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 When the Rafter E branded recently, a bunch of us
went out to help. There’s a definite pecking order here, and it's a
badge of pride to have worked your way up the branding ladder.
As a kid, you flank the calves; you grab them, throw them and hold
them down. This is conducive to abrasions, muscle strain, and
involuntarily changing the color of your shirt.
As you get older, you get to handle the branding iron, then move up
to giving shots. After that comes earmarking. When you reach the
pinnacle of branding, that is, when you own the calves, then you get
to rope the calves and drag them up to the fire.
It is a swirling cauldron of heat and hooves, excited cowdogs and
bawling cows. There is the smell of manure and singed hair and sweat
and corral dust. [to top of second
column] |
At the Rafter E, I wielded a
syringe as the youngsters got their teeth rattled by the heavy
stuff.
Wasn't the first time I’d given the shots, though. Once during a
branding at the Triangle Cross, I was about to immunize a calf when
the calf jumped and I stuck the needle into my thumb.
Hurt like the dickens, of course, but at least it was effective. I
haven't had black leg since.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by Packing the Backyard Horse, by Slim Randles. Now
available on Amazon.com
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