We are starting an Organic Grass Fed Angus Cattle Farm in our late 50's. If that's not stupid enough for you, it gets worse. I have begun researching the buying of the stock online, not in person. Of course, when we actually go get these girls in real time, we are dragging along an old cattleman with us because he has told us some pretty scary stuff about cows or "cattle" as they are called when raised for beef. Oh, and incidentally? I don't believe in killing things. I'm one of those nuts who brings cockroaches outside instead of stomping them to death. So, I promise you when these girls have had a great year-and-a-half of frolicking in the sunshine with their BFF's guess who will be NOWHERE in sight when the stock truck pulls up to take them to market? Back to why you need to be on your P's and Q's around these girls. There's alot more than meets the eye with cattle and cows in general. Did you know that at least 20 people per year are killed by cows? My entire life I had thought of cows as completely docile, cud-chewing aunties, but our rancher friend told us that if he didn't come with us to pick out the "nice" cows at auction, we are screwed. What? Aren't they all nice? No way, he says. There are some that just study you waiting for you to make one wrong move and then bango! You should never turn your back on any of them, he says. Like any mother wanting to protect her offspring, she will stomp you into a red, moist spot in the dust if you get between she and her calf, should you pick out one with an axe to grind toward us humans. And why shouldn't she grind her axe? It's not like our track record is so great, eating them all these years. And the bulls? While some of them are big, dumb jocks who's only role in life is to whack the cows, others are worthy of PBR events with names like "Terminator" and those boys are usually freezer bound, poor guys. I remember once as a girl, cutting through a particulary bucolic looking pasture in upstate NY (where my heart rests the best) and seeing a herd of cows, thinking it was a good idea to stop and gawk at them. Big mistake, sistuh. Somehow I managed to outrun Mr. Bull who, I'm guessing, was just prancing around trying to impress the ladies and could have sent me to Valhalla in short shrift if he really wanted to. Maybe he knew I had suffered enough humiliation when I soiled my britches hauling ass over the fence, but that 's just a guess. Later.
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