Sunday, May 10, 2015

Dreaming of a white spring...





This is what my world looked like yesterday morning, green and wet with rain pouring down and lightning splitting the sky.

And here's what it looked like this morning.

Here's the baby calf I tagged at 6 a.m.

It's far from unusual for us to get snow in May. In fact, it's very unusual not to get snow in May. According to the High Plains Regional Climate Center, May at Kimball, Nebraska has been snow-free only 12 times since 1893.

So it's a bit puzzling when I hear the local experten hold forth on how terribly, terribly unusual this snow storm has been. Just for fun, here are some images taken during the first 10 days of May in the years 2010, 2011, 2013, and 2014. In 2012, which was a nightmare drought year, May was snow free.




The last one was taken a couple of days after the storm. On the day of the storm it looked a lot like the others.

Yesterday was a bit of a bother. It rained like hell all day until late in the afternoon, when the rain turned to snow. Rain is a very good thing. So, also, is snow. When your average annual precipitation is 16 inches and you make your living off of grass production, which requires moisture to grow, you can't afford to turn up your nose at anything which puts water into the soil.

Rain and snow can be inconvenient, however. To prepare for yesterday's storm, I had to move cattle into protected pastures. A very cold, wet job. I also received 26 new cow-calf pairs, delivered by truck. Also a cold, wet job. 

So yesterday was cold and wet and miserable and wonderful. Occasional cold, wet misery is the price I pay to live this life, and it's a price I delight in paying.

Particularly after the fact, when I'm warm and dry and things have gone reasonably well.

A few more pictures of the transition. Let it Snow!*














*...and then quickly warm up and get nice.

Friday, May 8, 2015

Ola Mize




It'll be Memorial Day soon.

http://www.cmohs.org/recipient-detail/3161/mize-ola-l.php

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Sarge touche une corde sensible...





After reading this, I thought about this:

The horse, until it was supplanted by vehicles driven by first the external, then internal combustion engine, was perhaps the most important power source and locomotive force available to mankind.

Horses were first domesticated between 4,000-3,500 B.C in central Asia – present day Ukraine and Kazakhstan. In addition to their duties as draft and transportation animals, they were immediately recruited into human warfare.

Evidence that horses were ridden into battle as war mounts exists from as long as 5,000 years ago. In addition to cavalry and reconnaissance work, horse power was used to pull wagons and sledges of war supplies, to turn windlasses for raising water from wells and heavy beams to build fortifications.

Chariots appeared on the battlefield around 1,600 B.C., pulled by single horses or by teams of up to six. The chariots were usually crewed by a driver and an archer and made lightning-fast, slashing attacks on enemy formations, then sped away to rearm and, if needed, change horses.
Eastern Han Dynasty tomb fresco of chariots, horses, and men. Circa 200 b.c. Wikimedia commons.
Written training manuals for the use of horses in warfare began to appear around 1,300 B.C., and formal cavalry techniques began to be developed. The use of coordinated cavalry changed the face of warfare and spurred the invention of improved harness designs, the saddle and stirrup, and even the horse collar.

War horses came in all shapes and sizes, from the shaggy, tough and diminutive pony of the Eurasian steppe to the largest of the “slow-blood” draft breeds.

The type of horse employed usually depended on the mission. Reconnaissance demanded toughness, endurance and the ability to forage. Armored knights of the Middle Ages required large, very strong mounts capable of quick bursts of speed and rapid recovery. Military draft horses had to have immense strength and endurance. Mules and donkeys were widely used as military pack animals as well.

We tend to think of the famous cavalry actions of the 19th century – the Napoleonic and Crimean Wars in Europe and the American Civil War – as the high point of horse warfare. The steam engine was making its presence felt around the world and on the battlefield, taking over many of the heavy lifting duties previously assigned to the horse. Though horses still pulled supply wagons and sledges, steam locomotives and steam-driven riverboats moved bulk freight over long distances.
Cavalry Charge Near Brandy Station, Virginia, 1864, by Edwin Forbes. Wikimedia commons.
General Robert E. Lee mounted on Traveller, his famous war horse, 1866. Wikimedia commons.
In the wars of the late 19th century fought in Europe, North Africa and the Middle East, cavalry forces usually fought in large, set-piece battles under the direct control of a commanding general, who sighted himself on high terrain with a good view of the unfolding battle. The general communicated with individual infantry, cavalry, grenadier, and artillery units via mounted dispatch riders.

Elementary students the world over – at least into the 1960’s – were assigned to read and discuss Lord Tennyson’s famous poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” The poem, first published in 1884, described a desperate British cavalry charge into a tight valley fortified Russian artillery during the Battle of Balaclava in 1854 at the height of the Crimean War. The charge was a disaster. The mounted force consisted of roughly 600 men and 600 horses. During the charge the British lost 156 men killed, 122 men wounded, and 38 men taken prisoner. Horse casualties were even more severe, with 355 killed and 50 wounded or captured. As the remaining force regrouped after the battle, only 195 men had mounts. At least one surviving horse is said to have received the British Crimean Medal and a pension.
The Charge of the Light Brigade by Caton Woodville. Wikimedia commons.
The style of combat was considerably different in the American Civil war. Though there were many famous large-scale battles, few were European-style set piece battles. In between the large scale battles, there were daily clashes and raids. Nearly all fighting involved horses. No one has even a good estimate of the number of horses used in the Civil War, but at least one-million were killed.

Both Union and Confederate forces turned the cavalry raid into an art form, and both sides used horses to move troops and supplies great distances with astonishing rapidity, often appearing unexpectedly in enemy rear areas, causing havoc and sometimes changing the tide of entire battles. One Confederate General, Nathan Bedford Forrest, is alleged to have said his battle strategy was to “get there fustest with the mostest.”

In the American West, the U.S. Army was in near-constant combat with American Indian tribes for most of the 19th century. One of the more famous battles occurred in Montana at the Little Bighorn River in June, 1876. The Seventh U.S. Cavalry Regiment, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer, attacked a numerically superior and better-armed force of Lakota, Arapaho and Cheyenne cavalry. Custer split his Regiment and took a 700 man force to the Little Bighorn. His entire force was wiped out. The only survivor was a horse named Comanche, the mount of Captain Miles Keogh.
Comanche, said to be the only survivor of the 1876 Battle of the Little Bighorn. 1885. National Archives.
But the 19th century was not the end for the horse in combat. Despite the invention of the internal combustion engine, followed by trucks, automobiles, motorcycles and tanks, horses continued to be used in warfare right through the 20th century and into the 21st century.
The Royal Scots Greys cavalry regiment rest their horses by the side of the road, in France, 1914.(National Library of Scotland)
A draft horse hitched to a post, its partner just killed by shrapnel, 1916. (Bibliotheque nationale de France)
On the Western Front, a dead German artilleryman and several draft horses, ca. 1918. Exact figures are not known, but an estimated 8 million horses died during the four years of war. (Library of Congress)
A Cossack soldier shelters behind his horse, Eastern Front, WWI.
A horse strapped and being lowered into position to be operated on for a gunshot wound by 1st LT Burgett. Le Valdahon, Doubs, France, WWI. (CC BY Otis Historical Archives)
As large armies began to field mechanized forces, horse cavalry and a direct combat role for the horse began to be phased out, though scouting and cavalry units fought throughout the First World War. A few even fought during the opening phases of the World War II.

Most famously, Polish Lancers frequently attacked – and were slaughtered by – German tanks as the Nazi’s invaded their country in 1939.
Polish Cavalry during a maneuvers of the Polish Army, late 1930's. Wikimedia commons.

In the Philippines, the 26th U.S. Cavalry Regiment – the famed “Philippine Scouts” – fared only slightly better. Fighting delaying actions against the invading Japanese forces, the 26th remained a viable mounted force until in early 1942, lack of re-supply and starvation forced them to slaughter their remaining mounts and issue the horse flesh as rations.
26th Cavalry moving into Pozorrubio, Bataan, pass a Stuart light tank, 1942.
Even though the role of the horse in active combat quickly came to an end in the early stages of WWII, nearly all Allied and Axis armies continued to use the horse to move supplies. In the European Theater, both the German and Russian armies, each sorely lacking in motorized transport, made heavy use of draft horses to move supplies. Between the two, more than 6 million horses were used.

But the horses suffered horribly. As large, upright quadrupeds, animals which had never developed a ground-hugging avoidance instinct, they were all too vulnerable to modern artillery and rifle fire.

One of the most poignant tales of the wartime suffering horses endured came from Audie Murphy, America’s most decorated soldier of the war and a post-war actor who appeared in more than 40 films, most of them westerns.

In his semi-autobiographical account of his war experiences, “To Hell and Back”, Murphy recounted a grim scene from the fighting in southeast France in 1944. Murphy’s Third Infantry Division was attacking to the north, attempting to join up with Allied forces that had landed at Normandy in June. In his own words:

On the outskirts of Montélimar, a huge enemy convoy has been caught by our artillery fire. In their haste to escape, the doomed vehicles had been moving two and three abreast. Our artillery zeroed them in. The destruction surpasses belief.

As far as we can see, the road is cluttered with shattered, twisted cars, trucks and wagons. Many are still burning. Often bodies of men lie in the flames, and the smell of singed hair and burnt flesh is strong and horrible.

Hundreds of horses, evidently stolen from the French farmers, have been caught in the barrage. They look at us with puzzled, unblaming eyes, whinnying softly as their torn flesh waits for life to drain from it. We are used to the sight of dead and wounded men, but these shuddering animals affect us strangely. Perhaps we have been in the field too long to remember that innocence is also caught in the carnage of war.

A horse, trailing entrails from a split stomach, staggers down the side of the road. Mahler, a gentle Texan who lived on a ranch in civilian life, stops. I hand him the Luger which I took from the German colonel.

He goes over to the horse and pats him on the neck. “What did they do to you, boy? What did they do?” he croons. Then he raises the pistol and shoots the horse behind the ear.

He hands the pistol back to me without speaking.

“Keep the gun for a while,” I say, “you’ll need it further on.”

As we move up the road, he begins to talk. “I’ve known horses all my life,” he says, “and there’s not one dirty, mean thing about them. They’re too decent to blast each other’s guts out like we’re doing. Makes you ashamed to belong to the human race. If I ever get out of this war, I want to live so far back in the hills that I’ll never see another human being.”

During our advance, he steps stoically over the corpses of Germans to put horses out of their agony with the Luger.

The next day Mahler is hit. He is on a routine patrol when he is struck in the back by a fragment from an air burst. His spine is injured; I hear that his legs are paralyzed. Remembering his face as he patted and shot the horses, I wonder if he will ever ride again.

Today in Africa, the Janjaweed militias continue fight from horseback in the ongoing War in Darfur. And horses continue to be used ceremoniously by modern armies around the globe, including, perhaps most famously, those ridden by contemporary British cavalry units.

Have horses seen the end of war? I think not.




Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Screamin' like a girl turbine powered yellow airplanes





Busy, busy, busy, busy. Calving. Vet Service officer stuff. Writing for pay.

I stepped on a bullsnake Sunday.


As you might imagine, it gave me quite a start.


I’d just finished checking cows and tagging new baby calves and had returned to the home place. I drove through the gate and hopped out to close it behind me. I was busy thinking about feeding a hungry bottle calf and treating a cow with mastitis so I was a little bit distracted. As I strode toward the gate I stepped right on the snake.
After shouting "get off, get OFF!" the snake scurried for shelter.
If you’ve ever stepped on a snake you know the feeling. You know instantly what it is you’re standing on. Nothing else writhes like a snake. The immediate question is whether it’s a rattlesnake or not.


A rattlesnake will almost always rattle when trod upon. Not always, but almost always. And in general, a prairie rattlesnake will try to flee before striking in defense. In general, that is.


So in that instant that I realized I had stepped on a snake but hadn’t yet heard a rattle of felt a strike, my brain concluded that I was probably in no danger. The mind can work awfully fast in such situations.


But quickness of mind doesn't trump instinctive and learned reflexes. While my mind was saying “relax, you’re okay,” my body was saying (and doing) “jump away!”


As I leapt away (it’s amazing how far a fat old guy can jump). I also screamed like a girl. Not that there’s anything wrong with screaming. Or girls. Or screaming like a girl when you step on a snake.


Nona the wonder dog heard the commotion and came to investigate. As soon as she saw the snake her behavior changed. She focused on the snake and became very cautious. She moved in for a closer look, and danced back with every movement the snake made. Clearly she has some instinctive behaviors when it comes to snake encounters too.
Nona cautiously investigates the snake.
She didn’t scream like a girl, of course. She’s a dog.


I pulled out my phone and took some pictures. I also snapped a video. Let me apologize for my sing-songy, wheedling, baby-talk-rainbow-guy narration. I kinda-sorta talk that way around the cows, and they don't seem to mind, but, sheesh! Shoulda kept my cake 'ole shut. SMH.

While I was snapping away I admired the snake. It was a fairly young snake and had probably recently shed its skin as the coloration and patterns were vibrant and bright. A very attractive snake from a purely aesthetic standpoint.


Also a very useful snake. Completely non venomous, so not a danger to people and livestock. And evolved to eat small rodents, which we have more than enough of.

After admiring the snake Nona and I got on with our business. The snake got on with his business.

Part of my business was checking cows on the north unit. I came across this mule deer doe lurking in the tree line. She may have been looking to have a baby, hard to tell, and I didn't want to pester her, so I filmed and fled. And kept my trap shut.


I also slipped over to KIBM and filmed a bit of aerial application ground support action. The PT-6 powered aircraft is, I believe, an Air Tractor, the other may be a Thrush. I spoke briefly with the ground crew but they were all busy so not a lot of details. The Air tractor pilot is a former Vietnam Snake driver, the other guy is a former Digger pilot named, believe it or not, Bruce.









Saturday, April 25, 2015

Oddments and endments





It's about 7:30 p.m. on Saturday. I'm cold and shivery but warming up and drying off. The thunderstorm that arrived an hour ago was filled with cold, wet rain which I got to enjoy rather enough of.

All in all it feels like today was a day reasonably well lived.

I started early this morning, out checking cattle and calves with the first kiss of the sun. I don't always start so early but I had a birder scheduled for a ground nesting tour at 8 a.m.

No new babies overnight, which was fine, but I had some concerns about one calf who was born last Friday.

By the time I'd finished checking cattle it was time to go pick up the birder. I should have taken a lot of pictures but I always get caught up with showing and telling and forget to take the snaps. I did get a horned lark and her nest, but then I put the phone away.

My birder's name was Josh. Nice young fellow from Florida, raised on a dairy farm and now a wildlife biologist. Wife and six year-old son. On assignment in Wyoming, saw my tour info on one of the birding web sites. Two nose rings and a big jangly earring. A bit disconcerting but I'm getting used to that stuff. The new hotness I guess.

Josh was surprised at the up and down on the ranch. "It looks so flat from the freeway," he said. We hiked about 4.5 straight line miles with a cumulative elevation change of about 3,000 feet. Nice little workout.

The topic has come up here in comments (Juvat!) and I've promised a post, but this isn't it. Here are a couple of pics though, taken in the canyon area on the north side of I-80, the part we call the "North Googie."








But I digress.

After we finished the tour I returned to poor little calf 520. Way to wobbly and weak. Neglected. So I snatched him up and took him to his mama. She seemed happy to see him and let him nurse.
She was a little sore in her left front quarter (of the udder) though, and kept pushing him away when he hit the sore teat.
With three out of four good ones, you'd think cow and calf could figure it out, but sometimes it's a challenge. Little 520 was weak and wobbly enough that eventually he just plonked himself down. He'd got some milk down his neck though, so I left the pair alone in the hopes that he'd perk up and be persistent.

I got a bite of lunch, then decided to go get the mail. On the way I stopped to take a picture of the blooming grape hyacinth and a giant dog.

While I was petting the dog, what to my wondering ears should appear but the syncopated thumping of a Phrog's big brother. Could I be hearllucinating? Nope. The dog saw it first. Following a slow pass down KIBM's runway, an Ohio ANG $#!+hook landed on the hammerhead and dropped its ramp. The OD paint had faded to that snappy army lime green, which made me think it might be a "D" model.



Three crewman scampered down the ramp and scurried around "checkin' stuff." That was for show though, and you can't fool an ol' helo bubba. One by one they drifted off downwind and watered the flowers. Which gave me time enough to zip over on the Gator and record the visit for my kind readers.








Put a smile on my face it did!

In the meantime, ol' 621 had a baby, a pretty red heifer.


For the remainder of the afternoon I tinkered with fence and kept an eye of 520 and his mama. She drifted away, he stayed put. By late afternoon the predicted storm was moving in and I had to make a decision. In general it's best to avoid intervening and let the cow and calf work it out. But this little guy was just too weak and I didn't want him to get a cold soaking on top of everything else. So I picked him up and relocated him to the barn. Unfortunately I shaved the timing a bit close and ended up getting a good soaking. But I kept the calf dry!

I got a bottle into him and left him inside out of the rain and with a full belly. I'd have got some pictures but I was too soaked. Get some tomorrow.

And now I'm warm and dry with my own full belly, contentedly listening to the thunder and the drumming of the rain on the roof. A pretty good day.








Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Appreciation





The other day Juvat, resident F-15 Guy over at The Chant, commented that I have a great life.

Bang! Nailed it.

Yesterday Sarge suffered his second Monday of the week. I'd been kinda feeling sorry for myself yesterday because I had to spend an hour dealing with county gubment bureaucrats. I have a sneaking suspicion that Sarge would have traded me straight up and thrown in a case of lawn mowin' beer.

I'm ashamed to admit that most of the time I take my great good fortune for granted. I like to think I work hard and do a good job and make a contribution, but the fact is that I'm on easy street because I'm standing on the shoulders of Giants.

Hard work? Pfui. The sum total of my physical and intellectual output to date would just about add up to a season or two of modest effort for my forbears. Contribution? Pfui. My service to the nation amounts to a pleasure cruise when compared to the Sailors who came before me. I wouldn't make a pimple on the @$$ of a real Sailor.

I have the most profound reverence and deepest sense of gratitude for those who made my life possible. Because of them, stuff like this falls in my plate every day:







I hope that when the final totting up is done, my little contributions will have at least maintained the gift and not diminished it.


Wanker Wednesday!





With visual aids!

The Brits knew from training films.