Once upon a time… June, 2010 to be more precise. There was a Holstein cow on a dairy farm somewhere in Manitoba Canada, that gave birth to a set of twins. A boy and a girl. Normally that would be good news… if you weren’t trying to run a dairy farm. Their misfortune became our fortune and for a minor sum, we brought 2 cute, little 6-day old calves home.
I bottle fed them, nurtured and trained them. One winter morning the heifer calf wouldn’t get up and despite all our efforts died later that day. All we can say is, these things happen. As much as we like to think we are in control of life and death, we really aren’t. We’re only stewards.
Fast forward to today. “Junior” is now a 1 1/2 year old steer. His back is at the height of my shoulder, his legs are long and his head is big! Pardon me for saying so, but how does he see anything through those googly eyes? We’re not in the habit of naming animals that we intend to raise for food, but for the sake of reference, we call him Junior. More as a term of endearment, really. But somehow that name doesn’t suit him anymore or maybe it keeps him in his place? He knows he has horns and likes to use them. I can still lead him by the halter but not very far. I’d rather not let him know he could have his own way if he wanted it.
This is not The End, not for him just yet, anyway.