Ray took me in the BLM truck with him for the day. We drove around and looked at the water holes the ranchers should have filled with water. He found a bunch of cows in trespass. I was the scribe as he used his binoculars and called out the numbers in each of the cows' (or bulls') ears. We worked for over two hours. He drove through the cows, stopped, called out numbers, and I wrote them down. As we were finishing the last group of cows, we stopped in the middle of the road doing the work. Suddenly a truck honked real loud. Right behind us was one of the ranchers coming to rescue his cows. There was a mis-understanding about when the cows were to be removed. All of our hard work was in vain. Ray didn't put in the trespass. We were there for dinner time, however. Oops! Where did the calves go?
We had a good time. And the kids wonder what Grandpa does with his time at the BLM.
Did Dad let you drive the truck? That was always my favorite part as a kid. I never drove the BLM truck, just Dad's Courier.
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