Month Six: Beef
The guys at work soon learned of my hubby’s hobby. They gave Tony a hard time and lots of advice about the ranch. The first piece of unsolicited help came shortly after we brought home the Jersey steer: “Don’t let your wife name it or you’ll never get to send it to the butchers for some home grown steaks.”
Tony, being the husband that I love, came home and handled the situation in his own way. “Honey, I think we should name our cow.”
“What are we going to call him?” I asked.
Beef grew at an alarming rate. He was more like a dog than a cow. Every time we went out to the pasture he’d run up to us and want us to scratch his horns. He’d even try and lick us.
The final straw, though, was the tail. Cows, well, they don’t have great hygiene. They defecate in a mostly liquid form. It smears all over their hind end. And it smells – bad.
Being the friendly beast that he was, Beef, would charge up and his tail would swing. If the manure smeared on his rear was fresh, it was like swinging paint from a brush. In six months, every pair of jeans was painted with a green stain that no amount of washing could remove.
I was done. “Is it time to take Beef on his trip yet?” I asked Tony, looking at the manure stain on my new Levis.
Thus ended the saga of Beef – the first steer on the Hardy Ranch.
More Stories of the Hardy Ranch:
Month Three - Hank