Hickam - The Dinosaur Hunter

Old Bill Coulter used to say a quiet day in Fillmore County is a temptation to God and sure enough, come sundown after a day of blue skies and fair winds, distant pulses of lightning began to play along the horizon, heralding a big storm on its way. Our barn cats, Rage and Fury, came scratching and begging for entrance, and when I answered the door, they flew past me and disappeared inside. Those old cats werent scared of much but when a real thunder thumper was bearing down on us, they seemed to prefer the doubtful safety of my dented old trailer to their sturdy barn. Since I was suspicious of mice under my refrigerator, they were welcome. Just hold it down, boys, I admonished them. This old cowboy needs his sleep. Which, because of the time of the year, was the unvarnished truth.

Since the heifers had started dropping their calves in March, sleep was a precious thing on the Square C and I sure didnt plan on losing any shut-eye over bad weather, especially since there wasnt a thing I could do about it. I shooed the cats off my bunk and climbed under the covers, intent on proving that old saw that cowboys could sleep through anything but a stampede.

The storm hit us around midnight with a flash of lightning and a mighty rumble of thunder. Then came the rain with a steady rattle on the skin of my metallic domicile while more heavenly electricity flew through the air. The next boom of thunder shook the trailer so hard, the door on my little microwave oven flew open. Rage and Fury jumped up on my bed and hissed at me like it was my fault Montana was trying to kill us. I yelled at the cats and they slunk off while I pulled the covers over my head, doing my best to ignore the storm, which kept banging away. I might have succeeded except the vision of a small, black angus heifer formed in my mind. Some bull had nailed her late when we werent looking and she was about to drop her calf. My boss lady had advised me to keep a sharp lookout for trouble. Every two hours on this one, Mike, Jeanette Coulter had commanded. Shes got a small pelvis and that looks to be a big calf.

Lying there beneath the covers, all nice and cozy, I realized I had failed to check on that little heifer even once, mainly because Id spent the day focused on Jeanettes pride and joy, a John Deere tractor, which had thrown a cog. I took an entire minute trying to talk myself out of getting up, but I finally gave in. That almost-mama might be out there in awful pain. I had to check on her, storm or no storm.

The cats watched me from atop the refrigerator while I pulled on my rubber boots and slung on my yellow slicker. Hold down the fort, boys, I said, then pushed out into the howling rain and wind. My trailer was slanted down a dirt road about a quarter mile from the main house so by the time I got to what we call the turnaround, I was muddy to my knees, soaked to the bone, and generally miserable. Another way of putting that, I was a cowboy ready to go to work.

I headed over to the holding pen with my fingers crossed that all was well. But it wasnt. In fact, it was a pretty desperate situation. I allowed myself the pleasure of a string of fine curses, then headed to the house, pounding on the door and yelling for Jeanette to get up. Her bedroom window scraped open and I stepped back off the porch. What the devil do you, want, Mike? she called.

I only had a moment, in a flash of lightning, to see that she was naked as a jay. Her breasts were a wondrous sight, even as I stood in the mud of the yard, rain flowing off the curl of my hat like water out of a pitcher. The lightning flash died and before the thunder reached us, I collected myself and yelled, That little heifer in the pen, her calfs stuck!

A bolt from above lit everything up again, and I saw her mixed expression of anger and disappointment. I knew what she was thinking. I should have caught this earlier and she was right. Chains do? she demanded.

She was referring to the chain-and-pulley system in our barn that we used to pull a stuck calf out. I waited for another rumble of thunder to finish, then yelled up the bad news, Gotta cut her, I think.

Jeanette stared at me for a long second, then said, All right, Mike. Get her in the surgery, and then slammed shut the window, cutting off the finest view Id had of her in the ten years Id worked on the Square C.

I headed for the holding pen. By then, the heifer was down in the mud, breathing hard. My heart went out to her, poor thing. She had always been an outsider to the herd, standing alone most of the time, feeding on the hay left over after the other cows had their fill. Now she was in trouble, big trouble, her calf jammed in her birth canal, a situation, which would kill them both if we didnt do something about it damn quick.

I heard Ray Coulter calling my name. Rays a good kid. Seventeen years old, tall like his daddy with fine features like his mother, smart as paint and a hard worker, too. There arent too many places left where they make them like our local boys and girls. By the time theyre eight years old, they can ride a horse and drive a tractor, crack open the block of a truck engine, and shoot a rifle or a handgun and hit what theyre aiming at. They respect their elders, too, even when we dont deserve it.

Over here, Ray, I called back.

Before he could get to me, Ray slipped in the cold wet swamp of the holding pen and went down hard in the mud and manure. If that had happened to me, Id have turned the air blue with some elaborate cussing, but not Ray. He just picked himself up and made his way on over. Like I said, a good kid. A ranch kid.

By then, it was a wild scene in the corral, the rain roaring and the thunder hammering and the lightning strobing us in stuttering blue-white flashes. Help me get her up! I yelled, trying not to sound too hysterical. Together, we grappled with the heifer, both of us going down a couple of times before we finally got her on her feet. She stood there trembling, her mouth foamy with drool, her eyes rolling, and her nose flared. All bad signs. Then she started to moan. Shes trying to push her calf out, Ray said.

Well, she cant, I replied. And I dont think chains are gonna work, either.

A C-section, Mike? I saw his eyes light up. Ive never seen one of those!

Well, Ray, I think tonights your lucky night. Your moms probably already waiting for us.

Ray and I pushed and pulled the heifer through the double doors that led to the surgery, then clamped her neck in a steel rail catch. This, of course, didnt make her happy, and she rattled the walls with panicky squalls. I kept talking soothing cow talk to her but she wasnt much consoled. Cows are smart. She was in trouble, she knew it, and she doubted a couple of idiots like me and Ray were going to get her out of it. Truth was we couldnt. Only Jeanette could and the operation she was about to perform in that cold, concrete room didnt allow much error. I didnt know another rancher in Fillmore County who would attempt what she was about to do. But then, theyre not Jeanette Coulter.

Jeanette was in her green scrubs. She finished washing at the sink and gave me and Ray the once-over. Well? I cant do a thing, you two covered in gumbo and cow shit! Get yourself over to the sink and wash up!

Ray and I slunk past her, stripped off our rain gear and shirts, scrubbed our hands, faces, and upper torsos, then pulled on clean white T-shirts that were kept in a cabinet beside the sink for just that purpose. Jeanette watched us, then said, Not that I dont trust you, Mike, but were gonna check this little mama before I cut her. Ray, you do it.