Saddle Sore: Never forget Sneezer

We’d fed the main herd of cows on the Big Mesa, up a steep road from the lower ranch, which took a couple hours and when we got down to the bottom, next to the creek pasture, Gramps turned the big team of horses and sled toward a group of recently born calves and stopped.

Our mission at that point was for me to pick out a steer for my upcoming 4-H project. At 10 years old and having problems imagining a new-born calf becoming a grand champion steer by September, it was difficult to decide. Gramps and my dad were excited about it, but could see I needed a little coaching and helped me get it down to a choice between two calves.

We had a good pen for the steer, an old chicken enclosure, surrounded by 10-foot-high chicken wire, covered on top by the same, maybe 20×20, with an enclosed space where the chickens used to roost and where the steer could get in out of the elements if desired. It was adjacent to my dad’s milk barn, so there was existing storage space for needed hay and grain.

When it was time, we were excited to get the feeder calf up to the pen and get him started as an upcoming star in the local 4-H program. He had plenty of competition: the Marolt girls, four of my Vagneur cousins down the road, Dennis Natal, Judy Williams, and Leroy Usel. Did I leave anyone out? Years later, my sister Kathy had a colt in the horse program, winning a blue ribbon with her youngster, Chico.

It takes months of work and there are many steps before going to the county fair. For starters, what to name him? Put a personality on that boy, make him part of the family, so to speak. A great looking Hereford, deep red with a white face, a little white on his right back foot. No sooner did we get him in his new home than he took to sneezing from something that got up his nose. Sneezer! My mother thought it was humorous, made her like him and for lack of anything better, it was tolerated by me.

If you want to make an impression on the judges, you want to lead a fat, well-proportioned steer into the arena. Sneezer got fed every morning, fine grass hay and oats rolled in molasses. He ate well, and except for the molasses, we grew everything on the ranch. The school bus schedule and I had a difference of opinion about pick up times, and my dad’s voice still echoes in my head, “Hurry up and feed your steer or you’ll miss the bus.” That’s the idea, Dad, that’s the idea, but the bus driver always managed to wait as I sometimes ran hurriedly down the road, fearing the wrath of my father if I didn’t make it in time.

Things need to be done that one has never done before. Teach a steer to lead? Mr. Sneezer was in no mood to cooperate, and with the help of my dad and a hired hand in the beginning, we managed to get the idea across to the beast, but he never got rid of his reservations about the whole affair. Up and down the Woody Creek Road we’d go, most days, never really a pleasant stroll, but the the good days were satisfying. Besides learning to lead, it’s good for proportional weight gain to have the animal move around, but trust me, I’d have given up some of his good looks in exchange for a little less stubbornness.

It was going well, we had our procedures in place, Sneezer was getting used to being led, bathed, curried, and brushed. We sort of had an understanding between us, certainly not a friendship, and he was pleased to see me at feeding time. But there was trouble afoot. Imagine being a herd animal, left alone in a pen with only a ten-year old boy for commiseration. The thought of escape must have been great. And he did.

Apparently, his nose poked a hole in the chicken wire at a perforation, and was gone. Sneaky, it took a while to locate him, and when he was finally safely back in his home, my dad estimated he might have lost a couple hundred pounds. Ouch. Fair time was coming up.  

Leading him into the arena went fine, but like me, he resisted being told what to do and obstinately refused to keep his feet in the requested positions. He wasn’t the lightest steer by weight in the competition, but still, we came in a ribbon-less fifth or sixth.

My grandmother bought him at the auction that afternoon, and after my dad calculated feed costs, and miscellaneous, my profit allowed me enough to buy a Raleigh bicycle from the Sears & Roebuck catalogue. Thank you, Sneezer. I’ll never forget you.