy is getting the picture--eat all you can every day, eat all you can everyday, eat all you can every day.

Sounds a lot like somebody else I know...

 

Where Am I?

Where am I?

I keep asking myself, and I keep getting two distinctly different answers.  

My mind clearly and unwaveringly tells me that, on account of the palm trees outside, and the humidity that hovers around my body and keeps my hair curled (spazzed) beyond belief, I must be in Florida.  

My body, however, says, Oh, nu-nu-nu-no!  Honey, you're still in Montana, and we're gonna KEEP you there!  We're not gonna LET you go back to Eastern time! 

So, since part of me believes that I'm still there, not here, I thought I'd show you just where it is that part of me thinks I am!

 Me thinks I'm here, firmly rooted in Mountain Time, tromping through the pile of snow that a spring storm dumped the night we flew in.

  

 

 We feasted our eyes on snow-laden trees. 

Well, some of us feasted our eyes on snow-laden trees; others of us didn't know what 'feasting our eyes' meant, but it didn't sound a bit good.

Those others of us would much rather get down and dirty with the snow itself.  (Actually, snow itself isn't dirty, thank goodness.)

As you can imagine, snowball fights broke out right and left, backward and forward, up one side and down the other. 

 

 

 

All this ammo, just layin' around.  The battle went on for hours, and they never ran out.

Then, right there before my eyes, appeared...

 

a snow angel!

A snow angel turned...

 

 

Turned dare-devil.

 

All this fun was enough to make you wear your hat inside out with the tag stickin' up.

 

Or perched atop your head with your ears stickin' out. 

Either way would do.  

                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now if I could just decide which way would do for me. Is it 10:40 P.M., or is it 8:40P.M.?

Please help.   

Home Again

 

Hey, there!

We're back home, our hands delightfully sudsy in our own dishwater! 

 

And the trip?  It was full.  Full of so many things.  Laughter, tears, late nights, good food, hugs and, believe it or not, 2 feet of fresh snow!  Memories.

Spring in the Rockies...{sigh}

 

All we can seem to say around here is, When can we go back?

 

 

(Photos coming soon...)