* * *
“So no bull?”
I smiled at Montrell over my mug of coffee. “No bull.”
Montrell glanced at his husband. “Do I want to know how they get the bulls to put their stuff into a tiny plastic cup?”
Landon snorted in amusement but questioningly stared at me.
“You don’t need to know the specifics, just that we’ll be using artificial insemination for the cows and two-year-old heifers who are now coming into heat.” I took a sip of coffee, my sight darting from Black man to White man to Asian woman. All of them looked to be lost, or disgusted, or possibly a combination of both.
Mona Ito, a petite Asian woman with wire frame glasses, blinked. Landon’s PA was a smart cookie and had a knack for numbers that almost rivaled mine. She was also a whiz at getting Landon to do what Landon didn’t wish to do. Which was leave the ranch. He was fully enamored with life here in Wyoming, but he still had things to do off the ranch. His fame as a premier ice hockey goalie back in New York couldn’t be fully ignored. Nor could his husband who was about to set off on a tour for a newly released jazz album.
“Is this method cheaper?” Mona asked.
I nodded. “Yes, I believe it to be. If we look at things such as genetic improvement, increased weaning weight, increased calf crop uniformity, increased reproductive performance, I find it far outweighs the cost of buying and keeping a bull. A top Angus bull would probably cost us anywhere from seven thousand up to and exceeding a million dollars.”
All three gaped. “Oh bullshit,” Montrell finally quipped. “Sorry. Someone had to say it.”
“Yeah, I don’t see myself spending a million dollars on a cow,” Landon said when the sticker shock wore off.
“Bull, and no, I don’t either. AI is much simpler and cost effective. Also, it takes away the worry of the bull breeding heifers who are too young.” I set down my mug on the new oval dining room table and pushed a folder to Landon. “You can read over the cost analysis for the past ten years.” I tapped the neat pile of papers in the white folder. “But if you wish to invest in a bull, we can certainly do it that way.”
“No, I have no interest in having some rampaging bull chasing my ass around this farm,” Montrell spoke up with speed. “Let’s just do the AI thing. Are the calves doing well?”
I nodded. Montrell had been lured into the herd by the new calves that had been born this year. Generally, he always made sure there was a fence between him and the livestock. It was obvious he was uneasy around the cattle and horses, so we were all shocked when he stepped in to bottle feed a calf that had been rejected by its mother.
“Yes, they are,” I was happy to report.
“And Simon?” he asked. I nodded. He grinned. “Good. I like him. I’m off to practice.” He kissed Landon on the lips and left us to talk. Within minutes, the sound of cool jazz floated through the open doors of the timber-framed house. I enjoyed the way Montrell played the piano even though I wasn’t a big jazz fan. My tastes ran more to endless hours of Gordon Lightfoot.
“He does know that Simon is a now a steer and that steer calves—”
Landon cut me off. “No, he doesn’t know that. Can’t we just keep Simon as a pet?”
My eyes flared. “Do you realize how big a castrated Angus steer will get?”
Landon looked at Mona. “Don’t look at me,” she replied then gathered up the folder I’d shoved at Landon and pattered off.
“Well, we can’t just slaughter Simon. Montrell would be heartbroken,” Landon whispered although Montrell was pounding away on the keys in the music room and certainly wasn’t able to hear a word of our conversation here in the kitchen. “Can he be a pet? I mean…he’s friendly. Will he stay friendly?”
I sat back in my chair. “Probably but that steer will eat a lot of hay and grain over its lifetime.”
Landon sighed. “Okay well, we’ll think on that later. He’s going out with the other cows soon, right? That’s why we’re weaning him now.” I bobbed my head. “Good. Then we’ll worry about it in the fall when they come back off pasture. Montrell can have time to cut the cord.”
“Sure,” I said because…sure. I’d not go into calf sales in the fall and how important that check was to the ranch. I did make a note to look into where we could keep Simon when winter set in just in case.
“Excellent. So I say go ahead with the inseminations like you’ve been doing. Oh, I got in touch with Professor Angela Twitch at UWW. She said she’d be thrilled to have one of her associates come check out our find. She said he’ll be here tomorrow bright and early. I gave her directions to your place so Montrell and I can have the morning to get around. We’re leaving for Europe in the afternoon.”
“I remember. Of course. I’ll be happy to show whoever he is around.” Such a blatant lie. I was already behind on my work and escorting some stodgy old academic around was only going to set me back further.
“Excellent! Let me know what the old fuddy-duddy says after he leaves, will you?”
Sensing the meeting was over, I tossed back the dregs of my coffee and got to my boots. “I’ll ring you as soon as I get close enough to find our two bars of service.”
“Good man!” Landon slapped his palm over mine then walked me to the front door. “We should cordon off the area to keep the fishermen who are renting the guest cabins away. If there’s something important in the ground, we don’t want people riding all over the site. We did enough damage there.”
“I’ll get on that myself.”
He smiled warmly. I made my way to my truck, which was actually his truck as it belonged to the ranch. It was a newer model Dodge, hunter green, with the Prairie Smoke Ranch logo on the doors. I used it for picking up guests at the airport as well as plowing during the winter. Giving the sprawling home one final look, I climbed into the pickup and made my way to the equipment shed for stakes and fencing supplies. A foreman’s work was never done, I mused.
While tossing fiberglass stakes and electric tape into the back of my truck, I mulled over making a trip to the lone oak pasture but decided against it. It wasn’t Sunday, and I didn’t want to ruin the natural innocence of the spot with tire tracks. I’d have to wait to go. It was a nicer ride on horseback anyway, more time to prepare for the visit. Over the past year, the urge to go to the oak had been growing stronger. The need to see that mighty tree touching the sky and rest under its thick canopy more than weekly was probably not a good thing. But the oak and the memories were all I had in my life, aside from my job, so perhaps I should cut myself some slack.
“Perhaps you should get your ass in gear, old man,” I muttered to myself then chucked a roll of yellow flagging tape into the passenger seat. Best get to it before someone dreamed up something else that needed tending to.