Porcupine Quills

It was a beautiful day in late June and I had ridden up to Section 21 in the Crazy Mountains to check on our cattle. My saddlebags were full of cow “cake,” special treats for some of the replacement heifers that I had made pets of after they had been weaned as calves. It was fun riding the hills in the high country, watching my favorites come up as close as they dared to my horse, waiting for me to reach out with a piece of cake for them. They wouldn’t let me pet them, but they trusted me enough to eat shyly out of my hand-if I had enough patience! Cattle are very timid and scare easily.

I had fed all the cake I brought with me, and was just riding along, checking the fence and soaking up some of that Big Sky Country sunshine, when I spotted something standing in the shade of some brush. I rode up for a closer look, and my heart sank when I saw her. It was a big two-year-old heifer and her face, especially her nose, was just full of porcupine quills! I was sick at heart. If the quills weren’t removed soon, the heifer would die of starvation as the quills made it too painful for her to eat. They had obviously been in there for some time since there was bloody, festering drainage present. Poor thing−she obviously hadn’t eaten in days.

I sat there quietly for some time, trying to figure out what to do. I knew that if I didn’t pull those quills now, I wouldn’t get a second chance, and she would die. It was a four to five hour ride to the nearest cattle handling facilities. (We either trailed or hauled cattle up in the spring, but they were always trailed out when the snow came in the fall. There was no need for a chute or corrals up in the mountains.) There were, however, several corral posts set firmly not far from me where the former owners had decided to put corrals in, but they had only gotten some posts set before they gave up on that plan.

I recognized the heifer from her ear tag as one that had eaten out of my hand several months ago, so I knew she wasn’t really wild. She at least wasn’t going to run. I rode my mare, Talley, into the brush behind her and began coaxing her out of her hiding place and over towards those posts. I had a plan, and I was just young and stupid enough to think I could pull it off.

When I had the heifer fairly close to one of the posts, I took my rope down and threw a loop, catching her neatly in one throw. (Some days I was lucky and some days we won’t talk about!) The cow went nuts and I quickly dallied the rope around the post, dove off my horse and snugged the cow up to within a few feet of that post, carefully keeping myself out of the way as she began to fight. She lunged and pulled and finally threw herself down with the rope so tight on her neck she was in real danger of choking herself to death. I loosened the dally just enough so she could breathe, but not enough that she could get up. The first part of my plan was accomplished; I had “captured” the cow.

I always carried several items on my saddle. There was a slicker, since storms came up really fast in Montana. There was a long narrow piece of leather for the occasional wire gate I was able to open but not strong enough to close; the leather could be used to tie it shut in a pinch. It could also be used to repair parts of my saddle in an emergency. There was my camera because you never knew what you might see out riding. There was a hoof pick in case my horse picked up a rock. And last but not least, there was my fence tool, which is sort of like a Swiss army knife for range riders. The fence tool would have to do.

One by one, I proceeded to pull the quills out of that heifer’s face. It took me over two hours before I had them all out. The poor thing’s face was a bloody mess when I was done, and she fought with every one I yanked out. We were both exhausted, but at least she would be able to eat again. She would live.

I never used a rope without a breakaway honda on it just for situations like this. It’s one thing to choke a cow down, but it’s another to get the rope off again when you’re through working with her. It’s a good way to lose a hand! With the breakaway, you just yank on a leather thong and the noose falls free. It’s a wonderful thing.

Well, I jerked that thong, the noose was released, and the heifer was free. I stayed well away as she got to her feet, where she just stood for a few seconds, eyeing me. Thanking me? Cursing me? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I was just thankful I had saved her life.

She healed up well, got fat and sassy over the summer, and went on to raise big, beautiful calves for us over the years.

And now, thirty-five years later, as I was remembering this incident, I am ashamed of myself.

I believe, with every fiber of my being, that without Jesus’s saving grace we are all doomed to hell, and hell is eternal. I was desperate to save that cow’s life years ago, sick at the thought of her dying when there might be something I could do to save her life. And it occurred to me that I am surrounded by people that are just as destined for death as that cow was. What am I doing about them? Where is my concern and sorrow for the people all around me? Did I care about a cow more than people?

That question haunts me daily. If I truly believe these people are dying, where is my passion to witness to them, to see them saved? If all Christians had the passion to save human lives as I had so badly wanted to save that cow, would the world be a different place?

I ask again, where is my passion for their salvation?

Where is yours?