Robin lives in a valley that is dotted with grazing pasture and selected irrigated vegetables. She has neighbors who graze yearling heifers to sell in the fall and another neighbor who grows pickling cucumbers. Her heifer neighbors, Barry and Claire, had their yearlings comin’ on strong. The grass held up, and they supplemented them. Their heifer market was good, but one of the requirements of their buyers were that they were guaranteed “open” as opposed to bred. To their dismay, one of the cattlemen in the valley had his bulls – good bulls, no doubt, but still bulls – within “wafting distance” of the 600 yearin’ heifers.

In searching for a cause to explain the increase in “hay fever” incidence in humans, some scientists have postulated that it might be the increase in the burning of coal, oil and other fossil fuels. Humm?

It’s always perplexing to me to hear visitors to Arizona in July remark, “Man, it’s really hot here!” Well, duh.

The West was peppered with bad guys whose conduct was misunderstood. Yet today we treat them as heroes, like they were a Robin Hood.

“The data is clear – Calves that arrive healthy and stay healthy at the feedlot make more money.” This was printed in bold letters at the beginning of an article in one of our industry publications. What? I read the headline again. I turned it over and read it upside-down. It must be a trick question. A play on words? There must be a deeper meaning to this bold statement. Should it have said … “Calves who stay healthy, etc., have better eyesight, higher IQs, are tastier, are better at hopscotch, have a better chance of being featured in a vaccine ad?”

“If you are in a hurry, be deliberate.” Neil and his wife were young Alabama cattle farmers. He was very attentive to his stock, subscribed to many livestock publications, kept up on new management practices and was always in a hurry.

I have neighbors I haven’t visited for years. They were so good to me growing up. They raised walnuts. They are part of the reason I moved back to Arizona. English was not their first language.

Some horses are as good as gold. They take care of kids just learning, old cowgirls with osteoporosis, cowboys of any age who should have a designated driver and homeward-bound riders lost in a blizzard. I classify these gold horses in the same category as those equidae who performed routinely heroic duties in the Pony Express, pulling cannons in the Civil War, Seabiscuit and Trigger, who could always save Roy in times of distress. There’s a heroic picture of Cannonball hanging on the wall at Cheryl and Howard’s ranch house on the Wasatch front.

Dally is a cattle buyer who lives in Colorado. He had spent a week in Illinois looking at confinement feeder operations and was heading home for three weeks, then planned to return to the Midwest. O’Hare Airport in Chicago, where he had booked tickets, had long-term parking – but the cost was outrageous. Thinking to outsmart the city boys, Dally found a Holiday Inn and made a deal.

Getting injured is an embarrassment to a cowboy. Unlike professional athletes with trainers and insurance, “playing hurt” is expected in the cowboy world. It is part of the cowboy mentality: Which is better, letting your broken arm heal or rappelling down the face of Mt. Everest on a dare?