This is open-range country, which has spawned some of the strangest property laws I’ve ever seen. I always thought the fed or state government leased out land it held to ranchers for grazing. And it does, but somehow or other it can lease out everybody else’s too. As I understand it – and I confess I don’t understand it well – a landowner is legally permitted to prevent cattle from entering his property with fencing, but otherwise is forbidden from molesting them in any way. A cattle rancher is legally permitted to protect his cattle with lethal force from anything that stalks or slithers. That makes open-range country a dangerous place to be a dog.
The rancher who usually runs cattle here is a real SOB about it and absolutely has been known to shoot dogs in their own front yards. I personally know a three-legged dog who can testify to it. So one of the few things I dislike about summer is the annual cattle herd. This year it’s a different guy with some peculiar practices. Normally we’ve got range-smart momma cattle protecting small groups of calves, some just babies. This year there’s a big herd of older calves with no adults. They’re easier to get along with, really, because they’re afraid of everything. They started out near the county road miles away where there was relatively good grass but the rancher has been luring them deeper into the desert with mineral blocks and big tanks of water. About a week ago they started showing up around the Lair in force.
The first time I waded into their midst with much AK noise and chased them away. But of course I can’t watch them at night, and anyway it was only a matter of time before they came around when Ghost was outside. Whether I liked it or not, Ghost was going to have his way with them. He’s only sort of my dog and has never been slavishly obedient. Little Bear won’t obey once he starts chasing either, but he’s cabled to the cabin. Which is anchored to the earth. He tries to tow it, but just can’t.
So I dread cattle showing up around here. When Ghost was young, it was a real problem. He was (it must be said in honesty) the sort of cow-chaser I would certainly hate if I were a rancher and it led to T and Landlady building Gitmo in the first place.
But Ghost, it seems, is no longer young. This morning I got up, let the boys out, and went out myself to check on things around the yard. I was over at the mostly-dead garden when Little Bear lit up. Ghost went past me in a silent streak of brown, headed for the wash. I looked across the wash and saw hulking black shapes, already moving away into the brush. I figured it might be an hour or more before I saw Ghost again, and hoped he’d be all right. But to my surprise he wasn’t gone five minutes. He came trotting right back up the driveway, clearly quite pleased with himself. He’d done his job clearing his territory of those damned cattle, and now he settled himself down to watch the perimeter lest they return. But he seemed to have no desire to chase them further just for the fun of it.
