Willie and Waylon Join the Band

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Willie and Waylon have joined the clan of critters here at Three Geese Farm. With our four laying hens named Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, Patsy Cline, and June Carter Cash, we now have a barnyard-and-bovine band. Willie and Waylon are Longhorn steer calves, about six months old. They were a 70^th birthday gift from my Beautiful Mystery Companion.

The gift was not exactly a surprise. We had gone down to a farm near Cleveland, just north of Houston, in early April to pick them out while they were still being nursed by their mamas. (They are not brothers but part of the same herd.) Their arrival on my actual birthday – Aug. 23 – was indeed a surprise. I was down in the newly built pen attaching a cut-off float to their water tank when I spied a truck pulling a long, white cattle trailer rattling down our driveway. My BMC had successfully fooled me again!

Terry, the friendly fellow who transported Willie and Waylon the three hours north to Three Geese Farm, looks like he could have played a minor role in a Taylor Sheridan television series – skinny, bow-legged, wearing starched jeans, a big belt buckle, drooping moustache, worn boots and a straw cowboy hat. He provided sound advice on caring for the steers and keeping them penned up for at least a couple of weeks. I headed to the feed store.

Our truck is awaiting repair, so I drove the Honda Element, a funny-looking box of a car no longer manufactured. The dock guy at the store loaded a 200-pound tub of molasses supplement, a 50-pound sack of range cubes (known as cow candy), and a mineral salt block in the back of the Element. I was worried it would start popping wheelies, but it made it back fine. Willie and Waylon quickly learned the sound of a range cubes being poured into a feed bucket. In a day or two, they were eating out of my BMC’s outstretched hand holding the bucket, nudging each other out of the way. She is the Pied Piper of critters here at Three Geese Farm.

Call me biased, but these two boys are just beautiful, with delicate white eyelashes and six-inch horns. Waylon is nearly all white, with brown front feet and black spots that will get larger with age. His mom was heavily freckled. I figure he will be as well. Willie sports the more traditional burnt-orange motif. He is a bit shyer than Waylon and generally follows his lead, especially when it comes to interacting with humans.

 Our aged donkey Pancho, standing on the other side of the fence from the Longhorns’ pen, was transfixed. He followed their every move up and down the pen, occasionally braying loudly, which the boys largely ignored. They ate range cubes, grazed, licked the molasses tub and salt block, acting like perfect gentlemen. It was clear they were well raised and are used to being around humans.

(An aside: This is not my first foray into raising cattle, though I have never owned steers or Longhorns. I had a modest herd of heifers when in my early thirties and living in San Augustine, and twice more acquired cows on two separate stints living in Lufkin. It is not an exaggeration to say that my cattle career at this point has been spectacularly unsuccessful by any measure. These boys are strictly pets, albeit much bigger than the other four-legged critters inhabiting this place.)

After two weeks, the grass in the boys’ pen was getting thin. It was time to introduce them to Pancho and give them access to his pasture, which also contains our only pond. First, we led Pancho into their pen and gave them separate treats. Of course, the Longhorns were more interested in Pancho’s bucket. He tried half-heartedly to kick them. It was a standoff. After a couple of hours, we turned them out together. When all seemed calm, the donkey and steers keeping their distance from each other, I headed to town to run errands.

I returned to find Pancho chasing the steers around the pond. He ignored my entreaties to stop. After the third trip around the pond, I bucket-led Pancho into his pen and got the steers back in their holding. The last thing we needed was for one of these critters to step into a hole while galloping around the pond and break a leg. I set about reconfiguring the gates. Now, Pancho is back in his pasture, while the boys have access to an ample supply of forage in the side pasture and can still get to their pen for water and to lick on the molasses tub.

Willie and Waylon seem content, finding plenty of grass to eat, showing no interest in trying to escape, exploring the roughly five acres in which they now live. They readily come up when called, me yelling, “Come here, boys!” while shaking the cubes in a bucket. We will give it some time, then perhaps again try to acclimate the donkey with the steers. Or maybe they will just live close by and visit often.

This was a truly special birthday present from my BMC, not deserved but deeply appreciated. We look forward to watching Waylon and Willie grow up in the coming years.

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