The Meeting of the Herds

As the last blog explained, not long ago we brought a herd of 5 new cattle onto our farm. We kept them separate from our new herd for a few days, in the same field, but kept 50 yards apart by electric fence lines.

Mostly the cattle in both groups – the new herd and the main herd – would go about their business of eating hay, laying and ruminating, and placidly staring off across the farm. But a few times a day, the 5 new animals and the 3 or 4 ‘big boys’ from the main herd would stand at the closest point of their respective fence lines and bellow to each other, each animal making their own personal higher or lower pitch, quieter or louder, short or drawn out call to the other herd.

After a few days, we took a temporary fence down and the new herd and the main herd now shared a fence line. They didn’t have to bellow across the field anymore – they could get right up to one another, separated by only a single electric twine. Mostly they were quiet, and on occasion the herds would gather at the fence line and Osage the new bull and Jimmy the main herd top cow would sniff and rub noses under the fence.

About a week total after getting the new herd to our farm, it was time for the finale – full introduction and combination of the herds. We fed hay to each group and then simply wound up the electric polywire string.

You don’t really have that much control of these creatures. As I’ve said before, you can’t force them to do anything. So when we wound up the last bit of temporary fence, there was no going back – they were going to combine, and there was no stopping whatever fighting or running about that may entail. We had little idea what to expect.

Jimmy immediately walked across the old boundary, eyes locked with Osage. Andrea and I stood 10 yards away, transfixed. The two beefers went forehead to forehead, their horns clacking and rattling together. They were gentle with their horns, placing them with consideration, seemingly trying not to blind or gore the other, just trying to get their foreheads together so that they could PUSH. That was the name of the game – push the opponent, forehead to forehead, until somebody submits.

Jimmy and Osage went at it for a few minutes, and the other cattle, as I recall, mostly watched or continued to eat hay. Eventually two of the bigger boys from the main herd – Ferdie and Porter – took a keen interest and joined in. Jimmy was pushed aside and it was Porter’s turn to size up with Osage. They fought for 10 minutes, maybe 15 minutes, full gas pushing and shoving each other up, down and across the hills, one gaining an advantage and the other doing his best to resist, legs locked up and hooves sliding across the earth. One might stumble back, and make a quick retreat, but that was not submission, it was just a pause in the action. They would reengage and continue the shoving match, their hooves audibly pounding the earth and their snorts and pants creating steam in the cold morning air.

Osage was the bigger animal, and, juiced with testosterone, I figured there was no way he would submit. But it wasn’t a fair fight. Porter was doing the head-to-head pushing and shoving, but Ferdie was interested and kept jumping onto Osage’s rump, riding on Osage’s backside as the pushing match continued up front. This went on, and on, and on.  Osage had hardly any reaction to being carrying Ferdie on his backside – he just kept his forehead locked up with Porter, continued the nonstop grinding of his feet into earth and forehead into forehead. They got close to fences, on occasion touched a fence, but never went through. I stayed close, fascinated, and hoping to keep them away from the fencelines, but I probably influenced them hardly at all and couldn’t really get that close to the beasts and their horns and sharp hooves. This was a primal match for top cow status and I couldn’t hardly influence their actions. It seemed like someone was surely going to break a leg or stab through someone’s hide. One animal would gain the upper side of the slope and the other would be forced back by gravity and the incredible straining effort of the bulging muscles in the legs, torso and neck. One animal might stumble, or they would slip off each other, but they would reset and do it again and again. If someone didn’t get injured, it seemed like someone would eventually have to be exhausted. Then, suddenly, without preamble, Porter turned his head slightly away from Osage and their beef was over. Porter walked away.

Ferdie was next, this bout lasting just a few minutes, ending again with a slight turn of the head by Ferdie and Osage maintaining top cow status. Jimmy and Osage had never finished their business, so they reengaged. I thought Jimmy could have a chance, since Osage had been full-gas fighting for at least 15 minutes, but Jimmy too submitted after just a couple more minutes. Osage would be top cow. His status would not be questioned – not later that day or since have I seen any of the herd challenge him in a pushing match or even with defiant body language.

After the big dawgs settled their affairs, then the females and smaller animals proceeded to determine the rest of the hierarchy. These fights were much less dramatic. Often one animal would turn its head to the side, submitting, before any pushing had even begun. The order of the herd seems to have settled as Osage the bull, Jimmy the biggest and horned steer, Ferdie and Porter the smaller hornless steers, the new cow, the new big heifers, the new small heifer, Ricky the small white steer, Bonnie his mama and our milk cow, then all the 8 month old Jersey calves. Bonnie was somewhat unexpected – she can have a little bit of fire to her, but she had little interest in fighting for status this day, instead focusing on eating hay and quickly submitting to any challengers. She is huge, relative to most of the herd. But she didn’t put up a fight with animals literally half her size. I wonder if it is just her personality, or if being in deep pregnancy makes her less apt to fight but instead protect her body and baby. Don’t know. All I know is that the scene was pretty dang dramatic, with a couple fights going on at once for a half hour or so, until almost every combination of 1-on-1 had been tried and a winner found. Then they were a herd, a single unit. There are cliques – the big boys like to hang together, the jersey calves like to stick together (bottle raised as a group), and the two big Speckled Park heifers like to stick together (also bottle raised together) – but they are a herd and the order seems to be without question. The lower ranking animals give the higher ranking animals their space, the big dawgs always eating and drinking first and getting the closest spots at the fenceline whenever something catches their interest across the farm.

Bonnie (right) submitted, without a fight, to this new cow (left) half her size.

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That’s that. Thanks for reading. I feel like that was a rare event – combining two established herds of similar size and getting to see them duke it out and quickly become a unified herd, a single organism. Andrea and I are loving it – it has its challenges, but it is a joy to see and care for the herd each day. We’re still feeding hay, but the grass is growing and soon we will be full on grazing the animals across the whole farm, the herd operating in its natural unity and synergy with the land, harvesting the solar collection of the soil and grasses, regenerating the land with their hooves, urine, manure and every bit of their physical and metaphysical presence down to their horn aura and nose dew drops. Farmcraft Ranch.