Going Green

Submitted By: Mitch Lamb

    One of the best parts about spring, at least when I was a kid, is spring means its time to get all the calves in and brand them. I don't necessarily care for putting third degree burns on the ribs of a cute little bovine, but it is quite the party with all my family there, chasing cows around and so forth.

    I was usually in the corral with a good amount of calves in it, pushing them through a small alley to the table chute, where they were doctored and marked by my Dad and older brothers. Always by my side was my little brother, Russ. It was our job to keep the supply of patients coming, never letting the 'doctors' run out of work. That was not hard to do, cause castrating baby bulls takes a little time, and we would find ourselves with the dilemma of what to do with the time between selecting victims.

    Young boys, between the ages of 10 and 14 rarely have that dilemma long, for it is a God given gift to come up with things to do. Sometimes great things are accomplished, like a fort, or swimming hole, but sometimes we part with that inner Einstein responsible for remarkably good ideas.

    We had ridden a few small bulls, tossed rocks at an impossible target, and many other time consuming things that brought temporary joy to the monotony that was our lives. These activities were short lived and we found ourselves with a good portion of day, and calves, left to pass.

    Anyone who has worked with cattle knows that when you get them all in a small space, like lets say a corral, they tend to leave behind a lot of little green piles of day-old grass, that smells a little bit awful. If you spend much time in said confined space, you will always, and I mean always, get some "grass" on your boot. Well that's what I did, a huge pile of it was now mostly on my boot, and it sparked something in the little war room deep inside my mind. I started to get an idea, a bad, yet good idea. In my hand was a stick, like half of a shovel handle, used to persuade the animals up the alley to there certain doom. And on the broken end of said stick, it almost looked like a spoon. It looks perfect for scooping up manure, I thought as I reached it closer to the green pile. It was about the consistency of pancake batter, the thick kind that dad makes on the mountain, and it stayed in my "launcher" better than expected. The idea in my mind was getting bigger and bigger until, yeah, I had a plan. Russ was sitting on the fence with his back towards me, so I hollered his name, "Hey Russ, check this out." He turned and when he did, my crap launcher was ready. It threw a round of bio-hazard ammunition right at him and caught him in the chest.

    That started something that was a horrible sight; green mud was flying both directions and most of the time, finding their targets. By the time we were done branding that day, we were both covered in post-digestion plant life. Yes, boys will be boys, but sometimes, I think we kind of wish we wouldn't.