Category: Ranch & Real Life

Dog Gone

Post author By Tara Davidson
Post date May 20, 2014

I love a story with a happy ending. They are few and far between these days, but whenever I hear one, it kind of restores my faith in the world. I recently came across one such story involving a ranch dog that had ran away but returned a day or two later. It reminded me of our very own Happy Ending story from one year ago.

My Other Half had been riding through some pastures one fine summer day and was many miles from home. He was packing our trusty Border collie dog, Tuck, and at the end of the day, he loaded his horse in the trailer, Tuck in the truck box and started heading back to our ranch. On his way home, he decided to take advantage of his location and stop for a quick visit with some nearby family.

During the visit, clouds had built up and a quick rain shower passed through. Now, most dogs don’t like storms, and at the mere sign of a cloud, Tuck would usually curl up into a small ball and hide in the corner of the truck box, as though that was his canine version of storm preparedness.

After a brief visit, my husband was ready to head back on his way except for one problem… Tuck was missing in action. No need to panic, my Other Half whistled and called and knew that Tuck would obediently return. When this didn’t work, a quick search of the buildings and vehicles ensued, yielding no sign of our loyal dog. An unsettling feeling settled in the pit of my husband’s stomach. After hours of searching, whistling, calling, and checking at the neighbours, there didn’t seem to be any sign of our dog and dark had fallen. Dejected, my Other Half returned home with half of the animal companions he had left with that morning.

Hard-working cowdogs don’t accidentally reach the age of eight years old without being a bit savvy and, shall we say, pasture-smart. Tuck had a good sense of direction and we thought by the next morning, he would be found sitting on the step and wagging his tail in the yard where he had last been seen. I circulated a few photos of Tuck on Facebook and we went to sleep that night worried but hopeful that he would show up in the morning.

Morning came and there was still no sign of Tuck. We followed a few unsuccessful leads from our social media posts, including one that eventually lead to this column, but that’s another story for another day. Everyone was on the look-out, and my husband and boys headed back south for another search. Nothing. By this time, that unsettling feeling of worry was turning into resignation. There is a lot of country between where Tuck was presumed to be and where his home was, and the list of things that could happen was getting pretty long.

My husband had another commitment the next morning, and for many reasons, we had really hoped we would find Tuck before he had to leave. There were a lot of long faces, including those of our three kids and other dog, Kit, when my husband pulled out of the yard and there was still no sign of our dog.

Half an hour after he left, my husband got a call saying that Tuck had been spotted travelling homeward bound in the ditch along the highway. An observant motorist had recognized Tuck’s picture from Facebook, and another friend stopped and persuaded Tuck to get into the back of his truck. Flooded with relief, I threw my pyjama-and-cowboy-boot-clad kids into the vehicle and sped off to retrieve our beloved dog.

Looking a bit worse for wear, he was still the same old Tuck, and he hopped into the back of my pick-up, as if to say “let’s go home.” We’ll never know what he encountered during those two days, but it doesn’t really matter. The sun was shining, the grass was green, and there was a smile on his face as I brought Tuck home. It was a happy ending after all.

Ranch & Real Life

Like a Rock

Post author By Tara Davidson
Post date May 6, 2014

Around our place, we pride ourselves upon being thrifty, even bordering on frugal. If you saw our trusty ranch pick-up truck, I think that would be apparent. To get every last penny’s worth out of your old work truck, you can’t be too fussy. If they budge an inch, you better be willing to drive it a kilometer. Or one hundred. Times a thousand. We might not always have the classiest ride, but hey, if it gets us from Point A to Point B, that’s all that really matters, right? Plus every mile we save on our “good” trucks is pretty nice too.

For better or for worse, we favor one particular brand of vehicle on our ranch to get the job done. Generally, this brand performs well under stress, and my only complaint is that at around 350,000 km the doors and end gates can get a little tough to open. So you adapt, roll down the window if you want to enter or exit the motor vehicle, and go about your business. And who really needs an end gat anyway, they can be sort of pesky at times.

Our old ¾ tonne has respectfully achieved retirement status. Once my Other Half’s pride and joy, the ‘98 had lived a full life at its previous owner’s ranch before it even came into our possession. We had eleven good years together. It has chased cows, been roped out of, pounded thousands of posts, and been stuck a time or two. There have been run-ins with deer, gophers, badgers, raccoons, a mule with sharp teeth, and a memorable incident involving a duck and a truck cab full of feathers. The ’98 has functioned as the welding truck, the fuel truck, the maintenance truck and it even had a brief stint as a furniture hauler when it hauled all of my possessions home from university. In the stock trailer. The old single-cab even spent time on the show circuit, hauling cattle to Agribition and Fall Fair for a few years.

In the end, it wasn’t at all unusual to see us pull a “Dukes of Hazzard” move and crawl into the ’98 via the side window. You didn’t do this because you thought you looked cool, but because the door handle was stuck and it was a necessity. There was kind of a trick to starting the old truck and you couldn’t guarantee that it would cooperate just when you needed it to. Ironically, our beloved Chevy started to take its calling seriously and was behaving “like a rock” a bit too literally for our liking.

The time had come for an upgrade. After a very brief shopping trip, we welcomed a new addition to our vehicular family. This new-to-us truck, dubbed the Green Giant, is a real beauty and it features bench seating for six, leather interior, power windows and locks. And a pretty epic tape deck. It was manufactured when I was thirteen.

The children are so excited, especially because the “new” truck yields “prizes” scattered throughout which so far have included a dime, two quarters, a roll of scotch tape, and a crumpled up receipt. I’m so excited because this means I won’t be packing around the portable welder in my truck any longer. And my Other Half is so excited because the price was right and the wheels seem to go around.

There is no telling what adventures The Green Giant will see in the rest of its lifetime but I hope it’s up to the challenge. This new kid on the block has an awful lot to live up to especially since we stepped a bit outside of our brand comfort zone with this purchase. But with claims that this variety of truck isn’t short on “guts” or “glory,” you can be sure that we will put its claim of grabbing “life by the horns” to the test.

Beef & Business Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

The Birth of a Baby

Post author By Tara Davidson
Post date April 29, 2014

Calving season is a pretty major deal for every ranch. After all, it’s when you welcome the new critters into the world whose existence is responsible for paying your bills eight or nine months later for expenses that you incurred eighteen months before they arrive. It’s complicated, all right, but the bottom line is, healthy live calves will give you much-needed income.

Calving can also be a bit like an emotional roller coaster ride in that there are several ups and downs throughout its course.

Stage One is the most blissful of the stages, one that I refer to as the Anticipation and Wonderment Phase. Cows are brought closer to home for better monitoring. Ranchers place soft, dry straw bedding in the pens just like an expectant (human) mother might prepare a baby bassinette in a nursery. You anxiously await the first arrival, checking the cows a little too frequently, a little too excitedly and maybe a bit impatiently. You’ve been waiting on these babies for a long time and you are soon to see firsthand the fruits of your carefully crafted breeding plan labors. The stars seem to shine brighter on those numerous midnight walks to the barn. You gaze at the Northern Lights once again and feel just a smidgen of pity for the poor urban dwellers who will never know the magic of the midnight bovine midwifery care that you, the rancher, are so blessed to provide.

Enter Stage Two, the phase I like to call Ticking Time Bomb. By this time, you’ve gotten through the first cycle and probably been dealt a few extreme weather events just for good measure as well. You’ve drank several dozen pots of coffee to wake up in the morning, to keep yourself awake during the day, and to get yourself through until the next check, which feels like it should be 3am but in reality, is only 7pm. You’ve dealt with normal everyday events of calving, big and small, and while things are probably going just fine, the smallest thing may cause you to react a bit… er, dramatically.

Stage Three is the Wrap-Up Phase. The weather’s behaving a bit better, you’re sleeping through the night again, and the edge is (thankfully) wearing off. You can reflect a bit on the past couple of months, and rationally acknowledge the good times and a few bad times too. In the end, you realize you made it through to the other side. You get out your breeding field lists to organize who is going where and with what so you can repeat the whole calving process in nine months’ time.

The other day I was going to run some errands and I checked the calving cows on the way. I had Baby Girl in tow and a schedule to keep and here was a cow that decided she should start calving. I didn’t want to run quickly to town and miss it because Murphy’s Law states that’s exactly when something bad would happen. But I didn’t feel like sitting around for the next 30-60 minutes that it might take for her to expel this bovine fetus. Feeling oh-so-sorry for myself, Baby Girl and I drove through the older calves and their moms for a bit to while away some time. A quick check on the cow showed that she was progressing, but still no baby. Also, she was acutely aware of my obstetrical observation efforts, which often slows the entire process down. By now my baby is sleeping peacefully, so all I can do is hurry up and wait, contemplating my super important errands in their current un-ran state. I reclined my seat and tried to relax for a few minutes, because there really wasn’t much else I could do at that point anyway. After a bit, I snuck around to the back of the pen playing a sneaky game of I Spy. What did I spy but a happy, wet, newborn baby calf! And it was beautiful. Watching the mama lick her baby off, murmuring little bovine moos of encouragement to him as he tried to stand just moments after his birth. All of a sudden, I was taken back to the Anticipation and Wonderment stage. Two months and lots of calves later, witnessing the birth of a calf is still kind of amazing. Which is good, because in about 305 days, we’re going to do it all over again.

House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Safety First

Post author By lonesomeadmin
Post date March 18, 2014

Last week was Canadian Agricultural Safety Week. Having an officially proclaimed week is a great idea to bring attention to the issue, and I saw a lot of great information shared online and in print. But… ag safety is just as important this week, as it was last week, and it will be important next week too.

Agriculture is a fairly risky business from a safety perspective. You’re working long hours, often with little sleep, maximum stress, and you’re working in a variety of less-than-ideal weather situations. If you’re a farmer, you’re working around heavy and dangerous equipment, moving awkward-shaped implements and going full out, trying to beat the impending rain/snow/wind/storm. If you’re a rancher, you’re working with heavy animals that have ideas of their own on how to move, where to go, and how to get there. Ranchers are also using heavy equipment and logging long hours trying to beat the weather or the dark to get those last few head through the chute, or treating cattle out on the range all alone. Whatever your sector, the risks are prevalent.

One of the things I enjoy most about ranching is that it involves the whole family, however, ag safety takes on a whole new dimension when you have a truckload of little “helpers” along for the ride. We constantly repeat the same refrain of “don’t touch that!” and “stay away from those!” While it feels repetitive, I know I should talk with our children them even more, explaining the why’s and the how’s and getting them thinking about safety for themselves.

Around our ranch, we’ve had a few wake up calls, although fortunately nothing major. About the worst thing to have happen took place years ago when my Other Half suffered a gash in his forehead after a minor incident. Dripping blood all over my nice clean floor (this was in our pre-children life) he said “I think I’ll be just fine.” I’m not much of a nurse and an unsympathetic one at that, but after appraising the situation, I figured it was best to stuff him in my little car and drive him to the doctor. “Why don’t you try and have a nap?” I said soothingly on the drive in. “Uh, shouldn’t I avoid sleep in case I have a concussion?” Right. “Well then lay back and rest.” “Aren’t I supposed to keep the wound elevated to slow blood flow and aid in clotting?” Bottom line, one of us got full marks in First Aid, and one didn’t. And I’m not a nurse. But we did get him stitched back together.

Agricultural producers are busy people. We get distracted, we feel pressure to get the job done, we cut corners to save time, and we make mistakes. Sometimes these mistakes are minor and result in wasting an afternoon in the ER, like my husband and I did that day. Sometimes these mistakes are more than “close calls.” We all know someone that has been so lucky to survive a farm or ranch accident. And chances are, we know someone who hasn’t. These people were all smart, skilled, hard-working people and good at what they did, whether it was growing a nice crop, making the perfect bale, or raising good cattle. For their neighbours, friends and families, farm safety hits home hard.

The motto for Canadian Agricultural Safety Week last week was “let’s talk about it.” So let’s keep talking, let’s encourage one another, let’s tell someone know what farm jobs we are planning on doing and how long it might take, and let’s think about what steps we would take in an emergency situation. Perhaps some of us should recertify our First Aid training. Maybe we should all just slow down and take those extra precious seconds to think about the job at hand and the potential risks associated with it.
Ag safety is so often pushed aside because we’re “too busy.” But we talked about it last week. Now let’s talk about it today, and tomorrow too.

Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

Faster, Higher, Stronger: Calving Olympics

Post author By lonesomeadmin
Post date February 18, 2014

I’ll admit I’m not much of a sports fan, but when it comes to the Olympic Winter Games, I take a keen interest. I enjoy watching sports that don’t normally get a lot of coverage and I feel pride for Canada (and Saskatchewan!) when our athletes do well. Plus, it’s televised at odd hours of the day, which is kind of handy at this time of year when we are awake during those odd hours monitoring our birthing bovines.
It is calving season on our ranch and calving cows is not an official Olympic sport but it can feel a bit like a marathon at times. Similar to the Olympics, there are certain activities or “events” that are symbolic to calving. Below are some common events that can be fun or not-so-fun depending on the weather, the cows and my varying levels of sleep deprivation.

Cross-Country Freestyle Pen Walk: Manure, when fresh, is gooey but fairly easy to walk on or through. A cold cow patty is a much different story. Walking across a pen full of these hard, unpredictable lumps is a lot like walking on gigantic marbles, and about as graceful as it sounds. The competitor in this event must employ whatever freestyle moves necessary to avoid falling. To be successful, they must remain focused and maintain excellent balance. I don’t usually score so well in this one.
One-Person Calf Sled Pull: When a cow gives birth in the coldest corner of the pen and the wind chill is a brisk -45C, the nice thing to do is move her and her newborn into a warm, dry spot. Putting the calf in a sled and bringing it to a more inviting environment should be a fairly simple job. Factors such as the slippery nature of a newborn calf, the hormonal nature of a post-parturient cow and the aforementioned frozen turds can make sledding a calf quite a sport. Inevitably, the calf escapes the sled at least two times prior to reaching the finish line.
Corral Panel High Jump – this event, while sounding ambitious, is actually inspired by laziness. A spontaneous event, the athlete, when checking the calving pens for the 12th time that day, must mentally assess the energy requirements of walking all the way to the gate versus the energy requirements of scaling the panel closest to the exit of their choice. The level of difficulty increases with every additional layer of clothing the player puts on.
Coverall-Clad Horse Mount – As the temperature decreases, the layers of clothing one wears to brave the great outdoors increases. These additional layers can complicate matters when the participant is attempting to mount a horse. Immensely popular as a spectator sport, the coverall-clad horse-mount can cause an intense pressure to perform which is tough on competitors. Or so I’ve heard.
Bed-to-barn Relay– Every so often, there may be an occasion requiring immediate bed-to-barn mobilization. For this event, the contestant needs to wake, dress and be in the barn in a matter of minutes, if not sooner. Sometimes the player is even encouraged with a robust “Hurry hard! Hurry hard!” although it’s often unsportsmanlike language that may be hollered.

When participating in the calving season marathon, it’s important to pace yourself. A rally late in the game can boost your spirits, and leave you ending the season faster, higher and stronger. Or at the very least remain upright

Ranch & Real Life

The Truck Got Stuck

Post author By lonesomeadmin
Post date February 4, 2014

As a general rule, I’m not much of a risk taker. When making everyday decisions, I like to err on the side of caution. When it comes to driving out in the pasture or on questionable terrain, I definitely like to play it safe. This is partially why, over the years, I have been able to refrain from getting stuck. In fact if I really think hard, the last time I recall getting stuck was back in 2003. This particular incident wasn’t because I got held up in the muck or mud, it was because my tire got wedged in a dusty, tire-sized crevice on a dry trail. So that hardly even counts.

Other members of my household get stuck on a more, shall we say, regular basis. Sure, these specific members need to travel through snow and mud and manure much more often than I, but they do get stuck more than their fair share.

Recently my Other Half, our dear children, and I were out driving in the pasture behind our house to retrieve something. As a passenger, it seemed as though we were certain to get stuck. The snow was deep in some parts, and the banks were hard, and it really didn’t look as though my husband was choosing the best route. We got where we needed to go, he got out and said ‘why don’t you take the kids and I’ll meet you back at the house. Do you think you can make it there without getting stuck?’

‘Of course I can,’ I replied, a bit huffily. I haven’t been stuck in eleven years and I certainly wasn’t planning on changing that. ‘It’s really deep in some spots, especially on the side hills,’ my significant other added. ‘Thanks for the tip!’ I said, revving my engine and confidently making my way towards the house with my little brood in tow. I was breaking new trail, taking an entirely different (surely wiser) route than the erratic way we came. My new trail was straight and true. Until it kind of veered off towards a side hill. The snow on this particular side hill was a bit deeper than it looked. Quite a bit deeper, really. The snowbanks were pretty hard. Very hard, if you want to know the truth of it.

My speed was slowing at a disturbing rate until all of a sudden, we weren’t moving any more. It seemed as though possibly, just maybe, there was a slight chance that I was….stuck.

“Are we stuck, mom?” a helpful little voice piped up from the back.
After watching all of this from a distance, my husband handily caught a nearby horse that was in the same pasture as I, threw a string in its mouth, hopped on and rode up to me and my motionless pick-up. His look said volumes, but he said just one word: ‘Stuck?’ I nodded. With a sigh, he rode the quarter mile or so back to retrieve the tractor and pull me out.

A few minutes later, we hooked one end of the tow rope on my stubborn truck, the other end on to the tractor, I threw the gearshift in neutral and my Other Half proceeded to pull me out of the ridiculous snowbank. But he didn’t stop there. He kept on pulling, carefully weaving us through the rest of the pasture, over the Texas gate, down and around the winding trail, until we gracefully glided to a stop, right in front of our house.

“You didn’t have to tow me the entire way back!” I objected. “Oh, I just wanted to make sure you got back safely. Didn’t want you to get stuck again on a side hill or anything,” he cheerfully replied.

There it was… a generous, well-deserved slice of humble pie. In the future it looks as though I won’t be keeping such close track of who gets stuck and who doesn’t. For a few years, at least.

Ranch & Real Life

2014 is Brought to you by the Letter B

Post author By lonesomeadmin
Post date January 7, 2014

I enjoy this time of year. I’m not especially fond of the very cold temperatures, but I like the idea of a New Year with new adventures. Starting a fresh calendar. Opening up a new unspoiled day planner, enjoying those first weeks of coffee-spill-free planning, using pages that haven’t yet been ripped out for busy kids to scribble on to keep them… occupied.

Inevitably, everyone is in a self-reflective mood, looking back at the previous year, thinking about the future, resolving to lose weight, quit something-or-other, be better people, blah blah blah. I’m not really into resolutions, although last year around this time I did make the bold declaration that in 2013 I would get a dish washer. Mission accomplished, although it was installed just under the wire and it isn’t exactly a “resolution.” Members of my household would likely suggest this dishwasher may have made me slightly easier to live with, though, so perhaps it does fit into the self-improvement category.

Whether you have big things planned in 2014 or whether the year will come and go as status-quo (which is good too!), for many a cattle producer, 2014 will forever be associated with the letter “B.”

There is an International Letter Code that is assigned to each particular year, and it follows the alphabet. Except for when it doesn’t. So it’s pretty handy, but sort of confusing, and usually involves me mumbling a random reverse 22-letter cowboy alphabet, and counting my fingers. For pretty obvious reasons, letters such as “I,” “O” and “Q” are not used, as they look very similar to numbers. This becomes especially apparent, when ol’ Bessie runs down the chute and out the head gate without a backwards look at the patient data recorder who is left trying to determine if that was 24“I” or “two forty-one?” For similar reasons, the letter “V” is not used either, because who can really tell a “U” from a “V” at 800m away? Someone along the line made the smart call to eliminate these potential problems and any time a cattle handling marital “situation” can be prevented, it’s a good thing. Trust me and any ranch woman on the planet.

Some cattle producers use these letter codes and some do not, however most purebred breeders use this system. The code is internationally recognized and including it is essential when tattooing the ears of your registered livestock. We use this letter system for all calves born on our ranch, whether they are commercial, or registered purebred, because it works with our management system.

Everyone who uses the system can’t help but resonate strongly with certain calf crops and their corresponding letter. My (human) twin babies were born in the middle of calving season and coincidentally in the midst of many bovine twins, in the year X. I did not tattoo my children’s ears, however that is a popular question making me wonder what people actually think of my parenting skills. My youngest is a December baby, squeaking by to be a Z, but I think of her as an honorary A because she was a patient little baby through much of the time that our A calf crop was arriving. R is another special year for us because that is the first year that we calved out cows under our own registered prefix. Understandably, many ranchers get a little sentimental when they’ve come full circle (sometimes into the third or fourth circle!) and return to the letter they used for their first calf crop. And some ranchers remember certain letters that they would rather forget because they may have had a particularly challenging season or calf crop. All in all, the system is pretty handy, because it can quickly tell you if a female is a first-calf heifer, or an old crock, or if a bull has sired three or nine calf crops.

While everyone is ringing in the New Year, contemplating their personal resolutions and tactics for maintaining their new life-changing behaviours, know that for some ranchers, 2014 simply means that it’s a new year, and one that will be brought to you by the letter B.

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