This is one of my favorite yarns, and it is 100% true. When I was a kid, my dad had multiple cows in the pasture. So he purchased a bull, so we could produce our own beef. This bull turned out to be a beast. About 1,800 pounds of white-faced bovine. Of course, we called him Big Red and it did not take long for him to perform his duties. The heifer he dropped anchor in, was a bit small, so when it came time for the calf to drop, she needed help. Of course, my dad had me fish him out. I was no more than 11 or 12 at the time, so, I sank up to my neck when I reached in. I felt, and found his head, and leaned back and yanked him out. Little feller looked just like his dad, only smaller. Momma cow would have nothing to do with Little Red, since he smelled like a Hillbilly. So I bottle fed him from day one. I would spend days during his first summer playing in the field; chasing him and scratching his ears. Over the next 10 months, Little Red grew to be less than half the size as his dad. In other words, thanks to the role of the genetic dice, he was on the fast track for the freezer.
I came home one fall day from school, and was handed a big bowl and told to head out back, I heard the sound of the butcher’s truck, or I should say the sound of the water boiling in its trailer. As soon as I arrived, I saw the butcher pop and drop Little Red, and I was there with the bowl to collect the brains and innards. Some folks asked if I cried, and the answer is no. I knew the rules of farm life, and Little Red’s role was to fill the freezer and my boiler. As for his dad, a beef rancher from Red Bluff spotted him and offered my dad $2,000 for him. He needed him to service his herd. Something tells me Big Red Died a bit differently than his son.
Recent Comments