So I overslept this morning, this first glorious summerlike morning when I really seriously have things to do, things I spent yesterday clearing the decks for. I want to – at a minimum – get the poles up for the new woodshed today. No cold, no rain, no wind.
But first LB needs a walky, very seriously, because Daddy overslept. I got him on his long lead, looked out the window – the one I’ll be removing, which is why I want another matching window on the new bedroom wall – and saw a herdlet of cattle heading up the driveway.
Bother. I rummaged around in the desk drawer for the Mak, checked the magazine, went outside yelling and shooting into the ground to turn them around and send them back into the brush. Yeah, they have to move east/west but they don’t have to do it through my yard. There’s plenty of room north of me.
That’s all good clean fun but there’s a new element of risk in the past week, since Carson released the bulls. Cattle with calves will run when you wave your arms and yell; the gunfire is just to get their attention. Bulls are unimpressed by any of those things, and they can get hostile. You don’t want to be on your feet in the open with a hostile bull. Even if you win the fight to the death, your legal troubles have only begun. So while of course I’m armed with a .44 Magnum whenever I take LB for his walks, that’s not good enough. If I’m shooting at a bull I’m already in major trouble. Existential, legal, and financial trouble. Leave the state fast trouble. You wonder why I resent all these damned cattle? I’m not the aggressor here.
It worked last summer, maybe it’ll work this summer…
They’re not impressed by guns. They’re not usually impressed by gunfire noise. But they understand a big stick. I presume they’re familiar with cattle prods – I don’t have a cattle prod, so my approach is somewhat more Paleolithic. But it still works.