Buffalo Steve

Somewhere in East Texas

At a tiny museum 

Barry the local curator

Shared trivia and lore from times past

I wasn’t so interested to begin with

But the very first exhibit utterly charmed me:

A respectable collection of typewriters

I used to have a small collection myself, I said

A bulky, impractical hobby

Barry was impressed, and later told us 

About a friend not far from town 

Who owns a herd of buffalo

And if we told him Barry sent us

We might get to meet some buffalo

We finish the tour and though I think

My family wanted some lunch 

I was already on the phone to Steve

Who invited us right over 

Said he’d leave the gate open

I’d always been drawn to these giant shaggy beasts

I hustle my father, my brother, his girlfriend into the car

Ten minutes later we are shaking hands with Steve

We ask the sort of questions you might think

I’ll share his answers, though I don’t recall the order

He has a herd of 49 bison

(Technically bison = American and European beasts

Buffalos = African and Asian ones, but Steve said 

You can use the terms are interchangeably, colloquially

And I like buffalo so)

He has a herd of 49 buffalo

He moved out to East Texas specifically

To own a herd of buffalo

He was just a kid, 7 or 8, when he saw his first one

And he just sort of fell in love with them

But went on with his regular life

For many years, down in Orange County, in Tustin

(We’re from Orange County too! we said. Small world!

Also surprising because Steve had quite a Texan accent)

Eventually he retired and thought

It’s now or never for my dream of buffalo

He decided to search for a ranch

Found the one we were standing on

Bought 15 buffalo and so it began

Steve raises them for fun, not for meat  

He does have to sell some because they breed

And he can only keep so many

You cannot make money breeding buffalo, he tells us

It’s an expensive hobby

He shows us the corral with the pregnant females

One was sold and the new owner better come ger her soon

For Steve will not move her and the calf, once she birthed

The buffalo cows weigh around 1200 pounds

The bulls about 2000, which Steve prefers

They can get to 3000 but that’s an issue

Because, he says delicately, then it’s a problem

For the ladies during mating season

Steve shakes his head

And I can only imagine the struggles he’s seen

But now it’s time to meet the herd

We pile into what looks like a miliary-grade golf cart

Me in front with him, everyone else in the back

He plops large plastic bowls in our laps

Full of protein-rich pellets, basically buffalo treats

And goes over the rules

They are big animals and wild

They are gentle and don’t want to hurt you

But you are small to them

They won’t even realize what they are doing

They don’t know about such thin skin

So keep an eye on their horns when they are close

Don’t stick your legs or arms out of the vehicle

Because if they innocently just push against you 

And your arm is between them and a metal bar…

Steve trails off and we get the idea

Limbs can snap like a twig around ton-sized beasts

It sounds scarier than it is, Steve reassures us

And if they get too close, just put out your hand

He makes the universal sign for stop

He says, don’t ask me why this works

But it does

I find it both magical and reassuring that 

Buffalo can be stopped with a single common gesture

(I suddenly picture myself arresting wild animals

With a flourish, Gandalf-like

But equally I don’t actually wish to try my luck)

Steve explains how to feed them

They have long black tongues which they stick out

Place a pellet in there, he says, and they will do the rest

It’s like feeding a quarter in a meter, he explains

And don’t worry - they don’t really have front teeth

Your fingers will be fine

We bump over matted grasses and muddy tracks

Through several gates

Which seems odd once Steve tells us

Buffalo can run 35 miles an hour and 

Can easily jump six feet

The nearby fences are rather low, maybe four feet high

Confused, we clarify

So….they can jump away and run off anytime? 

Oh sure, says Steve, but they just don’t

Another buffalo mystery

They are piling up

We are now in the middle of the herd

As promised, it’s a lot of buffalo surrounding us

Lazing about, most dozing in the hot sun

They start to take notice but are not sure of us yet

Steve points certain ones out, or calls to them

Sometimes using a name, sometimes a number

(They all have numbered ear tags) 

When I ask about this, Steve says, only some have names

Yet another mystery

Steve cautions, most of them don’t like to be touched

But one of the bulls, Gentleman Jack, he doesn’t mind

He’ll be the first to come over

And sure enough Jack soon arrives

I feed him the pellets, feel that long rough black tongue 

I pet his dense scratchy fur, reminiscent of sheep’s wool

I get buffalo slobber on my shirt

Oh joy! To be close enough to get slobbered on!

Steve points to a spot on Jack’s shoulder

Pull his fur right there, he directs me

I do and a handful comes off

They are shedding for summer, he explained

For a while we feed Jack and others that come and go

There was Lizzie Borden, who tends to butt – she’ll give you forty whacks

Pink, whose tongue is pink, just a normal variation

Early, his very first bull, who recently lost a fight to Jack

Bulls can toss each other completely in the air, Steve says

We marvel again at their size and strength

We meet some of the smaller cows too

He recently lost Betty, one of his favorites

You can tell when he speaks of her that he misses her dearly

I begin to notice the differences in the herd

Distinguishing males from females, calves from adults

I get a sense of buffalo attractiveness

One pretty cow has beautifully expressive brown eyes

Sweet long lashes, horns with a graceful symmetrical curve

And a curled mop of hair as fluffy as a poodle’s

The contrast with Jack, the reigning bull, is undeniable

He’s gruff and tough, with splintered dirty horns

That have seen some action

A face mottled with rust-colored dust 

Jack seems to even sport a sort of matted buffalo unibrow  

Steve tells us they are social creatures

It’s torture for them to be alone

Which explains why they are huddled near each other

Despite having an enormous field to run about in

It’s time to head back now

And on the way I ask how often he visits the herd

Just about every day, he says

I don’t know what I would do without them

I know they are wild beasts, they are not tame

Of course you’re not supposed to snuggle up next to them

But I do it anyway sometimes

I go sit against Jack and I read

I take Old Yeller, you remember that book

I read Old Yeller out there with Jack, Steve confesses

And this confession could have been weird

It could have come off creepy or corny or confusing

But instead it’s touching

I’m moved like hell by 

The love this man has for his buffalo

They were his secret dream

They lit him up inside but 

He almost didn’t do it

He almost gave up on it

And though there’s no profit in it

Though there’s no real point to it

He followed his dream

His pride in them was obvious

So happy to show them off, like they were his kids

We of course get the benefit of being up close

To these dangerous, mighty, gentle beasts

I never expected to be in a buffalo herd

I never expected to touch those great shaggy heads

(A thing I have always wanted very much to do)

And I’m grateful for Steve sharing his buffalo friends with us

But more than that I see 

The good that comes from following one’s dream

No matter how odd, impractical or superfluous it seems

It doesn’t have to be grand

It doesn’t have to change the world

No need to get rich or famous

No need to win, no need to achieve anything

Steve’s dream was basic: live with buffalo

That’s all

100 acres in the middle of nowhere, Texas

You’d probably drive right by his ranch

Never realizing you just passed 

A slice of paradise

At least it is for one man

Is it really that simple, I wonder?

To live, merely move towards

Who and what we love

Even if that happens to be 

Buffalo