Cattle theft, in my part of the country, is hitting epidemic proportions. I took a crippled bull and a cow left over from the Reagan administration to the auction last week, and was surprised to see the sale barn personnel taking pictures of anyone they considered an “unknown seller.” While at the auction, it seemed that everyone I visited with had either had cattle stolen themselves, or knew of a close neighbor that had been the victim of the cowardly thieves.
Having recently been the victim of a theft myself (someone stole a rifle out of the seat of my pickup while I was having coffee at the local hangout) I am beginning to get paranoid when I see any strange vehicle or person in the community — and I hate being like that, but…
Four days ago, as I made my rounds feeding hay and checking cows and newborns, I came up one cow short at one of my places. I counted three times and came up with 19 each time. There are supposed to be 20 cows at that place. I’m certain because I have recently restructured my cow numbers at each place to make them nice, easy-to-remember round numbers. My wife thinks that it’s a little “obsessive-compulsive,” but when you get to my age, you need all the help you can to keep things straight and organized.
At first, I surmised that the old girl was hidden somewhere, taking care of the new calf she should be having about this time, but after walking the woods for several hours and riding the ATV around every square foot of the place for a few more hours, I was worried that maybe I had been visited by the cattle thieves.
I searched through adjoining fields and farms to make sure she hadn’t decided to take up residence in more desirable “digs.” After a couple more days of waiting for her to appear with her calf or, at worst, see the circling vultures, I was really beginning to get concerned. All the while, the local newspaper and TV stations kept reporting more cattle thefts.
Again, I walked the woods in hopes of finding the missing cow when, to my horror, I found fresh vehicle tracks and whole corn scattered out along one of the trails through the woods. I’ve heard that some of the thieves “bait” the cows for a few nights before loading them up, so now it was all coming together. I now knew she had been stolen, so I phoned the deputy.
“Can you describe the cow?” he asked.
“She’s either a black or black-baldy, since that’s all I have on that farm.”
“Well, which is it Jerry, black or black-baldy?”
I couldn’t tell him that.
“Jerry, I gotta tell you, in all the theft cases we have on file, I don’t know of any where only one cow is stolen. Are you sure she is missing?”
I quickly related my nice, round number at each farm, the fact that I hadn’t laid eyes on her for four days, the evidence of the tracks and corn, and the fact that everyone I visited with at the sale barn knew of stolen cattle. He reluctantly took down the information.
Two days later, I was out checking cows again and ran into my father-in-law on his ATV. “I see you were finally able to get that old cow to the sale barn before she died of old age,” he commented.
I had completely forgotten that I had sold the old cow off THIS farm. I was sick with embarrassment.
“Yeah,” I said as I watched him tool away in his ATV, scattering corn for the wild turkeys as he went on his way.
Jerry Crownover is a farmer and former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University. He is a native of Baxter County, Arkansas, and an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry about his books, or to arrange speaking engagements, you may contact him by calling 1-866-532-1960 or visiting www.ozarksfn.com and clicking on 'Contact Us.'
