D. E. Larsen, DVM

A little history on the Calf Scramble at the Coos County Fair, first, then Queenie’s story.

The Coos County Fair and Rodeo in Myrtle Point, Oregon, started in 1912. The Calf Scramble was added to the Rodeo program in 1949. In the initial years, steer calves were used in the calf scramble. I have been unable to determine the year when the switch to heifer calves was made.   

But heifers were used in 1959.

As near as I can determine, the 

last Calf Scramble was conducted

In 1987. 

David Larsen,                     1959

I had several family members who

won scramble calves.

Bill Davenport, cousin, 1950

Larry Larsen, brother,         1951  

Aaron Larsen, Nephew      1976

Debra & Laura Larsen, 

Chicken Scramble 1974
 Chickens in the gurney sacks.

Now, on to Queenie’s story.

By the beginning of summer in 1960, Queenie was settled into the routine of following the dairy cows to the barn every morning and late afternoon. The trails were worn deep in the pasture as the cows joined the single-file line to the barn with only the slightest encouragement.

Queenie was a well-conditioned Hereford heifer, after a winter of corn silage and grain. With a bit of sleuthing, unknown to my father, I increased her grain ration as the summer progressed.

The summer was filled with preparing Queenie for the show ring at the County Fair in the middle of August. That meant hours of training her to lead and to stand correctly. Trips to the bathing rack. And curling her hair coat. 

After my years in 4-H, I was well-versed in showmanship. But my experience was with dairy animals. The beef folks used different methods for positioning an animal’s feet by using a show stick. 

After several attempts with the show stick, Queenie learned the kinder dairy methods of a nudge here or there. But when the fair came, Queenie was ready.

The fair was busy as always. The scramble calves were weighed and assigned to a special set of stalls, separate from the rest of the cattle, located right on the main entrance path. 

Queenie weighed in at just under eleven hundred pounds. Second place, by less than ten pounds, to another calf raised with a dairy herd over on Coos River. I should have increased her grain ration earlier. Things were geared toward an auction for the scramble calves, but this year, that was not on the schedule. These calves were ours to keep.

When it was our turn in the show ring, Queenie placed second behind the Coos River calf, both a notch or two ahead of the rest of the group. Both myself and the Coos River kid were scolded for showing these calves like we would show a dairy animal. We had to stand at the head of the group and listen to how we should use a show stick, not just carry it. 

All that meant nothing. We both got blue ribbons, and I had fulfilled my obligations to the fair board. Queenie was now mine. The trip back to the farm was an enjoyable one, especially for Queenie. She kicked up her heels when she was unloaded and turned back into the pasture with cows she knew.

She was a little disappointed when her grain ration was reduced. 

“You need to cut back on her feed,” Dad instructed. “She doesn’t need to carry that extra weight. She will be coming into heat pretty soon, and we need to get her into shape for calving.”

I knew Dad was right, but Queenie did a double-take when I scooped a couple of handfuls of grain into the manger in front of her, rather than the two large coffee cans full of grain that she had been getting.

It was only a couple of weeks later when Dad met me at the barn door when I was coming to help with the evening milking.

“Queenie is heat today,” Dad said. “You need to go call to make sure we can get her bred tomorrow with an AI bull.”

Just a bit of excitement, but nothing major. 

“Do you want a fancy bull?” Dr. Haug asked when I called.

“She is a scramble calf,” I said. “They said she was registered, but I don’t have any papers. Just a good Hereford bull will do.”

“Okay, I pick out a bull with a record for easy calving,” Dr. Haug said. “Can you get her in a stanchion?”

“Sure, she thinks she’s a dairy cow,” I said. “She has been coming to the barn twice a day for most of the year.”

“Great, just leave her in the barn and I will take care of her tomorrow,” Dr. Haug said.

That was simple. Queenie was bred and pregnant. She slipped into her routine with the herd of cows. School started, and football, along with other activities, became a part of an active teenager’s life. 

It was almost a surprise when Mom came into the house one morning, all excited.

“Queenie had her calf last night,” Mom exclaimed. “It looks good from the front porch. Maybe you should run out and get a look at it before you leave this morning.”

I hurried through breakfast and pulled on a pair of boots. Queenie was in the far field, but Mom knew I was in shape enough to run out there and back and still have time to make it to school.

When I got to Queenie, she was just as gentle as she was at the fair. Her calf, already up and running about with a dry umbilical cord hanging from her navel, was not about to be caught. But I could tell it was a heifer calf.

“What was it?” Mom asked the minute I came through the door.

“It’s a heifer and everything looks good,” I said. “Queenie has passed her afterbirth, and the calf’s navel is dry. She must have been born last night.”

“That’s great,” Mom said. “That’s the way it is supposed to happen. Now you have two females in your herd.”

The following day, when I arrived from school, I looked toward the far field. I could see Queenie, but the calf was not to be seen. A little odd, I thought.

“I don’t see Queenie’s calf this afternoon,” I said when I hurried into the house to change clothes.

“It’s probably lying down somewhere,” Mom said. “That would be hard to see from here.”

“I will run out there before starting my chores,” I said. “Just to make sure it’s okay.”

I knew this field like the back of my hand. Catching Creek ran along one corner of the field, and the road ran along one side before turning left and running beside the creek to the upper reaches of the little valley.

The grass was not tall, and I made a quick circle of the field. Then I walked along the creek, through the brush, and watched for any sign of tracks. There was nothing. The calf was just gone. I stopped and scratched Queenie on her back as I headed back toward the barn. She didn’t seem to show any concern.

I repeated the process the following afternoon. There was no sign of the calf. I spent enough time to cover every inch of the field and the creek bank. I even went downstream looking for any sign of the calf, hoping that she didn’t fall into the creek.

“The calf is just gone,” I said at the dinner table that night.

“You don’t think someone stole that calf out of the pasture, do you, Frank?” Mom asked.

“I think they would have to be pretty fast to be able to catch it,” Dad said. “I think Queenie must have tucked away somewhere.”

The following evening marked three days since the calf had been seen. I searched along all the fence rows and into the adjoining fields. I stayed with Queenie until dark. She showed no signs of distress or concern. 

I was sick. Mom warmed my dinner, and I sat at the dinner table alone.

“I guess she is just gone,” I finally said as I started upstairs to bed.

The following morning, I stood and watched Queenie from the porch before heading off to school. She was still by herself in the field.

I was miserable all day at school. I ran through my mind everywhere I had looked. There was one spot, a grove of large maple trees, where the creek and road parted ways. I had looked there, but I had not scoured the spot. Mainly, because it was just bare ground under those trees. But I resolved that tonight I would search that area. That provided me some comfort for the rest of the school day. 

When the final bell rang, I bolted for the door. I was the first one on the bus and could hardly contain my excitement. I was convinced that tonight, I would find that little heifer calf.

My resolve to find the calf tonight was stronger than ever as I got off the bus and ran to the house. I was running the layout of the maple grove through my mind, trying to visualize just where that calf was hiding. 

I reached the porch, and just before entering the house, I turned to look for Queenie in the far field. There she was, grazing on the lush pasture. And, running circles around her, there was her calf.

“The calf is back in the pasture,” I said to Mom when I came through the door.

She stepped out on the porch to look.

“I wonder where she has been all this time,” Mom said.

Before going to the barn, I ran out to the pasture to check the calf. She was fine, didn’t look like she had missed a meal. Her umbilical cord was gone. She came up and sniffed my pants leg as I scratched Queenie on her back.

“The calf is back in the pasture,” I said to Dad when I entered the barn.

“You’d better name her before she disappears again,” Dad said. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

“I think, Princess,” I said. “After all, her mother is a queen.”

“That fits,” Dad said. “By the way, I stopped by the cheese factory this afternoon and spoke with Art. He said you can start to work there this weekend. Check into the office at eight on Saturday morning to do their paperwork.

Life got busy for me at that point. The cheese factory was the best job in town, outside of working in the woods. Dad had worked as a logger for many years. He was anxious for me to get a job that was not in the woods. At the cheese factory, I could work after school and on weekends. I would have enough money for a car and the first year of college by the time I was out of high school. Then, working summers, I could pretty much work a summer and pay for a year of school.

Queenie and Princess stayed with the cow herd. Only Dad quit bringing her into the barn. When Queenie was ready, we bred her to the same AI bull that had given us Princess.

In the spring, I graduated from high school, and Queenie had another heifer calf. 

There was no drama this time. We woke up one morning, and Queenie was out in the pasture with Princess and another calf. I ran out to check it, to make sure it was a heifer.

AS fall approached, I began thinking about going away to school. Don, a coworker at the cheese factory, asked me what I was going to do with my cow herd.

“You know, if you leave them there for you Dad to take care of and do all the work, he will start thinking they are his,” Don said during one break.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “He has to take the trouble of cutting them out of the herd at every milking now. That is sort of pain for him.”

“My herd is doing well and growing all the time,” Don said. “I could use a few good cows. If you are interested, I would like to buy them from you. That would give you a good cushion for school.”

I gave his words some thought. Queenie’s life would be good at Don’s place. The money would make my coming year comfortable. 

Don and I reached a price and shook hands.

“I can come Saturday evening, probably after your milking time would be best,” Don said.

When I broke the news to Dad, he was not happy. Not about the sale, he had been thinking the same thing. But he thought the price was too low.

“This is a super group of young females,” Dad said. “You need to ask for more money.”

“We shook hands, Dad,” I said.

Dad shook his head. He had taught me well. And a handshake was stronger than any document a lawyer could write.

It was a little bit of a sad time when we loaded the Queenie, Princess, and Duchess into Don’s trailer. Mom put her hand on my shoulder, and there was a single tear on her cheek.

“Beef cows are happier on an open range,” Mom said. “They just get too fat when they are raised with dairy cows.”

Photo Credit: Mohan Nannapaneni on Pexels.

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The Coos County Fair has existed for my entire memory. The fact is, it started in 1912. Every summer in my early memory, the Larsen kids worked to have money for the fair.

Our main effort was peeling chitum (cascara) trees. We would dry the bark on the roof of the machine shed. Once dried, we crushed the bark into small pieces and sold it to the local feed store. I was the youngest, and I am sure I got the short end of the stick when it came to dividing the funds. It was calculated on the fact that my needs were fewer. I would guess that my contribution to the workload was probably less as well.

I became aware of the calf scramble in 1952, when my oldest brother caught a calf. In those years, the calves were steers. They were sold at an auction at the end of the following year’s fair.

When I was fifteen, I filled out an application for the calf scramble. I have no idea what the selection process was or how many applications there were. But there were ten scramble calves and twenty guys giving chase. The fact that my uncle was chairman of the fair board couldn’t have had any bearing on my application.

The calf scramble had become a significant event during the Saturday night rodeo. They ran all the calves into the arena, and they stood in a group at the far end, wondering what was going on. These were not baby calves. As a group, they averaged close to four hundred pounds.

The calves were heifers this year. We had to show them at the fair the following year, but there would be no auction. They became the property of the successful scrambler.

They lined us guys up in front of the rodeo chutes. We were all given a rope halter and then a brief reading of the rules. This was an individual sport. You were not to expect help from your competitors, and you were to not offer any help.

You had to catch the calf, put the halter on the calf, and lead her out of the arena. Once you had her out of the arena on the halter, she was yours.

They blew the whistle, and the race was on. There was some initial cooperation in the group of guys, with everyone helping to corner calves. But once the first couple of calves were seemingly caught, it became every man for himself.

I was in a small group, chasing a couple of calves toward the corner of the arena when suddenly, there was a calf running beside me on the left side.

I threw my left arm around her neck and locked hands. I tried to plant my heels in the soft arena dirt. The calf had no problem pulling me off my feet and dragging me across the arena. My arm maintained a solid grip around her neck. 

It was not long before she was tired enough to come to a stop. With my left arm still firmly around her neck, I grabbed her by the nostrils with my right hand and pulled her head across my chest. At the same time, I stood and leaned with all my weight, pushing her to the left. She resisted for a moment, then flopped onto her left side.

I rested a moment, keeping all my weight on her neck. While I was trying to figure out how I was going to get a halter on this calf, I noticed a small group of guys gathered around me. They were not there to help. They were hoping the calf would escape my grip.

I pulled the coiled rope halter from my belt and shook it to straighten it out. Then, with my right hand, I slipped it over her nose first and pulled the upper part of the halter over her left ear. Finally, I struggled to get the halter over her right ear and tightened it to make sure it was a secure fit.

I started getting myself up, keeping one knee on the calf’s neck while I wrapped the end of the halter lead around my butt. With a deep breath, I sprang to my feet and braced myself. 

The heifer righted herself to her sternum, looked around for a moment, then scrambled to her feet and started in the direction of the far end of the arena. I planted my feet, she hit the end of the rope and spun around, standing there, pulling against the lead rope.

I swung around her in a wide circle, not giving any slack in the rope. Finally, I had her pulling against the lead rope with her butt pointed toward the exit gate. I took a step, and she backed up with a constant pull against the lead rope. 

The circle of guys thinned out a little when they realized I was in complete control of the situation. They were looking for other potential escapees. I made slow progress, backing the heifer toward the gate.

As I approached the exit gate, Uncle Duke and another guy came out and helped me with the last few yards. Once through the gate, the other guy took the lead rope and tied it to a fence post.

“I’ve been working these scrambles for quite a few years,” the other guy said. “I don’t think I have seen anyone walk a calf out of the arena backwards before.”

“He has trained calves to lead for the last 10 years,” Duke said. “It was a little inventive, but he knows that a will pull against the lead rope for two or three days.”

“I think we should see more of that sort of stuff,” the other guy said. “The crowd really loved it. Did you hear them?”

‘No, I didn’t hear a thing,” I said. “I was just trying to get to the gate. I thought it worked pretty well. Sort of the path of least resistance.”

There was plenty of help to lead the calf to her stall in the beef barn.

“She has to stay here tonight,” Uncle Duke said. “She can go home tomorrow afternoon when the other animals are released to go home.”

Sunday evening, we loaded her into the truck with the rest of the fair animals with no problems. She went home, and we kept her in the barn for several weeks to help tame her down. She was no longer a range animal. Rather than turning her out with other calves, we let her run with the cow herd. That way, she would come to the barn twice a day and learn that good things, grain and silage, happened in the barn.

“What are you going to name her?” Dad asked one evening.

“I have been calling her Queenie,” I said.

Queenie wintered with a herd of Jersey cows, and when spring came, I started working with her for her return trip to the Coos County fair.

Please read the rest of her story next week.

Photo Credit: Mohan Nannapaneni on Pexels.

D. E. Larsen, DVM

It was a sunny Friday evening and we just got the kids to the dinner table. 

“Maybe we should eat dinner and go to the movie down at the Rio tonight,” I said. Speaking more to myself than to the family.

“That would be great,” Sandy said. “It that new movie that everyone is talking about. Star Wars, I think.”

I made a long reach from the end of the table and speared slice of chicken breast with my fork. Just as I settled onto my plate, the telephone rang.

“Great,” Sandy whispered under her breath.

“Three day old wire cut,” I said. “Those gals never look at their horse all week and find the problem when they are brushing them for a Saturday morning ride.”

“Do you want me to answer it?” Sandy asked.

“I’ll get it,” I said as I got up and walked to the kitchen to answer the call.

“Hello, this is Dr. Larsen,” I said into the phone.

“I’m so glad I caught you, Doc,” Janice said. “I thought you might be at that movie already.”

“What do you have going on, Janice?” I asked.

“Luna has a nasty wire cut on the side of her neck,” Janice said. “I think she must have caught it on the barbwire fence. I was hoping I could get you to come out and sew it up tonight.”

“I thought we talked about that barbedwire fence last year,” I said.

“Yes, I know it is my fault,” Janice said. “But you know how it is, there is always something else to spend the money on and something that seems to consume the time.”

“When do you think this happened?” I asked.

“It looks like it might be a day or two old,” Janice said. “There is some dried blood in the hair and the wound Is matted with her hair.”

“Janice, you know that there will be no difference in the wound healing of a wire cut that is two or three days old,” I said. “It will save you a hundred dollars if I come out in the morning.”

“Yes, I know,” Janice said. “But I was planning to ride Luna in the morning. A bunch of us girls are going up Black’s Creek for a ride. Do you think she will be okay to ride tomorrow?”

“I can’t tell without looking at her, but I wouldn’t expect a skin laceration on her neck to slow Luna down much,” I said. “And twelve hours difference if only going affect the price. What time are you planning to leave in the morning?”

“Sue is going to be here with her trailer at nine,” Janice said. “That is why I wanted to get it done tonight. But, if waiting until morning will save a hundred dollars, maybe I should wait.”

“I can be out the by eight,” I said. “Luna is so easy to work on, I should be done before nine.”

“Okay, Doc, let’s do it in the morning,” Janice said. That way your kids can see the movie.”

***

Janice was holding Luna in the corral when I pulled into her driveway. I poured a bucket of water and drew up ten ccs of lidocaine in a syringe and stuck it in my pocket. 

With my surgery bag in one hand and the water bucket in the other, I slipped through the corral gate.

Luna snickered when I patted her on the right shoulder. The laceration that Janice had call about was on the right side of Luna’s neck. It was less than two inches long, dry and crusty, it probably happened on Monday or Tuesday. I would have been pissed if I had came out last night for this wound.

“I have to tell you, Janice, that this would will heal inspite of what we do today,” I said. “This is nearly a week old. I can clean it up, give her a tetnus booster and some antibiotics and she will be good to go. To close this wound, I am going to have to remove the skin edge and all the granulation tissue, then suture the wound. That might heal a little faster, but only by a week.”

“Are you sure it well heal?” Janice asked.

“If I looked at this wound on Wednesday, I would have sutured it with only some minor debridement,” I said. “Today, I have to remove the skin edge and all the granulation tissue. It will make a larger would, take more time, and gain very little benefit. I think if I clean this wound and shave the hair away from the skin edge, it will be healed in two weeks.”

“Okay, Doc,” Janice said. “Am I going to be able to ride her today?”

I press hard on the wound and around the edge. Luna showed no response to the manipulations.

“I don’t think she knows she has a wound,” I said. “I will only use a little lidocaine for local anesthesia if she flinches. My bet is she isn’t going to need anything.”

I scurbbed the wound with Betadine surgical scrub and rinsed it well. I shaved the wound edge with a prep blade, making a wide margin around the wound. Then I scraped the crusty debris from the wound, exposing fresh granulation tisuue. Luna never flinched through the whole process.

I opened a new container of Furacin ointment and applied a small coating to the wound. I handed Janice the container.

“Apply a small amount twice a day,” I said. “That is all you have to do. I will drop by next Friday, just to double check on things. I will have Sandy give you a call on Monday to schedule that recheck. If you have Luna in the corral, I don’t think you would need to be here.”

“Do I have to do anything for flies?” Janice asked.

“I don’t think that will be a problem with this wound,” I said. “By the time I recheck it, you will be surprised at how close it is to being healed.”

“That’s great, I hate the fly spray,” Janice said.

“Now a tetnus booster and a dose of long acting penicillin and I will be out of here before Sue arrives,” I said.

***

Just as I said. Luna’s wire cut was almost healed with I rechecked her the following week. Janice and Sue had an enjoyable ride after my visit. And the kids got to see Star Wars. I just didn’t expect that movie to still be around for almost fifty years.

Photo Credit: Stephen Leonardi on Pexels.