View from the North 40: Where will Christmas Day find you?

The solstice arrived with very negative temps giving off a vibe that said “first day of winter” — in a doom-filled sort of “Game of Thrones” way — more than “brighter days are coming, Polyanna,” and, with a current temp of minus 39 just days before Christmas, I keep thinking of some good friends of mine who, on Christmas Day, feed treats to all their animals.

Big deal, right? This happens in households all over Santa Country, mine included. It’s one thing, though, to give a small number of beloved four-legged freeloaders their treats, but these friends have a ranch with livestock and a colorful menagerie.

It’s not “Yellowstone.” It’s not “Dallas.” It’s not even “Bonanza.” It’s a modest ranch operated in a traditional way, working cattle with horses and dogs, and feeding with teams of horses — partly because it’s economical, partly because they can and partly because they prefer it.

They have trucks and tractors and four-runners that get used for jobs, but if those machines don’t start, or the humans need to get into the rough country where a vehicle can’t go, or fuel is breaking the bank account, they need the horses and dogs fit and trained. That only happens if they do the work regularly. So it seems crazy to be out feeding cattle with an open wagon in subzero temps, but it’s logical, in a cowboy-logic kind of way.

I don’t know how many head of cattle they have. I was there at the branding last spring when my spectator status got revoked for a last-minute sub-in as chief vaccinator. Everything was a blur of motion and me trying to play catch-up, so my logical brain said the calves numbered a good many more than a hundred. My exhausted emotional brain said there was about 738 calves more than a hundred, and my knees for the next two days estimated the number at about 1,863 more than a hundred.

So the math is that the cattle herd equals the number of cows that had calves, plus cows that didn’t have calves for whatever reason, plus the upcoming replacement heifers, plus a few bulls, plus some odds and ends. I don’t know the total, but let’s just say 200 to 300, with a possible margin of error of 1,863.

The horse herd includes the working horses, the ones that are bred to make future working horses, the ones they wish were bred, the babies, the unbroke youngsters, the retirees, a stallion or two and a few random pity purchases, maybe another new acquisition or three here or one sold there. The number of horses has been deemed unknowable, so just put that number at somewhere in the range of 15 to 40, but definitely fewer than 60. Pretty much definitely.

And then there’s likely a donkey or two running with the horses but not included in the count because donkeys are part of the menagerie that might include a few goats, but only because they’re cute, provide milk for the kids and plans are afoot to make goat-milk soap.

Also, some pigs may be running around, but their number varies widely depending on how full the freezer is or needs to be. (Hey, this is a real story of a real working ranch, not a Hallmark Christmas moment.) And don’t forget the chickens, turkeys and ducks, maybe a few geese if that deal went through. (Relax, the poultry crew is for bug control and egg production, and some wheeling and dealing like feathered trading cards.)

Last but not least, there’s a handful of house cats and barn cats on rodent patrol, along with the working dogs, plus the dogs who think they are working but are really no help at all, and the dogs who have better things to do. Some of the dogs live there all the time, and some will have come to the ranch with my friends’ offspring, and the claimed kids, and all the spouses, plus a growing handful of young grandkids.

Christmas Eve, the place will look like a flophouse with bedrooms full to capacity and the living room a mess of bodies sleeping on cots and couches, and anyone who gets up to pee in the night has to stoke the fire. But come pre-dawn Christmas morning the bodies will roust out from under the covers to divide and concur the Christmas feeding-slash-treat duties.

Other than the patriarch, who will be hitching and driving the feed wagon, everyone, including the young kids, divvies up the feeding chores that will see extra hay, feed cubes, grain, slop, canned and dry food or meat scraps fed to the corresponding animals in the yard, pens, corrals, barns, pastures and high pastures. And a few adults will stay behind with the littlest of kids, and the dogs with better things to do, to stoke the fire, and cook the breakfast. Even the humans get an early treat for Christmas.

If this were a proper Christmas tale it would have a moral of some kind. My brain just likes the notion that even though most of the animals are bred and fed for market and many are used or produced for working or feeding the family, they are all respected and acknowledged for their contributions, both practical and not. That seems to be properly Christmas-y enough for me.

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My friends would agree that the moral of the story could be that if you like to sleep in, stay warm in winter and cool in summer, travel or take vacations you should not be a rancher at http://www.facebook.com/viewfromthenorth40 .