Beef

When I was in middle school, my dad bought two cows. They were steers and were intended for use as beef. My dad named them Beef Steak and T-Bone. (I know so funny right.)

Me and my siblings, of course, were the ones designated to feed them. My younger sister was convinced that they were going to stab her and kill her with their horns (which were so dull it would've been like being attacked with a round butter knife). My older sister just refused to do it, so I got stuck with the task. Everyday I would be the one to treck down the hill and feed them.

I got pretty attached to them. That is unless I was chasing them back into the pin in a rain storm because they plowed through the fence. (At those moments I could have cared less if they ended up as burgers.) When my dad finally had them butchered, I was a bit wary of beef, but I still ate it if I was sure it wasn't Beef Steak or T-Bone.

Well, I ate it until I discovered the heads. My dad, being the charming fellow he is, decided that he wanted to keep the skulls. This of course ment that the flesh had to rot off them. He decided that a good place to keep them while this was happening was on the fence below the horse pin. While far enough away that you couldn't see them from the house or even from the horses, they were nicely placed in the area that my siblings and I frequently hiked.

While he mentioned that he had them somewhere, he neglected to tell us where. So, during one of our many hiking excursions we discovered them. It was like Lord of the Flies (minus the talking). It was nasty. From then on, I no longer ate beef. This probably also led to my sisters becoming vegetarians.

Side Story: This isn't the only time I've encountered a dead animal without warning. Once I went out to the shed to get fresh bedding for the rat cage. Upon my opening the shed door, I discovered a dead and bloody raccoon lying on the floor. Startled, I bolted back inside where I informed my mom of this. She informed me that my dad, had killed it that morning. Everyone knew about it besides me. I was pissed (or ticked as my fifth grade self would say). They knew I was going out to the shed. A warning would have been nice.

Now back to cows, we now have three cows. Two are milk cows and ones the baby I had to help castrate (see Balls). There's Lucy, Rose, and Rose's baby which can't agree on a name for. We basically just call him whatever the heck we want.

My younger sister insists that he should be named Valentine because of a patch of white on his head. She claims it's shaped like a heart. I claim it's shaped like a blob (maybe a triangle). My mother calls him Little Britches or Junior. My dad calls him Little Britches. I personally refer to him as Grimer (because he was born in the muck), Junior, Baby, or most commonly Back The Hell Off.