Wild Cows

February 24, 2017


Ranchlands' founder Duke Phillips is a third generation cattle rancher who believes in economic diversification, high conservation ethics, and public education as critical to the future of ranching.

You live in the hills, and parks,

And in the draws which best hold you hidden.

The sharp rocks are your friends.


You move, moving the least possible

To conserve the life in your body.

You have eyes in the back of your head,

Your babies have learned the exact sounds to listen for.

Only in the low light times of day

Do you venture out from the trees

Into the open where you can be seen.


You know which paths cut the fastest

into the deepest trees.

Moving in single file, you are shaped by the

Ebb and flow of the trails, heads bobbing

Like ticking minutes,

With the rhythm of your walk.

These paths you travel

are the bloodlines of your world.


You are called wild, but you are not,

Having nothing to think about

Except to keep on the move,

You live lovely lives eating grass and forbs,

Munching here, nibbling there.

As if on vacation, dining at the buffet,

Living in hotels –

Under this tree tonight,

In that nice grassy bottom tomorrow.

It’s convenient, comfortable and mobile.


In these hills where you live,

Live the mouse, the blue jay, the hare

The grasshopper and rocks. Yes, they are the wild

The reckless, the tame, the movement

Of the sun and rain and hot and cold

And wet and dry.

Their flesh has fed the dirt

They have lived on since the first moon.


You cross the same ground, without thinking of

Where these ancients have always lived,

Captured by this place like you,

Standing on hill tops

Looking out over the curve

Of the earth to lands they shall also never visit.


Yet, you never pause to think of this.

You care only for your needs

Moving, moving from you don’t know what

Only eating, laying, drinking

Looking for the finest hidden green soft grass

To lay down in and chew your cud.