"She had raised many dogie calves and numerous colts captured from mustang mares" (380).

I didn't know what a dogie calf was so I had to look it up. I was interested to find that, "In the language of the American West, a stray or motherless calf is known as a dogie. The origin of this word remains uncertain, but Ramon F. Adams, the author of numerous works  on western Americana and a cowboy himself, offered one possible etymology for dogie in   his book Western Words. During the 1880s, when a series of harsh winters left large   numbers of orphaned calves, the little calves, weaned too early, were unable to digest   coarse range grass, and their swollen bellies "very much resembled a batch of sourdough  carried in a sack." Such a calf was referred to as dough-guts. The term, altered to dogie according to Adams, "has been used ever since throughout cattleland to refer to a pot-gutted orphan calf." Interesting etymology.

"Perhaps he had in mind an evening tamale....A dozen times during the night the men on guard had to drive him back....When the herd started on next morning, Sancho was at the tail end of it, often stopping and looking back. It took constant attention from one of the drag drivers to keep him moving. By the time the second night arrived, every hand in the outfit knew Sancho, by name and sight, as being the stubbornest and gentlest steer of the lot" (382-383).

I really like this characterization of Sancho. It makes him sound like a goofy, cute, curious longhorn. I've always imagined Bevo being the same way.

Stubborn and gentle

"I thought María was going out of her senses, she was so glad to see him. She actually hugged him and she cried and then she begun feeding him hot tamales. She's made a batch of them nearly every day since, just to pet that steer" (387).

Stories like this melt my heart. I love it when humans or other animals become incredibly attached to other atypical animals (i.e. anything besides a normal "pet"). I'm also curious to see if longhorns really do like tamales.

On second thought, I don't know how any kind of animal, human or otherwise, would be able to resist one of these.

"The relationship between herders and the herded was a close one in the early days, when herds were small and individual animals were still important. One's animals were far more than just food; they were part of the tapestry of daily life, of one's status in society" (415).

It's sad to think that this way of herding has given way to the corporate-esque mass production of cattle in factory farms. Unfortunately, I don't see any way of food production reverting back to this old school style.

"For subsistence farmers, working animals were social instruments as well as companions, friends about whom one had no illusions. They became crucial links between generations, between the living and revered ancestors, intimate symbols of sustenance and interconnections between people" (415).

I the characterization of working animals as "crucial links between generations." It gives them an almost immortal, reverent vibe.

Sadly, the concept of the sacred ox doesn't exist anymore; cattle deserve more respect than we presently show them in this day and age.

"Due to the multiple benefits from cattle, there are varying beliefs about cattle in societies and religions. In some regions, especially Nepal and some states in India, the slaughter of cattle is prohibited and their meat may be taboo. Cattle are considered sacred in world religions...." (419).

It makes sense that our tribal totem is the longhorn in our world literature class, especially considering the respect that so many different cultures hold for it.