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Bringing the cattle home from the range

Every year when we take the cattle home on the walk from the range to the ranch, we have to take the cliff road out. The road cuts into the cliffs several hundred feet above the river, with a steep left hand drop off. 

We let the cattle “line out” in a long string down this trail to give them lots of space without pushing or jostling. This year marks another year of safe descent!

The night before bringing the herd home, we staged them overnight in this cottonwood forest. 

Here, Linnaea took a photo of Maddy gathering up the cattle the next morning to begin the last stretch of a multi-day trip off the range.

After navigating down the cliff, cattle and people hit the highway. In Idaho, cattle actually have right of way. We do our best to help cars get past our herd so people can continue with their day.

Want to follow along more day-to-day? Find us on Instagram and Facebook.

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Dear Friends

I’m going a little out on limb here; the piece below went out earlier this week on our bulk email. The reason I’m reprinting it here is for context on the longer newsletter that follows–many of you readers don’t open our midweek edition. I’m thinking it’s an important bit of information to have in your back pocket for the ‘dog tales’ that follow. 

For those if you who did read the little piece below, many of you asked for more about this particular main character. I’m finding out that we have many ‘border’ fans out there! 

Here goes:

“We’re gonna have to clunk that one,” cowboss of the neighboring ranch said. “He’s no good.  Runt of the litter,  and his legs don’t work. “

I was crouched down as the black and white border shrimp desperately dragged his hind legs to get to me. Despite his pitiful “ass dragging,” his little beady eyes burned bright and his tail wagged.

Now this might be just a little out there, but I felt like the crooked waif-dog was choosing me. It was enough. “Nope.” I said. “I’m taking him.”

“Come-on, Glenn. Dog ain’t no good. I got plenty more here.” He gestured toward the horse stall where dusty shafts of sunlight betrayed the hidden straw bed where the sweet-tempered bitch suckled her other pups.

“He’ll do just fine. What do I owe ya?”

“For him? Not a dang thing.” He swung a glance toward my daughter, Maddy, who had her own squirmy bundle already in her arms. “She don’t owe me nothin’ either.”

Thanks pardner.” I swept up pup in my arms, grabbed cowboss’s hand, nodded my head in one final word of thanks, and jumped in the pickup with Maddy and pup; she’d already named her Bonnie.

Before we left the ranch’s lane to turn out on the highway, we agreed that runt-dog would be Clyde. I looked down at the black and white bundle already fast asleep along my leg in the truck seat. With my free hand, I gently stroked his ultra-soft fur.

“That’ll do, Clyde. That’ll do just fine.”

I’ve said that often over the years Clyde has run by my side. He doesn’t do perfect, but he can come real close. As you likely figured out, those legs got to rolling just fine, albeit with a crooked presentation when he sits (the kids call him “duck” for the way his feet stick out weirdly).

He’s definitely a one-man dog. I honestly believe that he’d die for me, if given the chance.  He’s super sweet with all kids, even babies (unlike many borders), but can be an absolute terror on some humans (particularly strangers–and I think he can sniff sketchy-ness and remembers forever if someone tried to kick or hit him). Truism: I don’t ever have to lock the pickup in town.

But in thick and downed timber, he’ll sniff and dig every last cow off a remote mountainside. He doesn’t bite horses (often, a bored dog will); but he will relentlessly pursue “herd-quitting” cattle until they decide to rejoin the bunch.  Because of the likes of Clyde, the herd holds together after a few weeks of ‘training’ in the backcountry, because cows figure out that the dogs leave them at peace when intertwined in the fabric of the loosely-knit herd.

One of this summer’s interns, Chris, summed it up wisely: “I had no idea how important the dogs were. They can do the work of 2 or 3 people.”

And they do. Clyde more than earns his keep (good thing he didn’t get clunked!).The fact most folks don’t realize is that those border pups help bring beef to the table. I honestly would not know what we’d do without them.  If you’d like to read more about why we’ll never be without our canine hands, click on the link below: 

-Glenn

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And that’s it for this week!

Thanks again for partnering in what we do!

Glenn, Caryl, cowgirls and cowboys at Alderspring.

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