Since every one seems like their calving thought I would share this poem
The Tagging
Ole Mamma sneaks off for a drink
My chance for bravery has come I think
I move to the top of the hill for a better position
Getting close to her calf is my mission
Little one, just a laying there, soaking up the sun
Name of this game not for it to get up an run.
I slither off my horse, with tagger in hand
In calving time its the law of the land.
From generation to generation to present to past
The proudful art, of tagging the calf
I swoop down with tagger in ear
But my sixth sense says there's something to fear
Mom takes a drink, with one eye on the hill
One large gulp, and she's drunk her fill
There's movement from the bottom I can see
Cows are parting, just like Moses did the Red Sea
Mama's eyes on me are carefully trained
She's acting like , she's mentally deranged
In a split second the hill she has topped
My Tag in the middle of the ear has stopped
I try to pull it, with my gloved hand
But in the struggle I come up with a handful of sand
She comes a barreling in hits me, right square in the fannan
I rocket off that calf, like I've been shot out of a cannon
I look for help from my faithful horse, Buck
But he's gone south, like the geese and the duck.
I grab the Tag thru, just as I'm derailed
For I know my mission has not failed.
Another Mamma has snuck off for a drink
My chance for bravery has come I think.
I wrote this in February of 1999 while working on the McMurtrey Ranch helping calve out 900 cows.