Meanie

...the calf was kicking my arm off and Meanie was on the run.

                It was early spring and there were still a few patches of snow on the ground where it had drifted during the last spring storm. Dad and I were out driving through the cows, checking for new calves. We had spotted a heifer that had just given birth and a cow in the process so we headed on over to take a look.

         The heifer staggered like a drunken sailor when she got up. A first-calf heifer, she had a hard time giving birth. Judging by how she was walking the calf had hip locked and taken a while to come. But we weren’t worried about her; she was up and taking care of business like a good girl. Near her though, was another cow in obvious trouble. With the calf’s nose and only one foot there she was going to need help.

         Dad parked the pickup back a ways, grabbed the calf chain, got out and headed over to help the cow. Before he got to her, here came the drunken sailor, hell bent for leather, right at him. Dad turned tail and ran with the intention of out running her. In her condition it shouldn’t be too tough.
         
                Well he wasn’t doing too badly, until he ran across one of those little patches of snow. With winter boots on and looking back over his shoulder he lost his footing and fell. That little cow was right on his heels when he went down. I knew she was going to have him for lunch but she just took a swipe at him as she staggered on by and circled back around to her calf. That day she earned the name Meanie.

         She never touched Dad but he landed wrong, spraining the ligaments and tendons in his shoulder. But we still had another cow to tend to so we left to catch a horse.

         Meanie kept quite an eye on me on horseback and I was hoping she would try something. But she didn’t and I took the cow needing help to the calving shed. All turned out okay with her and her calf with no thanks to Meanie.

         Meanie made her presence known as we worked in the corrals or out in the pasture from that time forward. All newcomers watched out for the number 65 cow. Of course if you could read her tag number it was too late.

         Just like that first time, you didn’t have to be anywhere close to her calf to deserve her attention. You were fair game anywhere, anytime.

         Mom and I were checking cows and calves when we found a calf in need of a couple scour pills. I looked around before getting out of the pickup to catch the calf; we had all learned to look both ways before doing anything out with the cows. The coast was clear and I hopped out and grabbed the calf by a hind leg. Mom was getting out of the pickup slowly, still looking around cautiously. We had pilled the calf and let him go when I heard the drumming of hooves.

         We all know that if you hold your ground they won’t hit you. Huh! Yeh, tell that one to my feet which had turned on their own and were running just as fast as they could go taking me with them. When I looked back and she was aiming right at me and she was gaining fast. I regained control of my feet, got whoaed, turned around, threw my arms up and yelled right in her face. She stopped, much to my amazement and relief, turned and walked away. Oh--Mom was safely in the pickup.

         Permanently branded into our brains was that cow’s evil face and we took great pains to avoid her and her calf. If you were out on foot every one of her calves would come to see you. Always fat and sassy her calf was the cockiest one in the pasture. The little stinkers knew they were safe. We never tagged Meanie's calf until we branded and had it safely sorted away from her.

         I have to admit I love a challenge and decided Meanie’s calf would have a tag before we branded. I watched and I waited for her to leave that calf alone with the others. One day I saw my chance. I got the tag all ready in the tagger and made my move. One quick look around, jump out, grab the calf, tag him, turn him loose and jump back in the pickup. That was the plan.

         That isn’t quite what happened. I looked around, stepped out of the pickup, grabbed the calf, he bellowed, I dropped the tagging pliers, the tag fell out on the ground, the calf was kicking my arm off and Meanie was on the run. I let him go, grabbed the pliers and the tag and jumped back in the pickup and took off before she got there. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear myself think--I’ll get you next time.

         We swore every year we would sell her. But she raised a dandy calf and she was never open. Personally, I think she got with calf out of spite.

         Meanie mellowed with age, taking short runs at us and shaking her head. And toward the end she took great pains to avoid us. But you could still tell where she was in the corral because her head was up where she could see over the backs of the rest of the herd. Not only did we know where she was, she knew where we were. It was still a little unsettling seeing her watching us.

         Meanie went to town after more than ten years of fun and games. I am surprised we never kept any of her heifer calves for replacements. You know--just to keep things interesting.