I didn’t know I wanted a pet elk before Saturday, but it turns out, I do.
Really, it’s not surprising. I have a long history of enjoying the company of pronged critters. But it’s been a while and I had forgotten how darned endearing and intriguing they are.
In the first place, any animal who can grow a new tree out of its noggin every year has got my respect right off the bat. Even the ugly ones, like, say, a North American moose.
Oh, don’t even pretend that a moose is an attractive animal. Impressive, yes. Maybe even regal, in an Abe Vigoda kind of way, but attractive? Compared to this?
If I was an elk sitting in a plastic surgeon’s office discussing possibilities for a nose job, I’d have this photo with me and just slap it on the desk and say, “This. This is what I want. And while you’re at it, I’d like the chin too, please.”
Those gorgeous noses aren’t just for looks, either.
Steve had mentioned before we got in their compound that elk are very curious. And sure enough, as soon as we got within range, every head went up and they sniffed us up one side and down the other, all from 20 yards away. They were so intent on this sniffing business that I found myself wondering if I’d forgotten my deodorant.
Nothing like being around an animal with a good sniffer to remind you that, in spite of all our Ban roll-on and Ivory Snow and Old Spice efforts, we still stink like humans.
In our previous post about Teton Mountain Ranch, I mentioned that Steve and Greg train their trail horses by having them tag along on the feeding runs they make.
Part of that training apparently involves being sniffed. Up close.
The horse seemed mildly disconcerted by this situation.
But when a dozen elk bulls in full foliage joined in the fun, the training entered the advanced phase.
He looks worried to me. Does he look worried to you?
Steve and Greg had the situation well under control, though, and the elk all had a good chuckle about the whole thing.
Those elk… such kidders.
Rick, I think I’ve changed my mind about the poodle puppy. Can we have an elk instead?
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.
Greg is Steve’s brother, and together with their dad, Kent, they run a real live elk, buffalo, and beef, trail riding, sleigh riding and mountain packing adventure enterprise.
This is Steve Bagley, our wonderful neighbor. While Greg is driving, Steve does fence duty. Greg says it’s important for Steve to keep up his skills. “Use it or lose it… that’s what we say around here.”
These guys are the real article. They don’t buy their mountain man mystique from REI or LL Bean. They just wake up every morning in God’s country to the relaxed yet hard-working rhythms that only fourth-generation residents of the Valley and operators of their family farm can understand.
This trip out on the wagon was to lay out a little heavier layer of straw for the soon-to-be-calving cows.
Did you know that straw dust is itchy and gets up your nose? While there is much good-natured joshing between Steve and Greg about which one is better looking, I’m guessing the one with the mask on to keep the dust out is maybe just a tad smarter.
I could be wrong. I’m not from around here.
I forgot to introduce someone. See the horse in the background? He’s a trail horse in training. They bring them along just for the ride and to get used to the farm animals, people, stopping, starting, noise, etc. I think people should haul their babies with them everywhere for the same reason.
Speaking of offspring, I forgot someone else. See the pink mitt above?
It belongs to Kennedy, Steve’s seven-year old daughter. Kennedy is the first real live cowgirl I’ve ever met. I don’t know if she even knows she is a real live cowgirl, that’s how much a real live cowgirl she is.
I’d trust Kennedy with my car, or to watch the house for a week or two.
This is Lily.
As vigilant a “round ’em up, head ’em out” farm dog as she may be, she’s not above hitching a ride on the wagon and a cuddle with Kennedy, at least when she thinks no one is watching.
Everything appears to happen in teams in this gig.
This is Hank, the senior member of the border control department.
Don’t let the straw fool you… Hank is a scholar and a gentleman.
He runs a tight team. There’s Lily again, with big black Bear and dainty red Lady, waiting to be told what’s next on the agenda.
Of course, a horse-drawn sleigh isn’t worth its weight in straw without the gentle giants to pull it.
Meet Greta and Faith, one of three teams of Clydesdales the Bagleys rotate into drawing duties. I never heard Faith addressed once during the hour we spent on the wagon. Greta, on the other hand, was called gently by name every once in a while to remind her to keep her brain in the game. Rick has to do the same thing with me every once in a while in the grocery store. I tend to get bogged down in the shampoo section.
I like Greta.
So, the team is all in place, and we’re here to deliver straw.
Steve NEVER stops smiling. Greg might take a break once in a while behind that mask, but I doubt it. These are happy people.
And together they’re raising a happy fifth generation, with more on the way any day now.
The humans aren’t the only ones producing the next generation. This pup, “Red Dog,” couldn’t have been more insistent that he is SO ready to join the team. Come on, already! Let me outta this trailer and on to the dang trail!
Yup… even the pups around here seem wise beyond their years, and willing to share what they know with a grace and dignity that I wish I could bottle and slip into the double-mocha decaf lattes of some the adults I have known.
They know both the safety and freedom of good fences, of listening before you speak, and of the value of deep roots and hard work.
And fun. Lots, and lots, and lots of fun.
Tomorrow’s post? What’s on the other side of those fences.
