SPRINGS NEW BEGINNINGS

Come spend the day with me, here on our prairie ranch and meet the spring's newest arrivals.

Getting out of bed this morning, I felt almost lazy with the warmth of the sun already pouring in through the panes of glass. While the coffee began to perk, I checked on Trixie's newborn litter of pups. Once again my curly coated poodle companion had chosen my bedroom closet for her nursery. There in her nest of towels she was busy licking her three squiggly pups. They, each in turn, squealed in annoyance at having their bottoms washed by Momma's rough tongue. Round, fat bellies showing that they were getting more than enough milk. I kissed each one on the nose and placed them back down on the towels. Trixie Poo followed me out of the room, making a beeline for the door to answer her morning call to duties.

With a full cup of steaming coffee, I sauntered out onto the deck. The joy of spring was everywhere. The smells of damp earth and fresh growing grass reaching upwards towards the sun's warmth.

In the closest tree to the house, the flittering of a pair of birds, busily lining their nest with bits of clean straw and last years lawn grass. Soon there would be eggs, followed by the chirping of hungry, demanding to be fed, wee ones.

Farther away, a pair of crows noisily debated over which abandoned nest in which poplar tree would require the least amount of work to start their family in. Not known for putting a lot of effort into good housekeeping, I figured they would settle for the nest needing the least amount of fixing, as they always did. But first, I figured on having to listen to them complain about it for another couple of days.

Coffee done, it was time to begin chores. The last of the cows had calved which was why I had finally started getting a full nights sleep. Now to walk through the herd and check to make sure the new arrivals were all in good health. Most of the Mom's had their heads buried in the bale feeders, doing what cows do best. Eating and then eating some more. The youngest arrivals were either nursing or curled in sleep in the deep straw bedding. The older calves were already at play. I had to laugh to see them performing. Short, mad dashes in first one direction, then leap, spin and dash in the opposite direction. One snow-white Charlois calf bunted a Black Angus calf. The war was on. You would have thought two giant bulls weighing a ton each were about to fight to the finish. Instead, two newborns did their best to put their foreheads together and push each other all over the corral. Neither one was any good at this game of push and shove. Giving up, they resorted to licking each other's ears. The old, "hang a licking on each other" bit of fun. Walking through them, I marveled at their beauty. Red ones with white faces, as cute as only Hereford calves can be. I was looking for my favorite one of all. Ah, there she was. Tiny, more graceful than a fawn, our old Jersey milkcow's heifer calf. I have often said that the prettiest newborn animal of all is a Jersey calf. Think of a newborn fawn, all ears and big, brown eyes and you will know what this little girl calf looked like. Her golden tawny hide and the tip of her tail, a smoky black tuft of hair. Her black nose nuzzled my hand when I reached it out slowly for her to smell. Deciding that my human smell was not at all to her liking, she bolted away from me, straight to her Momma. Sliding in the straw, she could not brake in time and ended up running right underneath her Mom and out the other side. That was so much fun, she ducked back under her Mom to peek at me with those enormous soft eyes. Perhaps I should have combed my hair this morning, she seemed to think I was quite a site.

Crossing over to the horse corral, I poured their morning feed of grain into each ones rubber tub, then stood back out of the way before hollering, "Come on, come on, breakfast time." It was a good thing I was out of their way when they came barreling over the hill too, because they were going full out. A thundering mass of flying hooves and hurtling bodies. You would have sworn they hadn't seen feed for over a month, not just 12 hours.

And Lady's foal was running tight against his mother's side. Nostrils flaring red, he kept pace with her with ease. A beauty to behold. Strong, straight legs, his body built for speed, his head already showing his sire's fine features. At only two weeks old, he showed none of the gangly qualities of most foals. He was going to be a winner, no doubt about that.

Milling around, each adult finally picked a feed tub and settled down with true dedication to devouring the grain as quickly as possible. "Trump" as I had nicknamed him, spread his long legs to reach into his mother's tub. All of a half dozen kernels of oats were lipped up and chewed with obvious delight. Oh yah, he was one mighty fine colt, all right. He simply took my breath away.

As soon as Mouse was done with his grain, I moseyed up to him, gave him a pat on the shoulder and slipped his halter on. He was in his third month of training and today we would go for a nice long jaunt out in the north pasture. He was coming good and it was simply a matter of putting some much needed miles on him. He walked as slow as possible towards the barn. Never one to get excited about been ridden, he actually tried dragging his feet like a weary old plow horse. You would have sworn that he was not three years old but thirty-three years old to see him going into the barn to be brushed and saddled. By the time I was finished saddling him and had slipped the snaffle bit into his mouth, Momma Cat's kittens had come to investigate. Like silent little sneaks, they stole out from in between the stack of bales. Crouching they advanced, Mouse and I were being stalked by midget lions. It looked like their usual prey was going to be the toes of my cowboy boots with maybe Mouse's hairy pasterns. Sure enough, Squiggly rushed my left foot. A pound of furry dynamite latched onto my boot. Any horse (but thirty-three year old) Mouse would have stomped poor Norman when the kitten made a passing tackle to his front foot. Mouse did flick one ear foreword so it did cause him a bit of a surprise. Sadie and Happy, looking like twin tigers both landed on about my kneecaps, claws sunk firmly in my blue jeans. Ouch, one claw sank a bit deep into actual flesh.

Rescuing myself from attack, I gave all four of the kittens a pet or two and headed out for our ride. A mile from home, Mouse finally woke up and started taking some interest in his surroundings. Now maybe we could actually cover some ground.

Now the best part of living on a large cattle ranch on the prairies is you don't have to ride in ditches along roads. You don't run into other people, cars, anything. Your not in some arena, just going around and around in circles. You are out with Mother Nature herself. Just you, your horse and come what may.

We may not like gophers, that is true. But I enjoy watching the young ones, some adult gopher has whistled a warning of an intruder and to get below ground in the burrow for safety. But those young ones just have to keep poking their noses out to see this strange half man, half horse creature going by. They stand upright on sturdy hind legs, and stare at Mouse and I with total disregard to their safety. Some scurry from burrow entrance to burrow entrance, taking their life in their hands. A lightening flash of red and a mother fox snatches one. One squeak and it's all over. I do not see her young, they are far to smart to be caught out in the open with me present. But the lithe figure of the vixen trotting away tells me that they will soon be fed.

Mouse spots something far ahead in the distance, and stops, ears pricked, muscles tense. I follow his gaze. A lone antelope cow stands on a distant rise of land. She is ready to flee. I know why and turn to the east to leave her alone. It is not good enough for her, she is to wary of man. Perhaps she makes a sound that only her young one can hear, but even as she is spinning and springing away, a tiny newborn, all legs and the color of dry earth bounds to it's feet and falls in beside his fleeing mother. The pair disappears quickly from site.

Overhead a hawk glides silently. Her eggs, perhaps already hatched will be in the sparse stand of trees a half mile away. I do not go in that direction as I know it will upset her. Sure enough she banks sharply and no longer follows us, her young are safe from this intruder.

A ragged looking JackRabbit explodes from some buckbrush to my right. Mouse suddenly remembers he is three years old, not thirty-three and shies quite violently. I saw the mother rabbit first and am ready for his youthful shenanigans. I know she is ragged looking because she would have pulled her own hair out, one mouthful at a time to line her baby's nest. They are there in that dense brush, cozy and warm in their fur lined nest.

I smile and turn towards home. Spring is here. Spring with all its glory. Spring with all the new beginning of life. Ah, spring, so fresh and filled with wonder. Mouse picks up the pace, he likes this going home business. Later he will attempt to play with Lady's new foal, Trump. Of course Lady will say "No." So he will relax in the late afternoon sun. the sun who brought spring and all mother natures new beginnings.

THE END