I’ve broken the cardinal rule of ranching…twice.

I’m an animal-lover.  Always have been.  Not the throw-fake-blood-on-the-fur-coat-PETA-member type, but a lover of all things fuzzy (and lizards) nonetheless.  When I found out that we were going to keep up the ranching tradition of Lawrence’s father by moving and raising cattle, after I got over the shock and grief of leaving West Texas and a job I loved, I was pretty happy about getting to be surrounded by animals all the time.  And cows are cute.  They are like full-sized teddy bears, without the threat of being eaten (like a grizzly full-sized teddy bear).  And the babies…I.can’t.even!  Just the most precious.

But my love of animals does present a problem in our way of life.  The babies grow up to be sold.  If they weren’t, there’d be no business.  Just fields filling up with full-grown cattle that we have to feed all the time.  That could get expensive.  But how do I feed and work the cattle while staying emotionally unattached?  For the most part, I’ve thought of them as cute toys that I enjoy for a short time and focus my affections on the momma cows that we keep.  Until Fancy Dan.

A wise friend of mine once said, “Don’t name your food.”  It was good advice, and I’ve followed it.  Lawrence has not. Lawrence does not have the attachment issues I have, either.  Anyway, this little fella was born probably seven months ago.  Lawrence named him “Fancy Dan,” because as a baby, it looked like he had hair that was parted down the middle and slicked down.  Ya know, like he was getting ready for a black tie affair.  And since Lawrence named him, I referred to him as “Fancy Dan,” too.  Not good.

A couple of months ago, I was involved in an altercation with a horse that does not belong to us but shares one of our cattle leases.  When we feed, he and his donkey friend like to run our cattle off and take their food.  As the whole point of feeding our cattle is to get them the nourishment they need, this just won’t do.  I was running around the field (I know.  I’m not Secretariat.  I can’t actually outrun a horse.  I was trying to out-maneuver him.) body-blocking the horse, when my foot came in contact with a mineral block inconveniently placed in my path.  I hit the ground hard.  It was a face-plant of epic proportions.  My glasses flew off.  My phone was several feet away from me, and my head was spinning.  When I rolled over and sat up, I saw Fancy Dan standing about five feet away from me chewing on some old hay and looking at me like I was not the creature he perceived me to be.  At that moment, the relationship began to blossom.

Fancy Dan – an older calf.

A couple of weeks later, I was in the same field, once again running interference with the horse and donkey, when a bee began to buzz me.  Now I’ve been told, you don’t swat a bee.  So, I didn’t.  Until it started buzzing my face.  I couldn’t help it.  My instincts kicked in and I swung at it.  Even as I did it, I knew it was wrong and I would pay.  In less than a second, that sucker landed on my arm and stung me.  I hollered and kept swinging.  It kept flying around my head, so I took off running – carefully monitoring my foot placement as to avoid any stray mineral blocks.  And who was standing near the feed truck as I rapidly approached it?  Dan.  We made eye contact and I saw an almost imperceptible head nod.  It’s like he gets me.  The relationship grew again.  It’s like soldiers who bond in battle.  It’s just that one of the soldiers never gets hurt.

Now, every time I come to his field to feed, he comes to the truck and stands nearby.  He’s either trying to protect me from the next atrocity or waiting for the next show I’m likely to present.  It’s probably the latter. Either way, we’re in a bit of a routine.  And the relationship has been ratcheted up a notch.  I hand-fed him this week.  He was close, so I held some food out and after a bit, he took it from me.  This is bad, y’all.  Nothing good can come from this complicated relationship.

Don’t think I haven’t suggested to the owner of said animal that he would make a nice pet.  I have.  I was told that if we kept him, we’d have to eat him.  That’s not going to happen. He’s right.  I know this.  We can’t keep every calf I get attached to.  And that hasn’t been many.  Just two.  Oh yeah, there was one before Dan.

I hand-fed him, too, when his mom was sick.  When we sold him, I shed a couple of tears in the pickup.  I recovered.

And so it seems, that my new friend will have to leave me soon.  I’m trying to mentally prepare.  That should probably involve me not hand-feeding him anymore.  Until then, I will enjoy our little relationship and try hard to keep things strictly professional going forward.

Here’s hoping it works.