I never received an official job description when I married The Rancher, but apparently I’ve qualified for everything from feeding buddy and security guard to personal assistant and supernatural sorting-gate operator. The responsibilities are many, the notice is usually short, and the benefits are still under review.
There are all sorts of ranch wives. Some work alongside their husbands every day, some have careers away from the ranch, and others are involved in different aspects of the operation. There isn’t one particular way to be a ranch wife, and there certainly isn’t a list of duties that comes with the title.
At least, I’ve never been given one.
In our marriage, I don’t have any assigned ranch responsibilities. I don’t have to feed cows, fix fences or spend my days working cattle. But when I choose to join the crew, I’ve discovered that I apparently qualify for a surprising number of positions, most of which I don’t remember applying for.
The first qualification is availability. Immediate availability, to be precise.
When The Rancher calls and asks if I can come help, he generally means right now. Occasionally, I get enough warning to put on my boots and gloves and finish whatever I happen to be doing. More often, I’m expected to abandon my current project and report for duty before the opportunity to help has passed.
He might think he’s given me plenty of notice. I might disagree.
Then there are the calls that aren’t really invitations at all. “Come block the road to turn the cows RIGHT NOW!”
He’d better hope I’m not in the shower.
Once I’ve successfully reported for duty, the actual assignment can vary considerably. If we’re horseback, The Rancher is usually kind enough to catch and saddle my horse. I appreciate that. Apparently, my portion of the arrangement is unsaddling and putting the horses away afterward.
At the squeeze chute, I’ve somehow become the unofficial supervisor of syringe dosages. Whether I filled the syringes or am even the person administering the shots doesn’t seem to matter. I’m still expected to know what they’re set at and make sure they’re correct.
I also serve as his personal assistant, although I’m not sure that title adequately describes the position. My duties include maintaining a mental record of his ideas, plans and dreams, interpreting them into something resembling an actual plan, and then recalling the details whenever he needs them.
I’m also responsible for locating things within his filing system, which would be considerably easier if I understood the filing system. Naturally, whatever he’s looking for is something he actually needed yesterday.
Scheduling is another responsibility I’ve acquired. I try to keep track of what’s happening on the ranch, but the system works best when The Rancher remembers to tell me what’s happening on the ranch. I’m generally content with a loose description of the day, provided I know when he needs a lunch packed or whether our evening plans are about to become ranch plans.
Speaking of lunch, I’ve developed the habit of watching the clock when he hasn’t come in. My first question is whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that he’s running late. My second is whether he’s coming home to eat or if lunch needs to be delivered to a tractor somewhere.
A well-fed rancher is generally a happier, more efficient rancher. I’ve found this to be useful information.
When nobody else is available, I also qualify as his feeding buddy. This involves being the designated one out in the cold so I can open gates and cut net wrap or strings off hay bales while he sits in the warm cab of the tractor or pickup. I suppose someone has to do it, and apparently that someone is me.
During calving, I’ve occasionally been assigned the position of security guard. If The Rancher decides to tag a calf, I get to stand between him and an all too overprotective mother cow and make sure she doesn’t interfere.
Personally, I think I’d rather tag the calf.
I’m also happy to help in the shop, although my mechanical qualifications are limited. I can hand him tools, hold things in place and occasionally offer suggestions that are probably best ignored. Nobody should expect me to diagnose an engine problem.
Fence building is another area where I’ve developed a few specialties. I’m particularly good at hiking the fence line and attaching wire clips. And when we’re building fence with wood posts, I call dibs on the staple gun. There are some jobs worth claiming before somebody else does.
I also operate a shuttle service. If The Rancher needs a ride because he’s left a vehicle somewhere, has to move equipment or has managed to get stranded by something that quit running, I’m generally the person he calls.
Trailer backing assistance is included in the package. I stand behind the trailer, directing him toward the loading chute, alley or whatever narrow opening he’s trying to reach without hitting anything. It’s a job that requires clear communication, patience and a shared understanding of hand signals. We don’t always have all three. Actually, we never have all three.
Then there’s the sorting gate. Not just any sorting gate, but the last one in the alley, where the wrong calf absolutely cannot be allowed through.
Other people might accidentally let one slip past. I, however, am apparently expected to possess supernatural gatekeeping abilities.
And, of course, there are the days when I’m the crew cook, trying to feed a collection of hungry people between jobs. I enjoy feeding a crew, but there are times when I wish takeout was considerably closer. The same goes for the laundry. If you’ve ever washed ranch clothes after a particularly dirty day, you understand why I sometimes wish the nearest laundromat weren’t so far away.
One other qualification I’ve developed is the ability to distinguish between being yelled at and being yelled to. The Rancher loves me, and he isn’t yelling at me. He just occasionally communicates certain things to his wife at a volume and in a manner he probably wouldn’t use with anybody else.
It’s an important distinction. At least, that’s what I’m told.
Of all the positions I’ve held, though, I think my favorite is being his partner. His roping partner, to be specific. I’m certainly not the best hand with a rope, and there are plenty of people who could probably do the job better. But The Rancher keeps choosing me anyway. I’m not sure whether that’s a testament to his confidence in me or his willingness to put up with my mistakes. Either way, I appreciate that he wants me there.
The funny thing about all these jobs is that I really do enjoy being part of the ranch. I like being useful, working alongside my husband and knowing that I can contribute in ways that make his day easier. Most of the time, I’m happy to drop what I’m doing and join the crew, even if I could use a little more warning.
But after considering all the positions I’ve held over the years, I think it’s time we revisit my job description.
I’m not necessarily asking for a raise. I’d just like a little advance notice, an occasional lunch break, and perhaps permission to let one calf through the wrong gate without it becoming a federal offense.
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