The Beef Industry is in the news every day it seems, so now seems an appropriate time for me to re-live a couple of my true personal “cattle tales.”

The first true cattle tale goes back to my Roy Rogers and Trigger days in the early 1950s. In my imaginative youthful mind, I wuz destined to be a “real” cowboy for my entire life. And, one of my fanciful desires wuz to participate in a long cattle drive. I wuz probably in the fourth or fifth grade at the time.

So, just imagine my delight when a neighbor invited me to help move his “big” cow herd — probably no more than 50 head — on a trail drive from his farmstead a full seven miles to a summer pasture. I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm.

At the time, the “cow horse” I wuz riding wuz Mousey, a little 13-hands high mouse grey crossbred mare — I wuz told a cross between a Morgan and a Quarterhorse. But, most important, she wuz fast, quick and full of energy, tough as nails and never needed to be shod. She had little innate cow sense, but wuz plenty willing to charge into whatever mess I directed her toward.

So, on the morning of the big “trail drive,” I got up early and rode Mousey about 8 miles to the pasture where the herd had wintered. Naturally, there were several men and other kids, all a’horseback, there to assist with the drive.

It took only a few minutes to get the cows and calves lined out on the gravel road. I was “assigned” one of the “drag” positions in the dust behind the herd — a job which I proudly accepted.

All went well with the drive for a few miles, but then we passed a homestead with a circle drive with one entrance by the house that continued behind the garage and then went between the chicken house and the main house and came back out to the gravel road about a hundred yards down from the first entrance.

Suddenly, the lead cows veered from the road and into the second driveway entrance down the road. The “trail boss” yelled at me, “Milo, get down there and head them back onto the road.”

Oh, what a welcome directive! I spurred Mousey into a dead run into the driveway entrance by the house. Mousey’s ears were laid back and we were going hell-bent for election when we crossed in front of the chicken house. I wuz cutting the wind leaning over the saddle horn.

There wuz a 55-gallon barrel laying on its side close to the driveway. And, just as Mousey and I thundered up to it a crazy old hen came out of the barrel, cackling and flapping loudly, not 10 feet from Mousey’s nose.

Since I wuz already leaned over the saddle horse in my best classic cowboy pose when Mousey hit the brakes to avoid the hen, I didn’t hit the brakes with her. I ejected forward over her head and I hit the saddle horn on my way out of the saddle.

Need I describe where I hurt? My trail drive ended unceremoniously with scratches and scabs and a throb in my nether region.

So, why did I entitle this column “Lucky me?” Because I’m lucky that I wuz able years later to sire two wonderful daughters.

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The second true “cattle tale” happened when I wuz in college in Oklahoma at Bea Wilder U II. I had a friend Jim, who eventually became editor of the Quarter horse Journal, who owned a small ranch near Glencoe, Okla. He had an elderly rancher neighbor, Oscar, whose cow herd management program wuz year-round calving.

So, when it came time to work Oscar’s calves, Jim asked me it I’d like to help. He said Oscar’s cattle-working facilities were rudimentary — a dilapidated corral of old tin, mattress springs, and a confused tangle of barbed and woven wire. The cattle “chute” consisted of a wooden post set in the middle of the corral. None of that news deterred me. Again, I jumped at the opportunity.

So, when I arrived to help the crew, the calves were already sorted and in the corral. Everyone wuz armed with a rope. The corral wuz too small to work the calves with horses.

So, we manhandled the calves, starting with the 600-pounders and working our way down to the smallest calves. After several hours of sweat, dirt, grime, manure and bruises, we were down to a tiny calf only a few days old.

That’s when I loudly announced, “This is the calf we’ve been working for, boys!” And, I leaned over and grabbed the calf to flank it to the ground. But, the calf had other ideas. When I grabbed its flank, it bolted straight up and the poll of its head caught me squarely under the chin, which snapped my head back, about cut the end of my tongue off, and chipped one of my front teeth.

I could scarcely talk for a few days. Had to go to the dentist. My lesson should have been to keep my mouth shut — but, of course — it’s plain that the lesson didn’t stick with me.

***

This third true “expensive cow tale” didn’t happen to me. It happened to a northeast Kansas rancher and it involved hedge apples.

The hedge tree — also known as Osage Orange or bois d’arc — is an invasive tree that has both useful traits and expensive nuisance traits. It’s helpful traits are as a windbreak, as the hottest burning firewood, and as the longest-lasting wooden fence post.

It’s biggest nuisance is it spreads rapidly. Cutting it down doesn’t kill it. The stumps must be sprayed. It’s shallow root system sucks water from the root zone of favorable grasses. Left alone, it will eventually take over a pasture and greatly reduce its cattle carrying capacity.

It’s last nuisance are the hedge apples the female trees produce in abundance. The orange or yellow fruits may look pretty from the road, but they are the way the species spreads, and they can be a hazard.

Sadly, some cattle love to eat the hedge apples when they fall to the ground. But, the hedge apples have to be swallowed whole and cows can, and do, choke to death swallowing them.

That’s what happened this fall to the rancher. Two of his mature cows choked to death on hedge apples. That’s a several thousand dollar loss with today’s cattle market. To prevent more losses, he had to move his herd to another pasture.

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Words of wisdom for the week: “The most profitable way to work cattle is calmly.” Have a good ‘un.