When the cattle call
The plan was to write last night.
I was all settled in, candle to my left, sweet tea to my right.
Then my phone rang.
It was my dad’s ring and, honestly, I hesitated, because I know what those calls carry.
“I need your help down here,” he said.
And if I could tell you all the times I’ve heard that phrase, well you’d grow weary of his calls yourself. There’s no limit to it. It cares not of the hour or prior plans.
But cattle don’t either and my dad’s a reflection of them.And so in my pajamas with the absolute wrong shoes on, I rushed to my folk’s place. I didn’t know what exactly I was getting into, only that there was a need.
“What are those shoes you’re wearing,” he asked?
“Dad, I’m here, let’s just do this,” I answered.
Looking around, I read the signs. It was 10 pm and we were only getting started.
My shoes sank as I stepped into the situation, admitting the story was going to have to wait.My dad was right; he did need my help. And that’s because a particular cow needed his.
And so we worked, the three of us. For a night we were the entire team: the first responders, the paramedics, the doctors and the rehabilitators. Side by side I watched him use his strength to help her regain hers and, in the end, she stood, a testament that our efforts weren’t in vain.
And that’s just one story of a cow in a bad spot. This week’s been filled with late nights and early mornings and it’s only Wednesday.In case you’re wondering, I didn’t get my story written, but I did gain another one – one that reads ranchers will do whatever it takes to help the animals they love.
Because if you never had those days, if I didn’t have last night, well I’d never have any stories to tell.
My material comes only when the cattle call.
Thanks for telling me your stories,