Our dear friends and neighbors to the south of us are cattle ranchers. Theirs is a huge operation with hundreds of cattle and thousands of acres. Their lifestyle is about 180* from ours: hundreds of cattle: bulls, steers, cows, and calves.
We have a dog and a cat.
This past season, my dear friend and neighbor was hospitalized for numerous weeks and months. I sent out the neighborly "Yoo-Hoo!" asking how we could make their lives proceed more smoothly during this trying time.
We two invited their daughters over for weekday dinners when both parents were absent. Their high school daughters are fun dinner companions. I sent over a few meals, whenever I ascertained there was a "big-durn-deal" day at the ranch.
This month, May, I got a call from the ranch folks: Could I help the next day in sorting cow/calf pairs?
I assured them that I could. Yes! I would be there: in my denim capris and Australian Blundstone boots from horse days of yore. And a jaunty 36-year-old sun hat from my first visit to Australia. And a china tea cup full of coffee. Yes! I was ready for service. I thought "service" would entail typing numbers into a laptop.
Typing, sipping, going home.
Apparently, there is more to cow/calf biz than typing in little numbers whilst sipping lukewarm Starbucks...