Letter from Keith Gotschall
Livestock – July 2005 – Colorado Central Magazine
The following email was sent to our daughter Columbine, who, as many of you may know, moved to Bend, Oregon, last fall. She forwarded it to us, and we were not only amused by the content, we were also convinced that this was a day that could only happen in Central Colorado, so we got permission to reprint it here.
Dear Columbine,
Today has been absolutely bizarre. Here’s how it started:
I call Enga’s parents about coming over to dinner tonight and BJ has to call back because she has a yard full of cows! Apparently something happened at the stock yards just down the highway and the cops are trying to herd them with cars and a big dump truck or who knows what. The cows take a turn into the Lokey’s drive and end up filling their yard. Finally off they mosey down the highway.
About an hour later I get another call from BJ and she explains that they need help. ET, their llama has run away; apparently he was scared out of his wits by all the cows and crossed the river to escape the mad bovines.
Poor ET has good reason to be so nervous. Not long ago, two Rottweilers came into his pasture one day and attacked him. Really attacked him. Besides numerous deep bites and gashes they ran him down to the river where one of Lucifer’s beasts held his head underwater, while the other tried and almost succeeded in eviscerating him. Horrible.
The neighbors, who were watching the Lokey’s place while they were on vacation, came running over. Vern was wielding a shovel and smashed the dogs, but to no visible effect. Nancy, on the other hand, pulled her pistol and was about to dispatch at least one of the dogs when the sheriff showed up. I just learned today that her response was, “I’ll drop the pistol when you convince me you can protect me.” Then some other words ensued. The dogs went to court along with their owner (who pretty much got off scot free).
So I go to help with the Llama chase. On the way down a 4×4 road along the river, I spy three lovely ladies sunning themselves while running their dogs around. I stopped to say hello. I knew them all well, and how often does one get to say “Have you seen a white Llama run by recently?”
I am about to deliver my line when one of their dogs, a large Great Dane, jumps up on me and bites my face!!! I am mad and throw him off. I have a word or two with him and take another step forward, when the blood starts gushing. The mutt had laid my nose open and I was bleeding profusely! I tried to be cool and asked my question, but it no longer had the same effect. With them saying how sorry they were and what a good dog he really is, I roared off down the road.
End of the road, I grab something to continue blotting my poor nose and start my hike down the railroad tracks to find the livestock. But I almost trip over a severed donkey head. No kidding, it was just laying there covered in flies and well eaten up to the neck.
So off I go for several miles, scanning the hills and the river bank as well. Finally I hook up with Ernie coming the other way. He is close to ET, but can’t get him turned around and heading back west. Between the two of us we are able to flank him and start the long walk home. But ET has other ideas and it is all we can do to get him moving in the right direction — without him running around and flanking us. I end up doing wind sprints for 3 hours, and do a pretty good job staying in the right place.
Up hill and down dale we are chasing this creepy looking animal. Every now and again we get close enough for one or the other of us to try throwing a lasso made from floppy climbing rope. Now that is ridiculous let me tell you. We both suck at trying to rope him.
It is a long hot day, I am in insulated Carhartts and long sleeves, and the dust kicked up has made me filthy even under my clothes. To make a long story shorter, we have him in a narrow section of railroad bed with a cliff on one side, and a very steep hill dropping down to the river on the other. I tell Ernie to hang on to the end of the rope and get as near to the animal as possible. Then I take the other end and run like hell in front and around the other side. I clip into the rope Ernie still has and pull up the slack. We were lucky, ET didn’t run down hill, and we made it work, we roped him!!! Then we slogged back out for miles, with the poor llama dragging his heels all the way.
Now it’s time to attend to my nose — stitches are not out of the possibility — and to drink some beer. This cowboy has earned it! Yahoo!
Keith Gotschall
Salida
