I’m not sure I have ever told this story, at least not in the newspaper.
It was early spring and the Boy was about three, so I was younger, busier and a whole lot more onery then.
The Stranger and I went to gather the bulls from their winter ‘trap’. This one was about 1,000 acres and there were maybe 40 bulls on it.
Because we had been feeding them hay all winter, we knew pretty well where the bulls were going to be.
But while it was early spring in South Dakota, the days were getting warm, meaning the bulls wanted to shade up and not do much during the day.
The Redheaded Stranger and I split up and started around the fence, one going clockwise, the other counter clockwise, planning to meet near the middle where there was an island of pines and some boggy ground.
We did well, pushing the bachelor bulls together into a larger group. But, like I said, it was warm. The bulls were mostly black and fat and sassy from loafing all winter. The longer the day got, the hotter the bulls got and the slower they moved. They also started to fight more amongst themselves.
Finally, finally, we got them together on the east side of the bog. We were hot, they were hot, the horses were hot. And we were all grouchy.
The plan was for me to hold the bulls while the Stranger trotted to the gate over on the west side of the bog. Then he’d whoop and I was to start the bulls that way. He’d take up a spot on the edge of the bog and ease the bulls through the gate, cutting them off from the pasture where they had just been gathered.
The plan worked until I got to the deep shade and shallow water in the center of the bog. The bulls called bully on moving any further. It was cool and green and shady there and they were happy.
I used every trick I knew. I took down my cow whip, I flayed them with my rope. I set the dogs we had with us on them. They wouldn’t budge.
Before long I rode through the bog over to the Stranger to get some help. He had a come apart, yelling, cussing, all the typical cow pen stuff. Then he sent me back to bring those darned bulls through to the gate.
So, I went. I rode right past the bulls and out of the bog and back to the house. And I took the dogs with me. In about a half hour the Stranger realized it was quiet and there were no bulls coming.
He showed up at the house after a while. I had already turned my horse out and had a shower and started on supper. We didn’t talk about the bulls.
The next morning, they were right where we’d left them, or pretty close, so it was a simple matter to shove them through the gate and in with the cows. It was almost like they knew it was time to go to work, and bulls really like their job.
Since then, if I tell the Stranger I’m taking the dogs and going home, he knows it may be time to straighten out and fly right.