A Good Day to Die

“Is today a good day to die?”, I heard faintly whispered in my ear and I shifted in my sleep, sliding my left foot up and down the inside of my right leg. Climbing out of my sleep fog, I tried to remember the question I had just heard. But like many dreams, when my eyes popped open, my memory slammed shut. However, the feeling of unease stayed with me.

As my aging, yet still ranching dad told me his plans for the morning, my feeling of unease grew exponentially, but I didn’t know why. It wasn’t just because one of my best friends, a 38 yr old experienced horse woman and mother of 4 had been killed doing what was on my plate that day. It was because I knew “the boys” we were dealing with. One of us would be luring/leading, and one would be following to push, on horse back.

What was I dreaming?!!!

The plan that day was to take the 2 bulls through the swamp and turn them in with the cows. It was June 1st, and 60 plus cows were cycling in heat, ready to breed, and those pheromones were inundating the air waves of the 1 mile of thick forest and creek crossings that separated them. The boys were horny. As dad and I like to call them, “feeling raunchy”.

Two weeks earlier they grazed peacefully side by side, barely noticing each other, and dad easily approached them to affectionately rub their giant foreheads. Each weighing in at approximately 2500 lbs, they were either giant pets or raging giant steam rollers, pushing each other around, bawling in rage, tipping each other off balance, slamming into each other with effort that elicited awe and fear. They can tip over a side-by-side, or a damned fine horse and rider. At over a ton they can collapse the side of a quad cab pickup, crumpling it like paper, and wander off as if nothing happened. And today they were already out of their minds in love. When we pulled up to strategize, they were already bawling, low, like thunder in the distance, glaring at each other, trying to decide when to stop talking and start conquering.

We stood at the corner gate to the pasture and made our plan. I would take the little red Nissan pickup and a bucket of cake (cow candy), and entice them to follow me. He would follow on his trusty Appaloosa, and give them a nudge if they got distracted with each other, or the changing landscape.

“If you lose track of them, hop out and shake the bucket. Don’t get too far from the pickup, because if they catch you on foot, they’ll get you.” I nodded. I knew what “get you” meant.

Things started off nicely with the boys following in tow as I shook the bucket out the window and crept along the winding forest road. Then all of the sudden I looked back and they were gone. “How does 5,000 lbs of red angus flesh just poof!? Gone!” I stepped gingerly out of the cab, head on a swivel, shaking the bucket of cake, muttering obscenities in my mind about how I obviously had drawn the short straw that morning. One hundred feet, two hundred feet, and counting from the pickup, my hair stood on end as under a tree just 150 feet from me, I made eye contact with the boys. Heads up and on the run they started after me and I ran as if my life depended on it. Because it did. I slammed the truck door closed just as they reached the tailgate and we commenced our journey. “Where’s Dad?”, I puzzled to myself. He should’ve been right with us by now.

I put the gas peddle down as I buried the pickup in the flooding water creek and sputtered up the opposite bank. The boys started mauling each other, dust and saliva flying. I stuck my head out the window just in time to see Dad riding up behind them. He waved me on to get the gate open at the top of the hill. I hustled out of sight and when I got to the gate I could see the cows in the pasture, waiting. They knew what time of year it was too.

The gate was incredibly difficult to open, so I wrapped my full right arm, up to the shoulder, around the post at the top and squeezed as hard as I could. I could hear thundering behind me and I lost myself in fear. I turned around to see the tops of their heads peaking over the hill, pushing, bawling and fighting the whole way. In my mind I figured I had about 10 seconds to get out of the open gate before they would barrel through the opening, taking every square inch of it. As I tried to pull away I realized my sweatshirt was caught in the barbed wire, badly caught. I tried to tear myself away, but the fabric held. The more I struggled, the worse I was bound.

At approximately 300 feet, they saw me. Tails up, they made straight for me. They forgot about each other as I stood paralyzed in the open gate, unable to rip my sweatshirt off, unable to tear myself free. It was at that second that I remembered my dream, and I heard a voice ask me, “Is today a good day to die?”

Bearing down on me at 200 feet and closing, I heard my Dad’s voice screaming in terror “Get out of the gate!! Get out of the gate!” I pulled back just enough for him to see the mess I was in. I watched as it registered in his mind. He slammed his heels into the sides of his horse and rode up hard on the bulls, pushing them apart with his horse, and as they reached me, he whipped them frantically with his reigns. For a fraction of a second, they took their minds off of me and focused on their pursuer. They thundered past me as I shrunk as far from the opening as I could, so close that they blew my hair back from my face and slammed into the post I was tethered to. I heard it protest as the wood splintered under the impact.

As they cleared the gate they saw the cows before them and forgot their fight. Dad flew from his horse and grabbed me as my legs gave way. He pulled me up tight and held me, tearing my sweatshirt from the barbed wire. When I was free we just stood there, holding each other up, knowing how close I had just come to being killed. “I thought you were going to die”, he said. I simply replied, “Today is not the day Dad.”