Read Online Dove in the Window by Earlene Fowler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Earlene Fowler
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awkward, embarrassing moments.”
A quiet, understated laugh came from the back of her throat. Her watery brown eyes had lashes so pale they reminded me of a rabbit, as did her quick, tentative movements. Mimicking her watercolor paintings, Parker almost always dressed in browns, tans, or soft golds. Perfect camouflage for the honey-colored hills surrounding us.
“I’m concentrating on the men, as usual,” Olivia said with a wink. “I’ll be riding shotgun in the truck with Bobby all day.”
Olivia and my dad’s ranch hand had apparently established a close friendship in the last few months. It had been speculated among the artists that their relationship had become more than professional. The age difference between Bobby and Olivia was at least fifteen years, but no one bat-ted an eyelash among the artists. These days relationships between younger men and older women were almost a cliché.
“I’ll be interested in seeing what all of you come up with after today,” I said, mounting Badger.
By noon we had filled the pen next to the big barn with about fifty mama cows and their hundred-pound babies, some bearing Daddy’s brand, some mine. Not wanting to get any more sweaty and dusty before the barbecue, I sat up on the fence with Shelby, Parker, Olivia, and some of my girl cousins and let the men separate the nervous calves from their protective mamas. Passing a huge bag of peanuts between us, we hollered and rooted for the cows more than the cowboys. Gabe stayed on horseback and let Rebel do the one thing he did well once you could convince him to work——cutting. He was an experienced cow-pony and could almost do it without a rider, and the one thing that kept him working was he knew dinner always followed.
One particularly smart and stubborn mama took a half hour and seven men to separate her from her baby. We cheered her tenacity—“Go, cow. Go, mama”—until the sweating and cursing men on horseback and foot finally separated her from her calf. Her angry call could be heard above all the other cows crowding the fence separating them from their babies.
“That mama definitely deserves a ten,” Olivia said.
Over the bawling of the calves, the men threw jokes like horseshoes as a couple of them drove each calf down the wooden chute into the Teco cattle squeeze, locked them in the metal cage, and flipped it over to attach the plastic Y-Tex ear tags marked with either my or Daddy’s brand. At the same time other men would vaccinate, notch the ear, and castrate if called for, all in perfect synchronization. Cowboy ballet, Dove called it. Sam held the calves heads as they were being done, covering their eyes and talking to them in a low, soothing voice like I’d taught him. Just like Dove and Daddy had taught me. Anyone who worked the Ramsey Ranch was trained right off to treat our cattle with kindness and dignity. We were rewarded by having the calmest cattle in San Celina County.
“Looky this one, Ben,” Kip called to my dad. “He’s got real nice confirmation. Want to save him for stud?” He had the ring expander all poised and ready to snap the green rubber castrating ring around the calf’s testicles, which would cut off the blood supply and eventually turn the potential bull into a steer. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
My dad gave the bull calf a ten-second consideration, then said, “Nah.”
It took a few minutes because this calf was determined to stay a bull. He kept retracting his left testicle, causing Kip, after breaking three latex rubber rings, to singe our ears with some colorful and earthy cowboy language.
“You gotta respect the little guy,” Kip said, sucking his bruised finger. “I wouldn’t give mine up without a fight either.” He grinned down the row of us women, making a point to ignore Shelby. “‘Course, they don’t make these rubber bands big enough for me.”
“Aw, don’t listen to him,” Bobby drawled as he notched the calf’s ear with one
A quiet, understated laugh came from the back of her throat. Her watery brown eyes had lashes so pale they reminded me of a rabbit, as did her quick, tentative movements. Mimicking her watercolor paintings, Parker almost always dressed in browns, tans, or soft golds. Perfect camouflage for the honey-colored hills surrounding us.
“I’m concentrating on the men, as usual,” Olivia said with a wink. “I’ll be riding shotgun in the truck with Bobby all day.”
Olivia and my dad’s ranch hand had apparently established a close friendship in the last few months. It had been speculated among the artists that their relationship had become more than professional. The age difference between Bobby and Olivia was at least fifteen years, but no one bat-ted an eyelash among the artists. These days relationships between younger men and older women were almost a cliché.
“I’ll be interested in seeing what all of you come up with after today,” I said, mounting Badger.
By noon we had filled the pen next to the big barn with about fifty mama cows and their hundred-pound babies, some bearing Daddy’s brand, some mine. Not wanting to get any more sweaty and dusty before the barbecue, I sat up on the fence with Shelby, Parker, Olivia, and some of my girl cousins and let the men separate the nervous calves from their protective mamas. Passing a huge bag of peanuts between us, we hollered and rooted for the cows more than the cowboys. Gabe stayed on horseback and let Rebel do the one thing he did well once you could convince him to work——cutting. He was an experienced cow-pony and could almost do it without a rider, and the one thing that kept him working was he knew dinner always followed.
One particularly smart and stubborn mama took a half hour and seven men to separate her from her baby. We cheered her tenacity—“Go, cow. Go, mama”—until the sweating and cursing men on horseback and foot finally separated her from her calf. Her angry call could be heard above all the other cows crowding the fence separating them from their babies.
“That mama definitely deserves a ten,” Olivia said.
Over the bawling of the calves, the men threw jokes like horseshoes as a couple of them drove each calf down the wooden chute into the Teco cattle squeeze, locked them in the metal cage, and flipped it over to attach the plastic Y-Tex ear tags marked with either my or Daddy’s brand. At the same time other men would vaccinate, notch the ear, and castrate if called for, all in perfect synchronization. Cowboy ballet, Dove called it. Sam held the calves heads as they were being done, covering their eyes and talking to them in a low, soothing voice like I’d taught him. Just like Dove and Daddy had taught me. Anyone who worked the Ramsey Ranch was trained right off to treat our cattle with kindness and dignity. We were rewarded by having the calmest cattle in San Celina County.
“Looky this one, Ben,” Kip called to my dad. “He’s got real nice confirmation. Want to save him for stud?” He had the ring expander all poised and ready to snap the green rubber castrating ring around the calf’s testicles, which would cut off the blood supply and eventually turn the potential bull into a steer. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
My dad gave the bull calf a ten-second consideration, then said, “Nah.”
It took a few minutes because this calf was determined to stay a bull. He kept retracting his left testicle, causing Kip, after breaking three latex rubber rings, to singe our ears with some colorful and earthy cowboy language.
“You gotta respect the little guy,” Kip said, sucking his bruised finger. “I wouldn’t give mine up without a fight either.” He grinned down the row of us women, making a point to ignore Shelby. “‘Course, they don’t make these rubber bands big enough for me.”
“Aw, don’t listen to him,” Bobby drawled as he notched the calf’s ear with one
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