I suppose it was just the perfect storm. We felt like we were doing great on grass supply for having less than 6 inches of rain for the year. Credit goes to the new rotational grazing program, augmented by electric fence, to saving the grass that did come from being consumed too early.

Of course, when the scorching Nebraska sun cooked that grass through the summer, we still had forage, but it was dry. Too dry. And that’s where the problem started.

Dad took the side-by-side out to fix some fence down by the creek where the cattle had escaped the weekend prior. I was on the four-wheeler, counting cows to determine if we did, in fact, have them all back. I thought I was supposed to meet Dad back at the house so we could go out together to fix that fence, but in the process of me driving we circled around each other, not crossing paths. I figured he was back at the house, and he assumed I was still out in the pasture.

And that was a big problem when it started. Dad made a turn on the hillside and looked back to see a fire starting from where he had just driven. He jumped out of the side-by-side and grabbed the shovel from the back to put it out quickly.

But months of heat coupled with no moisture created a losing situation. The blessing of rotational grazing added to the curse, as knee-high grass provided ample fuel to the rapidly growing fire. As the Nebraska wind pushed the flames, Dad called out for help, assuming I was in the area. All the while, I was back at the house, wondering where the heck Dad was so we could get the fencing project started.

A neighbor called the house to ask if we were burning something. Cue my panic. I sprang back onto the four-wheeler and flew out to the pasture. I topped the first ridge to see the smoke coming from over the next. Down the valley and up the slope I went. As I crested that ridge, I met Dad on the side-by-side coming back for help. “Call the fire department; I don’t have my cellphone on me,” he said between gasps. As I also didn’t have my phone, I went back to the house to oblige. Let this be lesson number one for the day.

Years of working through crises as a veterinarian came in super-handy at this moment. Panic will not regain control of an angry bull or put out a fire. I calmly explained to the dispatcher there was a grass fire in the middle of our pasture. Giving her the address, I noted that the approach to the pasture was north of that address and one of us would be posted there to direct trucks.

I had Mom (and my 1-year-old daughter, who she was babysitting so I could fix fence) station herself at the road to point trucks to the pasture. I then grabbed a hayfork and went out with the four-wheeler to the pasture to help where I could. I’ve been a part of many a controlled burn and the hayfork works great there, but in this circumstance, I was literally peeing on a prairie fire. My efforts were useless.

From the hilltop, I saw the first truck coming through the gate toward us. I drove back down the hill to meet and direct him to the top. This hillside is covered in archaic terraces that do little for erosion control and much to flip over a vehicle. There’s one right way up and several other paths to flip a top-heavy water truck.

And that’s how I spent the next hour, guiding fire rigs up and down that hill. Once or twice it looked a little iffy, but everyone made it to the top and back safely. When the fire was contained, I went back to the house to grab a case of bottled water for all the firefighters and distributed it among the crew.

On my water run, one of the firefighters told me to be on the watch for an old guy in a side-by-side that looked pretty tough. I hadn’t remembered an older firefighter on one, but I kept my eye out for him. As I made the full rounds and went back down the hill to the parked ambulance, I noticed I hadn’t seen Dad on my run either.

Upon asking the fireman down by the ambulance if he’d seen Dad, he told me to check inside the ambulance. I popped open the door to see the “old guy,” my old man, sitting there drinking a Gatorade with ice packs on his neck. Using a statement not fit for print, I inquired why he was being so lazy and challenged his masculinity and fortitude. He responded in kind, perturbed not by the fact a cautious crew kindly treated him for heat exhaustion he wasn’t suffering from, but that he was now officially an “old guy.”

Altogether, things went very well. The fire was contained to just our place and we only lost a few weeks’ worth of grazing and some fence. No one got hurt and all the cattle were down by the creek, out of the way, for the entire event. I want to send my sincere thanks to the Newcastle, Wynot and Ponca fire departments for their speedy and efficient efforts. Thanks to you all, we are not facing a fiery catastrophe, and I get to make fun of Dad for being a geezer the rest of his life.