There's a saying out here in the wide-open stretches of Texas: "It ain't the size of your hat that counts, it's how you hang on to it in the wind." And that got me to thinking the other day, as I was out checking the fence line near the old watering hole, about one of the littlest calves in our herd. We've affectionately named him Napoleon, and let me tell you, that tiny fella has more spunk and courage than some of the full-grown bulls I’ve come across in my time.
You see, much like the historical figure he’s named after, our Napoleon is a little guy with a mighty big presence. When you're a calf born smaller than the rest in the shadow of the wide Texan sky, you've got to make up for it with something fierce on the inside. And Napoleon does just that, commanding the attention of the herd with a spirited determination that sends clear signals he’s no one to be trifled with.
Napoleon, mind you, isn't the runt because he’s ill or weak; he's just compact. Maybe the Good Lord figured he'd put enough gumption in him that he didn’t need the extra inches. Being the rancher and, in ways, the storyteller that I am, I can't help but watch his antics and think there's a lesson to be wrangled from 'em.
A tale springs to mind that’s worth the telling, so pull up a chair by this virtual campfire and listen. Not long ago, a new bull was introduced to the herd. This was a hulking, shadow-casting giant we'd named Achilles for his impressive musculature. Everyone expected there'd be a clash as the pecking order was reestablished. Sure enough, Achilles strutted in like he owned the pasture. What he didn't expect was to run headlong into a little Napoleon.
Now, you might think a calf, especially a pint-sized one, wouldn't stand a chance against a brute like Achilles, but that’s where you’d be mistaken. Instead of cowering or yielding, Napoleon puffed up his little chest, filled his lungs with that crisp prairie air, and let out a bellow that I'm sure could be heard from one end of Texas to the other. Didn't matter much that his moo was more of a squeak; it was his stance, his unwavering gaze, that spoke volumes more than volume ever could.
Achilles, taken aback by the small calf’s resolve, snorted and circled, probably anticipating an easy victory. But then something downright remarkable happened. The rest of the herd took note of Napoleon's stance and, I swear on my favorite Stetson, they rallied behind the little guy. The collective moos rose up like an ancient hymn to the underdog, and what do you know, Achilles thought better of it and backed down.
It was a reminder that strength ain't always measured in pounds and inches. Sometimes it's measured in heart and the company you keep. Napoleon might’ve been named for a conqueror, but that day, he earned his stripes through sheer tenacity, showing that even the smallest among us can hold their own when push comes to shove.
But don’t you go thinking that this is just a story about bovine bravery. Out here on the ranch, there's an echo in everything we do—life lessons that apply just as much to two-legged creatures as to the four-legged kind. Take my gaggle of children, for example. Each one has their own unique size and shade of personality, and dag nab it if they don’t sometimes remind me of the herd.
My littlest, Lila Mae, well she’s got a dash of Napoleon in her too. Just last week, she took it upon herself to climb the apple tree – the one with the branches that sway high above the wildflower patch – all to rescue her brother's kite. Her intrepid spirit was a sight to behold, and just like the herd with Napoleon, her siblings gathered beneath her, cheering her ascent. Their collective laughter carried across the fields, probably scaring off a coyote or two with its sheer jubilance.
So there you have it, dear readers. From the smallest calves on the prairie right down to the tiniest tots in the homestead, every single one has what's needed to leave their mark on this world; to stand tall amidst the grasses, no matter how gusty the winds of challenge might blow.
Life, it turns out, is a lot like my knot tying—one intricate web where the smallest loops can hold the most weight, the tiniest hands can pull the strongest, and even the littlest among us, like our friend Napoleon