Rattle Rattle Here Come the Cattle


We start our days pretty early here at the Iraqi Army Combat Arms School. My hooch is about ten miles south of where I work. So, every morning I drag my sorry bottom out of bed about 5 am, put on a pot a Dancing Goat (compliments of Mr. Danny Floyd), shave, put on the body armor and head north along route blue (basically, an improved trail cut across open desert) to the CAS site. Sometimes, sheep herders and their flocks come onto the range (Besmaya) to graze. When they do, the Iraqi force protection boys roll out to run them off. Poor shepherds - if they don't move quick enough, the FP boys take them into custody and sometimes even lock up the sheep! It's a hard country. It's not that they don't care for free grazers, they just gotta enforce the rules. And the rules are - no herds or flocks on our range. Poor sheep, they look so pitiful behind bars.


Sometimes the shepherds try to out smart the FP. They'll send their women folk out to watch the flock knowing that it is taboo in this culture to rustle (pardon the pun) a lady. The call comes across the radio that there's a flock of sheep down by the south water point and two female shepherds. Then, about an hour later, the same call comes over the radio again. None of the FP guys want to deal with the women, so they just sit back and hope the problem goes away.


For the last six weeks or so, we've had five or six head of cattle roaming around just south of the CAS. Haven't seen any cowboys or cowgirls, but the cows are there about twice a week. Me and the Sergeant Major were on our way back to the life support area (LSA) today and we saw them out by the road (route blue, remember?). We had John, one of our interpreters, with us so I thought I'd get out and talk to the Iraqi cows. We stopped the truck and I got out. John got out. The Sergeant Major stayed in the truck. I hollered for the cattle the same way I call cattle back home, but they just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. So, I asked John, "hey man, ask these cows if they speak English." You'd have to know John. He said, "no Sir, I'm afraid they don't speak English." I said, "how do you know, you didn't ask them."


So, John, feeling he had let me down in some way, asked the cows if they spoke English. And you know what? They just walked away. That's right, those cows were both ignorant AND rude. All I wanted was a little conversation and to ask them if I could take their picture.

But, maybe I shouldn't be so hard on em. I mean, I am an American; in uniform; ARMED even. And I came offering nothing for them to eat. There's a lesson somewhere in there, I think.



Happy Trails,

awe