The others agreed: there was no way such meanness couldn’t have gotten to the meat.
What to do with the bodies then, Gary wondered, and the logistics of such a massive operation were discussed, but only halfheartedly, for a deep sadness held the room.
“Chet had been roping and steering for fifty years and they just chewed him to ribbons.”
“If it could happen to him,” Travis said, bowing his head. He was sitting on the couch with his bitten arm all swaddled up. He’d come to terms with the injury and seemed to think himself something of a hero.
“They won’t let a private citizen near a cow after this. It’ll only be the big operations,” Wesley said. “You won’t be able to run one except in a pen with a cattle prod.”
“Probably won’t even let you do that. Get a robot for it.”
“Before I shot Britney, I looked into her eyes and it was like she didn’t even know me,” Travis said. “And I raised her from 4H.”
“There goes the rodeo.”
“And your chance at a decent steak.”
“It’s a way of life gone, is what it is,” Wesley said.
And he was right, for now the pastures stand empty, save for those belonging to the few ranchers who’ve tried their luck with bison or sheep, and if you want to see a cow, you’ve got to drive down to the Rodeo Museum in Cody. I’ve gone myself, as a reminder, when the thought that they once roamed free on nearly every square inch of land in this great state becomes too fantastic. It’s quite a sight. All the children lean forward at the rail, giddy with fear, when the tranquilized specimen is led from the barn, her dazed anchor head nodding slowly, just the faintest spark of murder in her eyes.