Bull Riding Life

It would be a confluence of either exciting fun or unmitigated disaster.

I wouldn’t know which until the dust settled.

I turn my bulls into the pasture with my cows on June 15.

This isn’t a randomly-selected date.

This day, along with December 7 when the rams join the ewes, schedules my activities for my entire year.

When the bulls join the cows on June 15, calves will appear on the prairie next March.

This is part of the fundamental seasonal rhythm of the ranch.

I purchased two new bulls this spring and they needed to be branded before I let them leave the corrals.

And last weekend, my niece brought her husband and four young kids to visit.

The kids had never been to a ranch before.

We looked for treasures with the metal detector, found interesting rocks and shot rifles at targets. But I think everyone should smell the stench of a branded bovine at least once in her life.

As our fun in the sun wound down, we had one more task to accomplish.

Bulls are like boyfriends: Don’t let two of them in the same room. One bull enjoyed the company of a skinny cow in the upper corral while another laid around with Maija the milk cow in the lower corral.

My brother, Roger, his son-in-law Chris, and I eased the first bull into the working chute.

Questions peppered my waist.

What if the bull charged?

How could we tell if he was mad?

How would we keep him still?

What if I poked him with a stick?

I answered that last question with a firm no.

We made quick work of that branding adventure before traipsing down the hill to the lower corral.

This bull was bigger, but so was the chute.

We only needed to coax him down the metal panel alley, slam the back gate behind him, sizzle his right hip and go bar-b-que some burgers.

The bull was not interested in our burgers or our alley.

Slow is fast, especially with an 1800-pound bull.

I tapped his hip.

He pawed the ground.

I twisted his tail.

He bent like a pretzel, but didn’t move down the alley.

I swung up on the horse to improve my height and intimidation factor.

He wouldn’t budge.

Even when the horse nipped him.

We narrowed the alley panels with yellow twine so he wouldn’t turn around, then baited him with Maija the milk cow.

He moseyed into the alley, but would not step into the chute.

Safety is paramount, especially around bulls, so we used a T-post between the rails of the metal panels to prevent him from backing out.

The kids and their mother watched from the corral fence.

I was glad they were there. I didn’t say it, but I thought we might need somebody to drive us to the hospital.

Then I stood on one of the rails to bait him with a bucket of oats.

He sniffed my shoe.

I froze.

He licked my shoe.

I didn’t move.

He drooled on my shoe.

I took a step toward the chute.

He followed, his nose in the air, lips curled wide.

I moved him about 5 feet before my shoe ran out of fragrance.

I used the other shoe.

Chris blocked him with the T-post.

He wouldn’t step into the chute so I took drastic measures.

I sat on his back, adrenaline pumping, ready for whatever might happen.

He finally stepped into the chute.

He now carries my brand on his hip.

My daughter, Abby, said he is a weird, shoe-sniffing bull and wonders whether he will get the job done.

Who cares? I’m a bull rider!