Wire 3/9/07
“There have been a lot of coyote sightings, so we gotta get them cattle down from the high field.” The old ranch foreman dropped his cigarette and stomped its heat out of existence. “Don’t have enough men today, so you’re gonna have ta ride alone.” The three cowboys nodded in understanding. “One of ya I want to go up past the ridge, make sure we haven’t missed any heifers or calves. The other two, go on out to the high field, then split up.”
The foreman waited long enough to make sure these cowhands understood, and then rode off in the direction of the main ranch. Wordlessly, the three men headed off in their ordered directions. The two that were going to the high field, good friends for a long time, were pleased that they were not going up to the ridge. It was along ride, that would most likely take all day, and they would probably be at the high field before eleven, which would mean a bit of free time for them to enjoy each other’s company: something that did not happen frequently enough for either of them.
The lone rider began his trek. The air was comforting, and the solitude welcome. He was glad for the work, after thinking he may not find any that summer. Several hours into his approach to the ridge, he spotted the coyote hovering near the tree line to his right. He slowed, and then stopped the horse. With quiet agility, he reached back to pull his rifle from the saddle holster. He raised it, cocked it, took his aim, and pulled the trigger. The click alerted the coyote of his lack of aloneness. The animal scampered off into the wooded area.
The cowboy cursed his luck. His rifle had jammed, and was more than likely going to be useless for the rest of his ride. He shoved it back into the holster without ceremony, and urged the horse to continue up the trail, which was growing steeper with each foot traveled. Near the crest of the ridge, he began to hear the familiar sound. Not the cattle he had become accustomed to this summer, but the sound from another summer. As he crested the ridge, he saw them. Scattered and without protection, they stood, knowingly waiting for their eventual death. The only thing that kept them somewhat organized was the cattle fence that had been erected some hundred yards off to the left of the flock. He directed his horse toward the fence, and the odd shape that seemed tangled by one of the fence posts.
As he approached, the pit of his stomach fell out. The coyote had already been to visit, and more than likely spooked the whole flock of sheep, scattering them and sending some off in directions that would end their lives without a single ounce of flesh being lost to a predator. He dismounted and walked over to the lamb, entangled in the fencing wire. The entire section of fence had been pulled down by the lambs thrashing. The small animal was fatally entangled in the wire, but God had not seen fit to allow a quick death.
Knowing what needed to be done; again the cowboy cursed the non-functioning gun. He walked over to the pitiable baby, squatted down, and with gloved hands, took the jagged and barbed wire, wrapped it around the lambs throat, grabbed each end of the wire, and pulled, as he never pulled before, his eyes shut tightly against the horror he was creating. When the job was done, he sat on the ground, opened his eyes as the tears of and for past, present and future events filled the sweet blue eyes that, despite knowing the outcome, loved another.
(629 words)
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