Save The Herd

By Eileen Rossignol

“Don’t you dare try to take care of them yourself, Eileen.”

Mrs. Martyr, the world’s meanest school bus driver, gestured at our family’s cattle loose beside the busy rural highway, glaring at nine-year-old me as I obediently nodded and hopped off the warm bus into the rain and wind. I started my half-mile walk home as the bus driver watched to ensure that I left those calves where they were. 

Well. I HAD to take care of them; my parents weren’t home and nobody else would.  They would cause a serious, possibly deadly accident, especially in this weather.  I walked until the minute that bus was out of sight, then spun around and ran back, wrapping my books in my jacket and ditching it beside the gate. My mission: Save the Herd without approaching the highway.

Five of our six young calves casually chewed the tall, wet grass along both sides of the barbed-wire fence, watching me curiously as I walked along the fence toward them.  The other had wandered to the edge of the highway, getting startled by blaring horns as cars and semis honked, swerved, and swished past, kicking up sprays of water. I called out, but he could hear nothing but road noise.  The other calves lumbered toward me, hoping for some food or attention, and were rewarded with pats and ear scratches, enthusiastically head-butting me for more.  They slowly followed me along the fence-line toward the gate, hoping I could keep the three loose ones IN and not let the other three OUT.

Hot tears ran down my face out of fear and frustration with a job too big for me.  Sweat and rain soaked my clothes, and I really did not know how I was going to save the herd. I wished for a rope, like real cowboys, but without one I had to rely on my wit and charm to keep at least the five closest away from the road.

The one by the road… that one was gonna need luck. By the time I got the gate open and persuaded all five safely into the field, the other had wandered across the highway and disappeared to the other side.

I swallowed panic and set my efforts into closing the gate. The post was taller than me, the loop was above my head, and I knew that it was going to be difficult or impossible.  As I wrestled with this gate and listened to the cars swish and honk at the calf still wreaking havoc on the freeway, I felt crushing defeat. My muscles quivered painfully, my hands and feet were numb from cold, and I couldn’t get the gate closed. The herd meandered back toward me and I held the gate and cried, a pickup pulled off onto the crunchy driveway. 

“Is that yours?”  the guy yelled above the honking, swishing, rain, and wind.

All I could do was nod. He was wearing a COWBOY HAT!

“Stay there!” he yelled, reaching behind his seat and pulling out a rope. A ROPE!

I cried again with relief and a minute later traffic on the highway came to a stop as the man crested over the blacktop, easily leading the stray calf away from danger.

“Thank you,” I mumbled quietly, trying not to cry while I held the gate open for him and the calf. I don’t think he heard me.

As I wrestled with the gate, I could feel him looking.  Assessing the situation.  Like a real cowboy. 

“You need help with that?” he asked.  All I could do without sobbing was nod.

“Do you need my rope to get them home?” he asked, taking the gate post from me. Sweet relief flooded my muscles as my arms dropped and I tried to catch my breath.

“No, they’ll follow me.”  I managed to mumble and nod my head across the field.

“Alright. You get ‘em home, I’ll make sure the gate is shut. Deal?”

I grabbed my pile of stuff and slipped on my jacket as the calves gathered around me. The cowboy had already secured the gate and was heading back to his warm truck. The highway had returned to its rhythmic swishing of vehicles flowing smoothly.  The calves walked happily along the muddy road with me, steam bursting from their wet noses and rising slowly from their backsides. They jostled each other, head-butted me, swishing their tails and snorting, enjoying the adventure and company.  We sauntered home together, my head and shoulders held high with satisfaction and pride, singing Willy Nelson’s ‘Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.’