We tagged along as Greg, Steve, and Kennedy tended to their herd of mostly very pregnant cows.

These are some large ladies.

Greg told us that the breed at Teton Mountain Ranch is a hybrid strain of Angus and Semolina. Or Emmental. Or Something.

I think he also said there was something else that snuck in over the fence at some point, but I’m going to stop now before I hurt myself.

What I can say with confidence is how delightful it was to discover that a few of the cows were no longer pregnant.

This little dude had been born the day before, too soon to even have been tagged yet. As it made its drunken way towards the business end of the maternal unit, I had one of those life epiphanies that shock me when they land, both in how obvious they are and how long they take to show up.

Ready?

Cows are maternal critters.

Sigh. Sheesh. It’s udderly ridiculous that it never occurred to me before.

She kept a keen eye on us as we pulled closer.

As well she should. If I were a calf thief, Sweet Cheeks here would be at the top of my nab list.

The Bagleys tag the calves with numbers that match their moms. We didn’t discuss this, but I’m guessing this is for the Bagley’s sake. The cows seemed pretty clear on who was responsible for who’s college fund.

Even though this calf was about a week old already, it still didn’t have a tag. Apparently, Mamma #41 is SO maternal, they couldn’t risk getting close enough to give the calf its shots. According to Greg, he had to drive the tractor over top of the calf and then crawl underneath to get the job done. It was the only way to keep 1500 lbs of hormonally motivated maternal outrage at arm’s length.

I renewed my grip on the wagon.

While there were a few calves around, most of them won’t be born for another couple of weeks.

Meanwhile, there is nothing to be done but enjoy the peace, eat, wait, and be beautiful.

Maybe play with styling the bangs a bit.

‘Cause once Junior shows up and starts hollering, life gets busy.