The process would take time.
There were questions about the bull's age, original identification, ownership history, and current health status.
Some records were decades old.
Others had passed through businesses that no longer existed.
The veterinarian also explained that determining pedigree was only one part of evaluating the bull's future.
"Even if this is your grandfather's animal, that doesn't mean he's automatically fit for breeding."
Claire nodded.
"I know."
"He needs to recover first. Then we'd consider a breeding soundness examination if his health permits it."
"Understood."
"And we still need the tick-identification results before making decisions about movement or contact with other cattle."
Claire looked toward the enclosure.
The bull stood beside the water trough.
Its head was raised.
Its ears moved toward the sound of their voices.
The veterinarian watched him.
"He's more alert than he was when I first saw him."
Claire smiled.
"He ate better this morning."
"That's encouraging."
She paused.
"But don't confuse improvement with recovery."
"I won't."
The veterinarian studied her.
"You really care about this animal."
Claire looked toward the bull.
"He's been through enough."
The veterinarian nodded.
Then she looked at the old photograph again.
"Do you know why your grandfather transferred him?"
Claire shook her head.
"Not yet."
"Then find out."
Claire looked at her.
"Why?"
The veterinarian returned the photograph.
"Because somebody believed he was valuable enough to establish a formal breeding agreement. That's worth understanding."
Claire nodded.
She looked toward the old barn.
Her grandfather's handwriting still seemed to be pulling her backward through time.
And she intended to follow it.
Wade Mercer heard about the birds before he heard about the ledger.
A ranch worker who had visited the feed store mentioned that several crested caracaras had been seen near Claire's isolated bull.
The story spread quickly.
By lunchtime, people were joking that Claire had hired a flock of birds to do the work of a veterinarian.
Someone claimed the birds had eaten every tick overnight.
Someone else said the bull had been cured without treatment.
Neither claim was true.
But rumors had a way of growing faster than facts in a small ranching community.
At the feed store, Wade sat near the coffee machine, listening.
One older cattleman shook his head.
"That girl believes those birds are going to save the whole animal."