My suspicions about Toby blew to an all-out theory about his lack of knowledge and overall ambition. We were going to be shipping out a hundred and fifty cows and their calves every third day until the herd was gone. That way we would be able to get the pairs in and have everything ready for the trucks when they came in.
Now anyone who knows anything about cattle knows that the easiest time to move them (and the best time to have them paired) is at sunup. That first morning we were going to be horseback by 5:30 a.m. Toby didn’t show so I finally swung a leg over and headed out around 8 a.m. By this time it was fairly tough going, but I managed to have about forty-five pair thrown together in the trap out of a 4,500 acre pasture by the time Toby showed up with his kids at around 10:30 a.m.
Rather than just bringing in a few pair at a time and making sure they were paired before we had them in the trap, Toby and his kids just rode out and grabbed the first big bunch of cattle they came to and drove them into the trap, proclaiming that was good for the day. His reasoning was that we had two days before the vet would be there, we could “start early” the next morning, and just breeze through pairing them.
Of course things weren’t that simple, and his “early start” wasn’t that early. They showed up around 9 o’clock and started to ride into the herd. These cattle had been rammed and jammed for a number of years, and if you didn’t do things just right, you didn’t get it done without a wreck. Toby and his kids had no idea of how to handle these cattle. By the time I gave them my basic “Stockmanship 101” course, it was afternoon before we really got started. By the time we finished, we were short nearly 20 pair because their little maneuver had brought in more half pairs than pairs. By 8 p.m. we had finished what should have been done by noon.
The next morning, the vet was to check the cows for their bangs tags which proved they had been vaccinated against brucellosis, and give them their health certificates so we could begin loading around 1 p.m. Well, of course, they didn’t show up until after the vet had been there for an hour, and Toby’s way of splitting the cows off the calves was nothing less than . . . well I can’t think of an accurate description which would not be profanity laden. It was nearly four by the time we started loading. We had a few extra pair, just in case the loads were light or cattle did not pass their health inspection. In looking through them, I noticed we had a mismatched pair. The wrong calf had gone on the truck. Now rather than just ship its mother up on the next load, Toby had his wife on the other end send the calf back to get paired back up and then make the 700-mile trip north.
By the time we had finished, there were around 70 pair that did not pass their health inspection because they were missing their bangs tag and had no legible bangs tattoo. While I was concerned about Toby’s lack of knowledge and overall lack of ambition, I still accepted the job when it was offered as it was going to beat hanging around to farm or being out of a job. As I suspected, not two months went by before Toby was fired, and Vern took over. It was a few months later that I discovered the full extent of the mess left behind.
It seems the agreement between my current and previous employer was in dispute. While my current employer was under the assumption he was only buying cattle that were exportable to the northern state, he had actually paid for the entire herd in cash. My previous employer decided to take full advantage of his full payment and began charging to the tune of $24 a month, per pair, on the cattle we had left behind. When it came time to wean, I was sent back south to clean up the mess. Everett had made a deal with a rancher who would be able to buy the cattle in the same state they originated from so they would not have to pass the health inspection. He was even throwing a bull into the deal. I called up my old employer and let them know when I would be there to have the cattle pregnancy checked. The pregnant cows were to go to their new owners, and the opens, those not pregnant, I would have to take to the local sale for slaughter. As this was a registered herd, the good bull calves were going to go on test; the good heifer calves I would have hauled to the ranch, and the remainder were to go through the sale with the open cows.
When I pulled into the ranch at 9 p.m. to drop the bull off, the new man at the ranch was wondering what I was doing there because my old employer had failed to inform him of the plan. He told me he’d have the cows in by 7 a.m., and I headed to town to get my room, check in with the boss, and maybe even get a real live meal.
The first thing that went wrong was that no place to get a meal was open. So after I grabbed a delicious gas-station sandwich, I called the boss. Between when I left home and when I got there, his deal to sell the cows had fallen through. Now, all of the cows were going to be sold through the sale after they had been preg checked. They would be sold as either pregnant or open, and I was going to have to haul the bull back. Because it was too late to call the vet and cancel, I figured we’d just preg check the cows before sending them in to the sale.
The next morning, the wind was blowing hard, and it was raining. When I got to the ranch, I was informed that we were going to be charged a $1.50 “chute fee” for preg testing the cows, even though the owner had been paid over $100 a head for the time they had been there on pasture. To add to the romance of it all, I was told there were two more “crazy” cows they had to gather in from the bulls. Needless to say, I wasn’t seeing any sense in paying the “chute fee” so when the vet pulled in, I asked if it would wind up costing less to have him preg check the cows at the sale yard where he would at least be out of the weather.
Now that we had the two crazy cows to contend with, things got pretty active. Everyone was spending as much time trying to keep from getting run over as they were loading the cows. The two old, high-headed witches were all that were left, and we were taking turns jumping down and “leading” them towards the trucks. Problem was, they would chase you everywhere but into the alley leading to the truck.
Finally I decided to just load them across the scale. They went onto the scale but refused to get into the trailer. I had my saddle in the nose of the trailer just in case, so I climbed up and got my rope. By roping the one cow through the cage of the scale and running the rope up into the trailer, I was able to get her in by taking a couple of wraps around the uprights every time she made an inch worth of progress. We closed the divider door and tried the same thing with the second cow. Now my replacement at this place was more of a farmer than a cowman, and this is where he really decided to cowboy-up and farmer-down. He was going to push the cow onto the trailer with the ranch truck. Might of worked but the truck was a little narrow and he flattened both front tires on his truck. At this point I really needed to get to town and see how the preg testing was going. I also needed to see if the trucks had even made it to town without being blown over, so I decided to unhook the trailer and take care of business in town, giving the old witch time to settle down.
The weather was so bad that the sale had only half of its usual run. In fact, the wind was blowing so hard it knocked an empty, parked semi over. As a result, the sale was running ahead of schedule, and they wanted to know if I wanted to sell the cows as “exposed to the bull,” or hold them over until the next week. This was a real pickle. Everett had paid $750 a pair for the cows in the spring, and the prices were now so bad that he would only be getting $350 for them if they were bred. Going through the ring as “exposed” would wind up bringing around $250 a head.
I called Everett, who told me to do what I thought would be best. It didn’t take long to make the decision. At this point it would wind up costing $14 a head to keep them at the sale for a week plus another dollar for preg testing. That didn’t include the cost of me hanging around town for another week so across the ring they went. Sure enough they went for $250, and who bought them other than my previous employer. Not a bad deal for them. Sell the cattle for $750, get paid $144 for keeping them six months, and buy them back for $250, making $644 a head. Everett wound up paying $45,080 for cows he didn’t even get to keep. At least we still had the calves.
Now I had to figure out what to do with the other two cows back at the ranch. That wasn’t hard to figure out once someone told me that a new packing plant had opened up the month before. But there was still a catch. Even though they were our calves, they were part of a cooperator herd, which meant they carried the brand of the ranch we were marketing through. All of the calves we were keeping would be stopping at the ranch that owned the brand, so one would think that it would be a simple matter of getting a brand inspection and sending them on their way. But the brand inspector had a different idea of things.
First, I was told I needed a bill of sale before I could get the brand inspection. They even told me it could be faxed. That was simple enough. I had my faxed bill of sale within half an hour. The storm had messed things up enough that my truck headed home would be delayed a day, which was actually a relief as I could take my time sorting the calves and getting the other two crow baits to the packer. Finally, around 6 p.m., I got my first real meal in two days because I had started out before the local restaurants opened up. Then, about 10 that night, I received a call from the head brand inspector. The faxed bill of sale would not work, and I needed to get an original.
Figuring that I was stuck there for an extra day anyway, I waited to head out to the ranch until after I had breakfast. The sun was out, and it was a beautiful morning. Pulling up to the pens, I noticed a cow on the outside of the pens and wondered how she had gotten out. Turned out she didn’t get out; they had missed her the day before. I didn’t see the other cow in the scale because she had killed herself trying to crawl under the trailer. I didn’t have any idea of how many cows had been left behind, and the cow standing next to the pens was dry so I figured that must be the last of them. I sorted the calves and weighed them, then took the two old girls in to the packing plant where they brought nearly $400 apiece.
Now all I had to do was wait for the bill of sale, which had been overnighted to my ex-boss’s house in town. They knew it was coming but forgot to stay home and get it, so I now had to wait another day, which also meant making new arrangements for the truck. It wound up causing me to have to wait until Saturday morning for the truck. With nothing else to do, I decided to go out and check on the calves. What else did I discover? Nothing less than two more dry cows standing next to the pens. Luckily they just walked right in and loaded easy for their last trip to town.
Saturday morning did finally get there. Of course I forgot about the number one rule of shipping cattle. If you are not ready on time the trucks will be early. If you are ready, the trucks will be late. So rather than being on the road by 10 a.m., I didn’t even get to load until after 1 p.m. When the trucker did finally show up, he got out of his truck and came stomping up to me like I had just hit his mother. My dog jumped out of the truck and bit him before he could get to me. And it didn’t help matters that I started laughing, but after I explained to the trucker that she had never bitten anyone before and how the week had gone, he lightened up a little. Seems that his week had gone about the same as mine.
We loaded the calves without any trouble, and I hit the road, not stopping for anything other than fuel until I was two states away.
Bob Kinford can be contacted via e-mail.
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