My CowboyDoc just returned from his not so often outing with the “Boys Club”. When girls get together it is usually for shopping and gossip. But when a bunch of ranchers get together, you don’t think they go for shopping and gossip? The mouse under the seat of the truck says different, as he has told me the banter goes like this: “New fencing materials…$8,000, latest pricy semen from bulls of notority…we won’t even go there, heard the old Matthews place is for sale, good hunk of land, fair price, would be a nice addition to our outfit.”
Now, correct me when I think, hm, “outfit”, “sale”, “materials”, “hunk”, sounds like shopping to me. Anywhoo, they had a grand day of “guy” stuff and learning, since it was a “conference” after all. So this morning, CowboyHunk says he is going to “mow” the driveway for me. How sweet of him. We don’t have much grass on either side of it, but most annoying, is that strip down the middle that grabs and tangles at my brake lines, cables, and Louboutin heels as I drive out the 1/3 mile gravel driveway on dress up days. The thought that we don’t even have a lawn mower, should have been the first red flag. The second should have been the title of the Conference the day before…”Effective Mob Grazing”.
Mob Grazing? Definition…large density of animal on minute land mass. My morning alarm never went off, as I thought I was dreaming of sitting on the fence in the middle of a 10,000 animal feeder unit on the outskirts of CowTown, Colorado. The mooing was deafening. I found I wasn’t dreaming, nor was I on a fence. Sticking my head out my front door, thankful that the deck hadn’t been built yet, there in my driveway, were 150 head of black angus…mowers. They were as thick as black flies on a molasses pie. The only reason I knew there was a driveway, was that the long column of animals curved just like my drive did.
CowboyDoc was pleased as punch. They had grass, water, and a hefty single strand of hot wire holding them in. He gave me a quick sweet kiss goodbye as he went off to save the animal kingdom for a couple of hours. He reassured me that the MOB would stay put until he returned and then he’d move them an inch or two down the drive. As usual, he rounded up the masses earlier that morning with my faithful steed, the great Geronimo Paint, faster than the winds of the western plains and dumber than a box of rocks.
Saturday chatting with my Sista on the phone is always a chitty chat mess of gossip, peppered with projects, and kids. We don’t have a land line, only cell phones, in this the armpit of the nation, so I am always walking around “tower searching”. Imagine my horror at the graceful vision before me, Geronimo in all his finest glory, at top speed past my living room windows, followed by, yep, the Stampede. It looked like ants on a jelly sandwich. Which would have been funny, if I hadn’t been home alone. My usual policy is 1. Save the babies and children, then the patio furniture and two new trees I just planted. And 2. Go close main gates to keep them off roads. Unfortunately, 5 sides of t-bones escaped down the road. Luckily they had some color to them, so we could find them later easily.
All ended well, as CowboyDoc came home within 30 minutes and saved his own animal kingdom. I think Mob Grazing was invented for the grisly old duffers looking for excuses to get out from desparate housewives wrinkled beyond their years, as they need moved every hour, and obviously WATCHED constantly.
Excuse me…gonna go fire up the barbie, just in case steak is on the menu tonight….