Sara's Babies

Lookin' At Life - 01/01/2000
by Joe Kreger

It was the fall of '80,
our second purebred Beefmaster crop.
We had used some pretty stout bulls,
and the calves were solid, bottom to top.

I was thinkin' of our farmer buyers.
They'd already expressed some fear
about the disposition of cattle
that carried so much ear.

So, it was for reasons of sellin'
not reason sentimental,
that I decided, while weanin',
we'd get those calves plumb gentle.

Now, over any kind of critter,
Sara Jane was prone to hover.
I guess our little girl was what you'd call
a natural animal lover.

I gave Sara her assignment
when she came home on the bus,
"Get those calves so gentle
that they'll never make a fuss."

Sara was so happy,
she was pretty near delirious,
and she approached that gentlin' job
with an attitude plumb serious.

The weather made no difference,
still days or blowin' sand,
Sara spent hours in the weaning pen
feedin' calves out of her hand.

Sara was just a little thing then,
but after she and Dessa became young ladies,
she still referred to the '80 crop
as "Sara's little babies."

We really had a time with those girls,
the best time of our lives,
but the good Lord called, and they went Home
In the fall of '85.

It was never quite the same
as when they were close around,
but the Good Lord wanted to move their camp
on up to Higher Ground.

Well, years went by, and every year
seemed to go a little faster,
but Bud liked cows, and he and I
still raised purebred Beefmasters.

It came time for our annual Bangs test,
the last week of rules allow.
Me 'n Bud got saddled up
and gathered every cow.

I don't exactly remember the year.
My memory's hazy as can be,
seems like it was '92,
could have been '93.

I stepped down from the old horse
and tied him to the fence.
I pulled out my tally book,
and tried to make some sense.

I was standin' in the pen,
tryin' to make out what I'd wrote,
when I felt somethin' nuzzle me
and nibble at my coat.

I turned around, and there she was,
there wasn't any maybes.
I'd forgot, but that old cow
was the last of "Sara's babies."

You could see the age a showin'
In that old, wide-muzzled head,
but she was standin' there a waitin'
for a little cake, hand-fed.

Now, Sara's hand-fed babies
had always made me smile,
but I'd never fed 'em from my hand –
just wasn't quite my style.

That old cow sure had a memory,
she'd been livin' off the land,
and it was l980 at weanin' time
when she last ate from Sara's hand.

Well, the old cow pregged open;
we cut her in the shippin' pen,
but I was glad to be reminded
of "Sara's babies," once again.

Now, I don't know how many cows
the Lord runs in The Promised Land,
but I bet Sara's got most of 'em broke
to eat cake from her hand.

Poem from Lookin' At Life by Joe Kreger. Joe Kreger is an Okie author and poet. His unique poetry may be purchased from the High Plains Journal at 1-800-954-5263. Personal appearances contact his Agent, Rustin Hamilton at (816)452-3513 or email rustin@hamiltonprod.com.

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