Bull calf, son of Frosty

Maddie may not be the name what one would expect for a bull calf, but it fit him just fine. His dark circles and long face quickly gave the impression of King Julien, but Julien or even Julien didn't fit him, and he wasn't the hyperactive type, either. Instead, he was a very general Penguins of Madagascar chill. Hence 'Maddie.'

Heifer, daughter of Horned Hollywood

Gretzky was very, very camera shy. This was a rare picture, but perfect to capture her quiet personality.

Bull calf, son of Bling

Snow(ta), known affectionately as the #CowWhoThinksHesADog for his meal-time habits of putting his whole head in the food bucket, was born on Super Bowl weekend, along with his sister Minnie. The 2018 Super Bowl was held in Minnesota, hence the dynamic duo of Minnie-Snow(ta). (Say it out loud and a little fast. Clever, huh?)

Heifer, daughter of Stray Horn

Minnie was known for her plentiful tufts of white and her picture-perfect poses every time the camera came out.

Bull calf, son of Bossy

Born on Texas Independence Day, complete with white boots on two feet, ready to two-step. Like his momma, he entered this world complaining.

Tracie was the 13th calf born on the ranch after we moved here and I began chronically all the arrivals. Her name required a little roll of the 'rrrrr' as you said your numbers in Spanish.

Heifer, daughter of Finally

Wendy arrived on a ridiculously windy day in April, an unexpected but wonderful surprise. Even as she grew into a teenager, she remained long and lanky, a little shy and a little playful, with beautiful distinct markings on her dark chocolate coat.

Heifer, daughter of Mrs. Howell

As is typical of Texas summers, we were in the middle of a heat wave in July, dry as a bone, with dust swirling all around as we drove the pastures.

Then we saw this one, and we welcomed Dusty to our little desert.

Heifer, daughter of Pet

Heifer, daughter of Checkers

Biscuit made quite the impression her first couple of days, with a cute name that was short for Sonofa... I know this one fell in that "TL;DR" category for my big brother, but it was one of my favorite adventures.

On a day off of work, my cowboy and proceeded with all the daily ranch chores, which on this day included getting the herd out of the north pasture. This requires bribery. So off he goes to put out hay, the cows follow him, and I'm following with the 50# sack of range cubes, when suddenly my MIL is hollerin' at me from 100 yards away. So back I go to her - turns out there's a calf in the pasture. "OK. I'll get it." One of me, one of my cowboy, 30+ cows... hold on L'il Bo Peep, we'll get there.

By the time we're done with the hay and all, there's a Sister Wife bellowing at the gate, because of course, it's her calf out in the pasture. Folks, here's where my complete and total lack of experience, judgment, or general skills comes in to play.

My MIL proceeds to tell me to go get the calf. I know that much; I'll drive out there in our little Gator. The momma is bellowing, so my MIL says "Let her in with you so she can get with her calf." This was my ONLY moment of clarity: No. If I do something wrong, I do NOT need momma pissed at ME. Momma stays outside the gate. Also, momma has horns. Double no. My MIL also tells me that the calf may not be able to walk all the way to the gate; I may have to load it up on the Gator and drive it back.

This is where a reasonable person would go, "How?" along with "How big is the calf? Can I do this alone? Is the calf okay? What if something is wrong?" I'm in the middle of 40+ acres and my MIL is walking, Keith is on a slow tractor - "What if I need help? And IF I miraculously manage to get the calf on the back, how am I going to keep it there?" But not ONE of those questions went through my head. Instead, I drove out like a fool, found the fast-asleep calf, and thought, "OK, little one, let's get you up."

But first, I took in this moment. This is yesterday's calf, only 24 hours old. Warm. Soft. And in need of a good head scratch and comforting voice. We had a moment. I stroked her head, scratched her ears, rubbed her back, and told her how beautiful she was. I've seen calves this young; I've never had a moment like this.

And then I remembered my cowboy telling me about how powerful they can kick, so I did Kinda Smart Thing #2 - I grabbed a towel from the Gator and thought, "If I wrap her in this, I can pick her up." "Kinda" is the key word. I had no idea how much she weighed, but I assure you is was more than the feed sacks. Amid my various phrases, I told her she was heavier than a son of a biscuit. The Biscuit part stuck. And she did NOT want to get up. And she most definitely could kick. I'm going to spare you a lot of pathetic details and just say that she was fully capable of getting up on her own and running towards the gate.

Going through the gate, however, was not in her skill set. Thank goodness that, by this point, my cowboy had joined my MIL to wonder what in God's green earth I was thinking when I ventured out on my own. Yeah, me too - I'm still wondering. But he is definitely more skilled and got her cornered by the fence - he just needed me to drive him to the gate while he carried Biscuit.

So he tells me to drive him and Biscuit through the gate; he'll get on the back of the Gator carrying her. My amazing husband has somehow managed to pick this little heifer up and contain her still-trying-to-kick legs, all while climbing in the back of the Gator.

He says, "Slowly to the gate."

I hear, "Hurry to the gate!"

Which was wrong. So very wrong. He tells me he envisioned the Christmas tree lights at a raceway, and no one told him I got the green light, but he knows I did, because suddenly he's a bit airborne - with a calf, while Momma is watching about 15 feet away on the other side of the fence (Did I mention she's a horned momma???) - and he tells me that the only thing that kept him on that Gator was he apparently grew fingers out of his backside to grip the tailgate. To see the dust on his pants - I believe him.

He ever-so-quickly corrected my interpretation of the word "SLOWLY" and I proceeded with much caution. By the time we got to the gate, Momma had already run over and was waiting on us. I'd like to say she appreciated our heroic efforts, but I'm pretty sure that she muttered "Dumbass" when she glanced my way.

And this, folks, is why my husband drinks.

Heifer, daughter of Muley

She was born with the pinkest of little noses that only the name Pinky would do!

Heifer, daughter of Jane Moo

When you are a child of 80s and 90s cartoons, and another calf is born just days after one named Pinky, what other option is there for the newest one's name except The Brain?

This one really was a no brainer!

Bull calf, son of Mrs. Gump

Forrest earned his name almost on Day 1. Once it was safe enough for us to get close enough for pictures (and confirm gender), we tried to approach him. But this little bugger ran like the dickens, and kept running when he saw some deer and decided to give chase. As we sat back and waited for him to tire out, we realized - he was going to just keep runnin'!