Tonight when feeding the heifers, I noticed that one of the ornery little girls managed to lose her tag. She had barely had it a couple of months and it was gone. The back was still on that holds it in place but the part that held her number was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she sold it on eBay?
At any rate, I was excited. This could only mean one thing. A new tag had to be made! Now to most, making an ear tag wouldn’t seem that big of a deal. Two numbers on a piece of plastic, so what?
In all actuality, ear tag artists are the west’s best kept secret. The best of the artists have steady hands and a steel mind. The numbers have to be big enough to be read through a dirty window, in a blizzard at three football field lengths but not too big so that the numbers spread into each other. The numbers have to be clearly differentiated – is that a one or a seven?
The tag ink used is patented for a secret recipe that is hidden in a military bunker in the Swiss Alps in a vault with 4’ thick cement walls and encrypted digital redundant pass codes. This ink is meant to outlast the sun, the wind, snow, rain and momma cow’s slobber. If I recall, the story goes that the ink inventor’s father went blind trying to read tags and he dedicated his life to easing this tragedy for other ranchers.
Curtis has only allowed me to make one ear tag in three years. In fact, it is such a celebrated event that each time we see that cow in the pasture, he reports, “That’s the ear tag you made.” I’m not sure to this day if it is because it is decidedly not up to par or if it is showing my hidden talents.
I was going to get ahead of it tonight though. We got back into the house and I quickly pulled out the tag box with the various colors of purple, blue, yellow, orange and white of various sizes all meaning something unique and all very confusing to me. Nonetheless, I chose the big white tag, confirmed with Curtis and squirreled away the ink bottle.
Fortunately, Curtis was on night shift so his senses were dulled and reflexes slow and he didn’t quite realize what I was up to. While he was packing his lunch, getting ready for another night out in the coal mine, I got busy making the tag in the mud room. I gave the bottle a good shake and a good squeeze and started out with the five. It turned out beautiful. The five took up half of the tag like it was supposed to and was very legible. Off to a good start!
The nine maybe wasn’t as nice. The ink flowed out maybe a little too quickly and was a bit puddle-like. The circle part was a little small and looked like a tall guy with a tiny head. Distracting. I gave it a good looking over and decided that although it could look like a “1” if the ear hair covered the top, it would probably do. Besides, there was always the other side.
Carefully I sat the tag down by the sink and closed the ink bottle. Always being the mom, I took a moment to consider all of the possible dangers to the situation. Almost immediately it dawned on me that it would never do to have the tag sit there as the cat likes to nest in the glove box above the dryer. She hops from the sink counter, to the top of the dryer and into the box. And sometimes to the top of the cupboard over the sink. Permanent black cat tracks weren’t in fashion this year so I made a managerial decision to move the potential danger.
When I picked up the tag, the ink rolled faster than a greased pig through a kid’s hands down to the floor – SPLAT! Halfway between the laundry room and kitchen, I was stuck. I put my hand under the tag and ran to the kitchen sink. My only luck in this whole adventure was that no more ink got on the floor. The tag was laid by the kitchen sink so the ink could drip into the stainless steel and I grabbed the paper towels and water to wipe up the spill on the floor. And then Soft Scrub with Bleach. And then bathroom cleaner with bleach.
Curtis watched the entire procession with his eyes very wide but without saying a word. I suspect he is increasingly cautious that whatever he says will end up in print. On the way out the door, however, I heard him mention, “You may want to put some paper under the next tag.”
As some people make their way through this life, they leave beautiful works of art, poetry, music and thought-provoking novels. It seems my medium is the floor. Between the burn marks from the hot coals in the stove we use to heat the house to now permanent black tag ink splatter on the linoleum, a person does not have to guess where I have been.
It may be that we have to add flooring into the budget this year. Do you know anyone hiring? I might need a part-time job to pay for new linoleum. Anyone need help with making tags?
