sprinkles & glitter: calf

Last night was a great night. Matt came over. Grandparents came over. Cousins came over. Delicious food was consumed. Laughter was abundant. Molly was a brat (needless to say). And then everyone left and things started falling apart.

Less than five minutes after Matt left the house, Kale came running up to the house yelling that one of the calves we're weaning, named Jet, was on the other side of the fence. We quickly ran outside to help get him back in his spot. Side note: we just pulled these babies from the other pasture, away from their mommy's, about 24 hours before. So they were crying (mooing) a lot. Well, we couldn't hear him, so the mini search quickly turned into a full-scale "search and rescue" with dad on the fourwheeler, mom in dad's truck, and me in mom's Jeep. Dad was sure he was in the field just to our north on the other side of our fence (that field is of course not fenced) so our efforts were concentrated there for quite a while until we had searched every square inch, when we began driving up and down the road, into the little turn around things at field entrances, etc. We covered the entire stretch of road that we live on, including side roads, searching for the calf. Eventually, a call for help was put out on Facebook and we decided the search would have to commence in the morning when we could see the jet-black calf that had escaped into the middle of nowhere with NO lighting to help us see.

We come in and everyone gets ready for bed, all slightly discouraged over not finding this calf. I laid in bed and thought I was hearing things - there was mooing coming from somewhere close. You're just hearing things because you wanted to find that calf so badly. Go to sleep, he'll be found in the morning. I laid there for a while longer and the mooing continued. Oh yeah, there are calves being weaned on the other side of the house. It's probably just them. After a few minutes, probably 5 total, I realized that mooing was not coming from the west side of the house, nor was it made up in my head - it was definitely coming from somewhere outside my window.

I hop out of bed, run down the stairs and tell my parents what I'm hearing. We all pull on our boots - in pajamas of course - and head out, thinking the calf is in the front yard and we'll be back inside in no time. We quickly see the calf isn't in the yard and take off for the road, thinking he's just on the other side of our fence, but in a spot we have to use the road to get to. False.

He was down the road, across the road, and in an entirely different field. How he got in, I have no clue. Thankfully dad thought well enough to bring the four wheeler, although unfortunately I had NO IDEA how to work it. Mom ran to get a rope, halter and gloves for dad. As she climbed the fence, she lost a shoe and ended up needing to borrow my right boot - leaving me with one bare foot (I forgot socks - brilliant). Also, the spotlight we had would only work if the four wheeler was on AND you shook it up. #sketch. Anyway, Daddy should have been a calf roper because he quickly got Jet roped. Holding on to the calf was an entirely different story though... he is definitely not halter broken and he gave dad quite a ride. At one point, running across the field to get him, my dad tripped in a hole and took a nice roll (definitely a 10 in the olympics of falling gracefully). Somehow, as mom was trying to explain to me how to put the four wheeler in drive (I had been reversing or putting it in neutral and pushing/pulling - no wonder I'm so sore!), the calf got out of the fence, ran across the road, ran down another road, and into the north field we originally thought he was in.

Mom headed to get an actual vehicle while dad and I started across the field on the four wheeler (with him at the wheel and me trying to avoid cutting my foot on the six foot high weeds). We find Jet and (eventually) catch him. We sent mom for the trailer so we could load him up, and dad had me drive the four wheeler on around to the other side of the calf to give better light (or something). Somehow during all the crazy driving of the four wheeler, the spotlight cord got pressed up against the muffler. As I'm sitting on the four wheeler with one shoe on and dad is holding on to a rope on the opposite end of a 500 lb. crazy calf, I see sparks. Then I smell smoke. Then I realize there's a mini fire. Dad tells me to get off the four wheeler...and a few seconds later, he realizes there's a legit fire going on. He hands me the calf rope (because clearly given a choice between me barefoot on gravel and nothing I was the obvious choice to hold the calf #not) and runs over to fix the fire. Apparently the nice way I had rolled the cord had fallen off when I hopped off and it too had turned into a ball and caught fire. During all of this, I was convinced Jet was about to rip a t-post out of the ground and break away (I believe he did bend a few pretty well).

As we get the fire put out, mom pulls up in the trailer. We start to get the calf on the trailer, and it looks like a successful try...when he slips loose. Dad re-catches him, and again we were just inches away from having him in the trailer when he decides to make a break for the fence...forcing his dead through, then his shoulders, then his entire body. Well I guess we know what fence to start with when fixing at least...

Dad headed back to the barns on the four wheeler to fix fences so we don't have anymore escapees tonight, and I was locked in the trailer for the ride back (there was no way I was walking more than a few feet on dark gravel in an overgrown field where I had no idea where the next snake would come from). When we got back, I looked like a trapped child peeking though the gate, mom and I wished we had a camera, and decided this was blog material, if nothing else (although I'm thinking some sort of terrible initiation).

Lessons learned: keep your fences in tip-top shape, don't go out to catch cattle without your socks on, don't let me touch anything that could potentially start a fire, and keep a running tab at the orthopedic doctor for the Kennedy family (dad's arm/ribs may need to be checked, and mom and Kale just went in today).

This story probably has some hilarious parts left out, so it may be edited as mom and I continue laughing about our misadventure in retelling it for the next few days.

Also, catching a 150 pound lamb is much easier than catching a 500 pound calf. #TeamSheep

Dear past, meet present. I didn't pick it, but it's kinda nice. Love, Shae

I started showing livestock when I was about 5 years old, but my family's tradition of practically living half our lives in a show barn started long before then. I wanted to show sheep because Katie and Christie showed sheep, and if Katie and Christie did it, it had to be cool. My Uncle Shawn showed cattle, and I very distinctly remember a steer named Midnight going to market. Not cool, Uncle Shawn, not cool at all. Even before those that I remember, my Momma showed pigs and cattle and Daddy showed sheep and cattle. So livestock showing was just kind of in the family genes...speaking of jeans, I wish I could find the picture of little me helping Katie at the County Sale - I'm decked out in pink, jeans included. On second thought, leaving that picture out might not be such a bad idea.

While I won't pretend to wish I was still out in the barn at 5am working lambs every day, I treasure memories of the sound of a newborn lamb and receiving the sweet snuggles of our oldest ewe & my second show lamb, Pazarra. The late nights Daddy and I spent working in the barn might not have always brought out the best in either of us, but I knew the barn was a safe place for my dreams to grow, and that mom and dad would always encourage and support those dreams-turned-passions. I loved every single minute of showing sheep, even those that at the time I might not have liked very much. I learned the value of hard work, that money and success don't grow on trees and that you only get out of something what you put into it. As for my dad? He learned not to make a bet with me if there was a chance he might lose. :)

Kale holding a newborn lamb

I don't always show sheep when my brother needs help, but when I do, I wear white shorts.

My brothers made the switch to steer showing while I was in college, which meant all our sheep were sold to make way for a new adventure: raising cattle, with some horses to play with too. Initially I wasn't overjoyed - they were changing my tradition! I was scared of cattle, because they are big. But I realized Kaden and Kale weren't going to live out my dream - it was time for them to live their own. No matter if it is in the show barn, on the basketball court, on a baseball diamond or in a karate room, I want to see my brothers succeeding and reaching the goals they've set, chasing their dreams. My dream was to win grand lamb at county. I did it. It was time for new dreams to be made, new goals to be set, and new animals to be brought in. Showtime Club Lambs was no more - it was time for the Kennedy fam to raise some cattle.

a newborn calf...okay, I could get used to this adorableness.

I think I've adjusted pretty well to life as a cattle rancher's daughter ;) I've petted newborn calves and given kisses to show steers (not many times on either, but hey, I've done it). I've even fed the cows without getting trampled and walked my brothers' steers without being drug all over the place! The sound of weaning calves might be more annoying than the "baa" of a little lamb, but it's just as sweet. In the end, being involved in agriculture, watching my brothers succeed, seeing the leadership developed through FFA and 4-H, the responsibility developed by raising, caring for and showing an animal - that's what I love. As the FFA creed says, "...I believe that to live and work on a good farm, or to be engaged in other agricultural pursuits, is pleasant as well as challenging; for I know the joys and discomforts of agricultural life and hold an inborn fondness for those associations which, even in hours of discouragement, I cannot deny..." It applies regardless of it is with sheep, cattle or baby giraffes (speaking of: Daddy, I want this. Please.).