Sunshine

         Often, especially in the early spring, we would find calves who were orphans.  Their mommas had died after birthing or just didn’t like the aspect of motherhood.  We would find these calves bawling for mama and rescue them.  I am sure there were many that became coyote food, but we were able to save some each year.

         Earl would bring these little critters back to town with him, and it became the grandkids’ responsibility to raise them.  We had no barn or corral at the house, so we would devise a system of fences to keep the calf from wandering.  Every morning and night we would mix up the milk, put it in a big bottle, and feed the calf.  They would then chase us all over the yard, slobbering and bawling for more milk.  We wouldn’t get in our good clothes until after our chore for fear of getting slimed.  The yard was well fertilized when we had those dogie calves penned up.

         We started naming the calves “Sunshine” and it worked for both males and females.  We didn’t have to think of a name when a new calf was found.  There were times that Sunshine would get out of his or her pen and we had to chase all over the neighborhood to find the lost calf to bring it home.

         After the calf was grown, six to eight months later, we would take the calf back to the ranch to join the herd.  They ended up being the tamest of Earl’s herd.

         One summer, during my college years, I was working on the ranch.  We had completed a large roundup, and we were separating the cattle.  There was a lot of wild stock and some real big ones as well.  Some of these cattle had not seen humans for years.  They would lower their horns and chase us up the corral fence.  There was one, though, that we were all scared silly of.  He was huge—massive.  His head was enormous with arm thick horns curved perfectly upwards; the ultimate spearing tool. Every time he would glance our way, everyone would head to the closest fence and start climbing.  We had been lucky so far.

         One of our seasoned cowboys got in a tight jam, however.  That big old bull snorted and ran his way.  The cowboy ran for his life, but was backed into a corner with no escape.  The bull snorted and ran straight at this cowboy.  I am positive the man was repenting for all he had done when the bull lowered his head and came to a stop, inches from the man.

         The bull started rubbing his head up and down the poor, scared cowboy.  Then the cowboy reached out tentatively and scratched the bull’s head and ears while that old, mossy horned bull sighed with pleasure.  No more worries for that happy bull.  No wonder he chased us around.  He just wanted his ears scratched like so long ago in our backyard.

         It was Sunshine—or at least one of them.