We took the cattle to our highest elevation pasture. It’s above 6000 feet, the one we may get snowed out of.
We knew the move would take all day. We had to gather the herd first and then push them up and over a mountain, down the other side, over a couple of rock bluffs and through an 8’ gate into the Meadow Creek field. Prior years had been nightmarish, but the cattle were becoming accustomed to the route and if it stayed cold we should be alright.
Because of the time element, when we unloaded the horses Mark trotted off before I was ready. I’m sure it’s in the gentleman rancher’s handbook: Always wait until your feminine companion is safely mounted on her horse before leaving for the day’s work. And Mark usually remembers, but not this day. I hollered at him to come back, as my horse (any horse) doesn’t like being left behind and won’t stand still while his rider mounts.
“We’re not going to the same place so what does it matter!” he said with irritation.
I responded back with equal irritation, “It’ll just take a minute and believe me, it will be well worth your time!”
I hurriedly strapped on my spurs and adjusted my chaps and before I knew it, he had dismounted, exchanged Mater’s halter for a riding bridle and was handing me the reins. He kissed me and said he was sorry.
At that moment I felt a palpable physical response in my core. He’s probably forgotten all about it and has no idea (until he reads this) what that meant to me and how much mileage he gained in my estimation of his character by that simple act. It would set the stage for a day of work for me. Now I could jog off alone and be at opposite ends of the herd all day without complaint.
Women are simple creatures really. Why do men make it so complicated?
|Mark brings up the rear|
photo by Anita Pratt