Interesting enough, there were a couple news articles that came out April 30 naming agriculture once again as one of the most dangerous industries. I’m pretty sure that jinxed my week, or at least that’s what I’m blaming it on.

It was a packed week. Calving was going full steam. The vet was out Tuesday to Bangs vaccinate fall heifers and test bulls, which went really well.

Then Wednesday rolled in like a freight train.

I had started at the crack of dawn by running through the heavies in multiple places, getting tagged up and pairing some out of the home lots before I grabbed the semi and pot to head over to the feedlot. The crew had gathered a load of lightweight steers that I had sorted a couple of weeks prior to head to Ogallala Livestock, and they had just got them corralled when I showed up.

I was about ready to load steers when the Boss Man showed up with the 24-foot Wilson trailer. We had five bulls that were going the other direction to Sheridan Livestock for multiple reasons.

He helped get steers loaded and then backed up to the side of the loadout so I could load the five bulls his way. The bulls loaded just fine, and I jumped onto the trailer behind them to shut the back slider gate and lock them into the front two compartments.

We all know accidents can happen, and unfortunately I know more than some how they can be life ending, so I’m always very diligent and conscientious of safety, not only for me but especially for the crew.

The 4-year-old bull was a little slow in pushing into the compartment, so I was closing the gate slowly behind him and had myself in what I thought was a safe position.

It was not.

He hammered the gate, and next thing I knew, I was airborne across the last compartment of the trailer and face planted in the ground between the Boss Man’s legs outside of the trailer.

Dad jumped in the trailer, and got the gate closed while I was gushing blood everywhere.

Grace ran over and proceeded to call an ambulance, which I told her to cancel a couple of minutes later since I could make sense of everything, and we’d beat them to town. She ran to get my pickup to haul me in.

I had a roll of paper towels in the semi that Steffi grabbed to try and slow the blood loss. Meanwhile I’m crying not from pain but because I have two pot loads of cattle that need to be in Ogallala for the sale the next morning, and now what?

So, there I am laying stretched out face down in the dirt, leather gloves and paper towels saturated, and telling Dad to call his brother since he’s the closest one that could drive the pot to Ogallala. Fortunately, he could come over within a half hour, and they got me loaded up and headed into the ER.

Now there are some bad donkey ways to show up to the ER, but profusely covered in milk scours, feedlot gunk and enough sand to build a hospital sandbox while still wearing my piggn string that I weigh calves with may be right up there. Or as my nurse said, “it’s the first rope we’ve seen in the ER.”

The ER was bustling, and it took a couple of hours to stitch me up and get me on my way. I had a perfect “asterisk” looking hole in my forehead that took more interior and exterior stitches than I care to count. It had made it all the way to my skull.

I’m not for sure why the asterisk shape, but as I told someone, I use them for correction in my messages. Maybe it’s a correction?

Because of the depth of the nice, pretty, gaping hole, they finished up with a CT scan that came back clean, and they sent me out the door with instructions to remain cognizant for concussion signs.

So, I did what every ranch kid I’m sure would do: I drove the hour home to see if driving would bother me (I had received no medication besides lidocaine), and went directly to the feedlot where the Boss Man had gotten back from the bulls being dropped off at Rushville, and the semi soon showed up from Ogallala.

We loaded the next load, and I had Salvetti ride along as my “concussion chaperone.” We made it to the sale barn, unloaded and were back to the ranch around 11 that evening.

The next day was a little rough, but with a full schedule there wasn’t any down time. Fortunately, a concussion never happened. I started tagging around 6 that morning and dragged myself home around 9 that night, completely exhausted.

The Boss Man went to the sale that day because he also needed to run down to McCook to pick up a feeder chain for the Laird wagon. He called early afternoon and said the count between the sale barn and what we had listed was different. I had the individual IDs of the animals I sent, so I ran over to the feedlot to check through pens and found our missing culprit.

I called the Boss Man back and said the fault was on me with my count, “but in my defense, I had a head injury.” Needless to say, we both laughed.

Since then, I’ve gotten the greatest shiners a girl could ask for, which I feel is working in my favor with the cows. No one wants to mess with me tagging because I think they feel intimidated.

The jokes and comments have been pouring in. They have been top notch, and I love the awkwardness of people that see my black eyes (the stitches are bandaged under a ballcap).Most are too polite to say anything, but those that have, I just tell them, “the other guy is dead.”

We analyzed the trailer to see what had drilled my skull. If I had just been a couple more inches, it would have missed me completely. At the same time, a couple more inches the other way and I might not be writing this week.

I truly believe I was being watched over that day. My sunglasses, a Christmas gift that I loved, took the brunt of the impact. Big thanks to Oakley for making them like none other.

Most importantly, thanks to the man upstairs for deciding I still have more to give. I’ll try not to disappoint him. Also, a huge thanks to the crew and family for stepping in when needed.

We’ve had multiple conversations this week about the wreck, and the verdict is still that it’s just a freak deal. It has made me even jumpier right now, in one of the most dangerous times of the year on the ranch, and serves as a reminder to keep telling friends and family to stay safe.

So, please stay safe this season, your operation and your family need you.