We raise a small bunch of Corriente-Longhorn cattle on three hundred acres in the foothills of the front range of Colorado. We share a fence line with a thirty-thousand-acre working cattle ranch. 

Over twenty years ago, our ranch had an old fence and limited tools to work with cattle. In that summer’s drought, the grass was sparse, so it was clear that the cattle needed to be moved to greener pastures. I planned to move them over the weekend. On Friday, however, the phone rang before sunup, with our neighbor declaring that seven of our mother cows, three or four calves, and a bull named Pistol Pete had broken out and were on our dirt road. 

As I saddled my horse, panic set in. The cattle could be hit by a car at any time; they could get lost on the neighboring ranch; or worse, they could make it to the highway. The picture looked bleak, and I was alone. I turned to God.