Farm Fresh Blog

No matter how bad your Monday was, you still didn't have to grab a bull by the penis. Or maybe you did, in which case I tip my hat to you, because you're probably a rancher in North Texas.

"I think that little yellow bull calf got bit on the pecker by a copperhead."

"Do what?"

"The end's all black and it looks like the tip is sloughing off."

It really takes more coffee to have a conversation like this. Aside from the monetary loss of another bull, I was really pretty fond of the little guy. His sire was a Charolais bull that belonged to a friend of ours. We bred that Charolais to an assortment of Braford heifers and each calf that hit the ground was really nice. Since we moved up here and no longer had access to that young bull, we opted to keep a bull calf from this year's crop.

I like to work with the 'heir and a spare' approach to breeding bulls since they're so important to a cattle operation. If something happens to your only bull, there is no calf crop, and around here, it's entirely possible to lose a bull to a freak accident. Since we moved the cattle to North Texas, we've lost three bulls already. One was lost to age and blindess. His loss was no surprise. Another jumped a barbed wire fence and hung his penis, thus moving him from breeding bull to auction barn, to Taco Bell. The other one somehow damaged his shoulder enough to become permanently lame, thus he ended up in our freezer.

So I stood in the kitchen gaping like a goldfish. And that's when I remembered. Like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver I snatched at that thought.

"Cockleburrs!"

"What?"

"Cockleburrs! I bet he has cockleburrs in his hair! That's probably the black stuff you see!"

Days earlier I'd spent thirty minutes picking cockleburrs out of the paint horse's mane and tail, so it was entirely possible that the bull calf had simply walked through the same field and collected burrs on his penis. Ouch.

Other Half penned the cattle up and a sure enough, rather than a nasty infection, our young lad just had a major owwie which could be treated with a pair of scissors. So while he sorted cattle, I hiked to the house for a pair of scissors. No, I will not be using them in the kitchen again.

Never trust a cow not to kick the crap out of you. Especially when you're holding his penis. In addition to the lovely calf crop he put on the ground this year, the thing I liked most about the Charolais bull we borrowed was his temperament. He was easy to handle. I named him Groceries. We kept him for a while, and I worked with him daily. Groceries was just a nice, sensible bull. And he produced nice, sensible calves.

When you're standing in the pasture, holding onto a bull's penis, you appreciate a good nature in a cow. I mean, really, how exactly does one explain those injuries to an ER doctor? On the other hand, an ER doctor in North Texas has probably heard that one before.

So I stand and tip my hand to Groceries for passing on a nice temperament to his calves. Son Of Groceries stood like a placid plowhorse for his 'manscaping,' and soon joined the herd where they admired his new Beach Boy Clip and fitted him for a Speedo.