The herd has returned from the mesas and arroyos and canyons of the Saguaro Juniper wildlands, which chore’s accomplishment this year seemed particularly like tooth pulling. I’d stopped asking, “What else could go wrong or interfere with this?” and now its challenges were being forgotten. I count the cows, heifers, steers, calves and bull one by one as they parade by the truck (“lined out” as is said), they come past to a Symphony #4 of some composer I’ve never heard of on the Tucson classical station … the bovine parade moves slowly, regally to the processional, ah, Majesty of Cow. Then again, instead of Symphony #4 they could be hearing Mambo #5. I’ve found out the rather alarming result if a Leontyne Price aria is played for those new calves born on range and now here getting used to us up close. It was good to have tightened the fence recently. There’s always one who’s different though–one young calf approached the truck instead, and didn’t think there was a banshee come to carry off its soul. O mio babbino calfo …