Trekking through the dense sage brush, the air carries the earthy scent of wild herbs and dust. The landscape stretches out in rolling waves of pale green and silvery leaves, hiding the calves among its tangled undergrowth. Each step is careful, eyes scanning for any sign of movement—a flicker of an ear, the soft rustle of hooves brushing against the low branches. The sun casts a warm glow, making the shadows beneath the sage deeper and more mysterious, challenging the search as you weave between the shrubs, listening for the quiet bleat of a calf calling out for its mother. It’s a slow, patient process, guided by experience and the occasional clue: a fresh hoof print, a tuft of hair caught on a branch, or the distant sound of cattle lowing on the breeze.