Sept. 25, 2003 ~ Been awhile, hasn't it?
Our first bull, Buster, came to us as a six-month-old calf. He was such a precious little thing, and had the cutest face you've ever seen. We petted him and played with him... and that... was a big mistake. Cows play rough together. They bop each other, head-butt each other, think nothing of knocking each other to the ground, and it's all in good fun, or normal behavior when they are vying for space at the feed troughs. The thing is, sometimes, often, if you are friendly with a calf or cow, it will treat you as if you're another cow. And Buster didn't think of us as being different or respect us as "people;" he pretty much acted like we were just bovines. Not good. Not when he would charge at us or butt into us, that sort of thing. And he wasn't afraid of us at all. I, however, was afraid of him, and with good reason. So he had to go, and it was with great sadness that we took our now full-grown bull to the auction.
When we looked for our next bull, my main criteria was "sweetness." Husband got all red in the face when he tried to ask, in a very manly way, about the temperament of the various bulls we looked at. Finally, at one ranch, a kindly old man had a whole pen full of young bulls from which we could choose.
"Do you have any gentle ones?" I asked.
"Oh, honey, they're all gentle. I wouldn't have a bull that wasn't gentle. It's just too dangerous, otherwise. I'm an old man. I can't be worrying if these animals are going to run over me or knock me down every time I'm around 'em."
"I would like to have a sweet one. A gentle, sweet bull."
Poor Husband looked like he would like to disappear.
"Why, sure. They ARE sweet. You're right to worry about those things."
With that, Husband stood a little taller, and we walked among those young bulls till we found the one we wanted. We named him Henry. He was twenty months old, and we've had him for five or six years now. Maybe more. Henry is a gentle giant. Not a pet, oh, no. We don't pet him, touch him or handle him unless it's absolutely necessary. And he is not afraid of us, exactly, but he is not at all aggressive. Not grumpy or grouchy or the least bit ornery. He's just a very nice boy. And that's important when you're dealing with a 2,000 pound animal. He will generally go in the direction I want him to go, which is a fine quality. If he is standing here and I need him to move over there, he will usually do it with no problems at all. This is not always the case with bulls. So we have been richly blessed. Personally, I would like to keep him forever. He's just nice to have around. But Husband thinks it's time for some fresh blood for the herd, and much as it pains me to admit it, he's probably right. I will surely miss our big, sweet boy, though. I can't even imagine what it will be like the day we load him up and send him away.
We are not exactly wealthy, and Husband thought we should get a young bull from a friend. We would trade one of his bull calves for one of ours. Well, it sure sounds good in theory. With this one, we would know not to touch it or pet it and it would most likely keep a healthy distance between us and perhaps even be a little afraid, which would be a fine thing. Except. But. There's always a "but."
Our friend had lots of little bull calves and Husband narrowed down the options to two, but I couldn't decide between them. Our friend told us to take them both. Later, we could decide which one we wanted to keep. Uh huh. We brought them home, put them in the pen, and all was well. Oh, did we mention that they weren't weaned? They weren't weaned. Husband got called in to go to work that day, but from time to time I glanced out at the little bulls and they were doing just fine. I was doing the dishes, looked up, and there was one of the little bulls standing in the pen. I washed another dish, looked up and out the window again, and that little bull was no longer in the pen, but was now out in the pasture, having jumped our unjumpable fence. Oops.
It was an interesting evening, which is putting it mildly. The little bull made two more escapes that night, one of which included him jumping flat-footed out of a stall, through a small window (no glass). Sheesh. Clearly, he was part mountain goat. Several times he also charged right at me and seemed not the least bit afraid of me or College Boy. By that time I just wanted him out of there. I called our friend and he said he would be happy to take them both back. To Husband's credit, he was very, very nice about it, though he wanted to keep the calves. I just wasn't up to dealing with them in his absence, and he is gone most of the time. So we took the calves back, even though it was late at night, because we didn't seem to have a fence that would hold the jumper, and I had visions of him getting out on the highway and someone getting killed when they hit him.
We still have Henry, and are now in the market for a young bull, one who is maybe 20 months old.
It goes without saying, he has to be sweet. And no jumping is allowed.
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