We're calving, here in Eastern Montana. We tag the calves with thier mother's tag number, and in order to do this, we drive through each pasture on four wheelers, looking in coullees and draws, hoping to find them before they get too old and frisky. Most days, the spring sun shines warm on our faces, with the smell of wet dirt and sagebrush, and it's great fun to look for babies. Usually, we find them curled up in a shiny, black bundle behind a sagebrush, soaking up the sun. I've always wondered how thier mommas get them SO clean, with those slobbery, grassy tongues!
The search for calves reminds me of looking for Easter eggs. What a delight to find the calf! It's good to get out, to see the land waking up from winter dormancy, hear the geese returning to the reservoirs in big noisy bunches. How do people in town celebrate the changing of the seasons? Do they wait for the signs at Walmart, yelling at them to buy their spring wardrobe or plastic eggs?
Give me Angus calves!
