We finally had most of the calves weaned. As a matter of fact, on the late October day when we gathered the bulk of the cows to pull the calves, you couldn’t have asked for better weather. After a two-week stretch where we’d seen the temperatures dip into the teens, we were experiencing some unusually nice weather.

Over the years, I’ve argued, debated, conversed and commiserated with my kids over myriad subjects and themes, ranging from the length of my daughters’ dresses and my sons’ ability to tuck a shirt in to presidential politics, the price of October fat cattle and serious social issues like racism and sexual violence.

I spent a few days around Springfield, Missouri, this fall, and although I was a couple weeks too early to take in the spectacular scenery of the beautiful autumn colors the Ozarks annually offer up, I was somehow caught up in the spirit of the Shepherd of the Hills.

Every year, about the middle of June, we turn the cows out onto one unit or the other of our Forest Service allotment.

I’ve never been particularly fond of birds of any sort. Really, there’s nothing pleasant about a mess of nasty starlings or pigeons nesting in the eaves of the calving shed or devouring the silage pile. It’s the bird world’s answer to rodents – pure avian avarice.

It was a little after midnight after the last day of the county fair. I was worn out and ready for the week to be done. A couple of my fellow fair board members and I were trying to wrap up some cleanup projects and prepare for a barrel racing the next morning.

I’ve been hobbling around, dragging my leg like an old stifled bull for two or three weeks now. What I had thought and hoped was simply a pulled hamstring appears to be something a little more severe.

I jumped the little roan, the last of five horses, in the trailer. He’s a good one to put on the back because he loads easy, and he fits nice and snug into the corner of the trailer.

A life spent caring for God’s creatures can be a life full of aggravation. I’m not talking about the slight inconveniences of emptying the litter box or taking Fido and Duke for a jog around the park.

I tend to get a little sentimental at times. Sentimentality is not an altogether bad trait, but it sometimes gets in the way of practicality and things like wise business choices. No doubt, sentimentality has cost me more than a few dollars over the years.