I admit I must be a little touched, but I love the smell of animals. I guess it comes from being raised on a dairy farm, but nothing smells better than a field of cows on a warm summer day. Goats, well, they are a different story. The smelliest of all animals - emus.
A couple of weeks ago we went to the auction barn and on exiting the truck and overwhelming odor blasted us. There were over 200 hundred goats at the barn that evening and I could not believe the stench. Know I realize that the lover of goats probably think there is no better smell, as does the pig farmer, but really, there is nothing warm and cozy feeling about either.
Tonight means another trip to the auction barn and hopefully all the goat trading has taken place and we can move right on to the chickens, ducks and geese. I love the beautiful silkies and would buy one for a pet, but every farm animal I have ever made a pet of, ended up in the frying pan. I just don't think I could face that again. Poor Blackie, my pet calf who grew to be an enormous cow, was really good eating once I got past the memories of her letting me lay against her belly while I read. She became meat for the freezer when an even larger cow dumped her upside down in the feed trough. We didn't try CPR as it took an hour or so just to haul her out of the trough via the tractor and a winch. How would you do CPR on a cow? Not sure, but such is life, but I don't think silkies are grown for eating.
It is suppose to be warm, warm, warm today and I might just get my feet in some dirt. It is starting to look like an outside day already! Have lots to do so I better get to it. Thanks for visiting with me and drop in again soon.
Happy reading!
Belle
Showing posts with label cow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cow. Show all posts
Friday, March 19, 2010
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Rooster
Of course, it has rained for days, most of the chicken coop is mush, the water feeder is empty, the chicken feeder is upside down and the chickens and rooster are raising cane. I open the door to the coop to get the feeder upright and reset when the rooster spreads his wings, raises his feet and bumps his royal self at my head while his wily damsel pecked repeatedly at my helping hands. Yes, the big boy did take a tumble and looked rather surprised that his fighting abilities did not match mine nor did I cower in fear of his beautiful and majestic self! I don't want to inhibit his natural tendencies nor do I want spurs in my head. As for his little princess, if she doesn't start laying regularly, she is going in the cook pot. I am sure with all the feed she has consumed for the last 9 months, she will make a tasty pot of chicken and dumplings.
Henrietta is my best layer. She gives me an egg a day come rain or come shine and is mild mannered and would probably make a good pet if I spent some time with her. Miss Bessie lays when ready and ignores me as if I don't exist. It doesn't hurt my feelings, as long as the eggs keep coming. It is getting egg custard weather and I need more eggs than I am getting to keep a weekly custard supply.
My chickens do not get named until they start laying regularly. While I have no qualms to making dumplings out of the wily damsel, it really makes it easier if she has no name while I am in the process of wringing her beautiful neck. Raised on a farm, the processes of turning livestock into food does not bother me terribly. But I do rather treasure my pets.
I had a pet heifer (a female cow that has not had a calf) many years ago that had to be put down when injured by another cow while fighting over feed. The older and much bigger cow tipped Miss Blackie into the feed trough. No one was around during the process, but when found it was too late for Miss Blackie. Miss Blackie was stuck in the feed trough with four feet up in the air and no way to turn. After her untimely demise, she was processed (which I did not assist in) and enjoyed at many a meal by everyone except my sis. Sis did not eat beef for 6 months, afraid that she was eating Miss Blackie. As much as she was rubbed and petted, Miss Blackie had perfectly marbled meat that was full of flavor! I sure missed Miss Blackie, but I do thoroughly enjoy a good rare steak! Yeah, I know, red meat is bad for the cholesteral and when eating a rare steak, I am subjecting myself to all kind of germs.
Enough of the memories of youth. I could write all day on the adventures on a farm. Thanks for reading and have a happy week.
Belle
Henrietta is my best layer. She gives me an egg a day come rain or come shine and is mild mannered and would probably make a good pet if I spent some time with her. Miss Bessie lays when ready and ignores me as if I don't exist. It doesn't hurt my feelings, as long as the eggs keep coming. It is getting egg custard weather and I need more eggs than I am getting to keep a weekly custard supply.
My chickens do not get named until they start laying regularly. While I have no qualms to making dumplings out of the wily damsel, it really makes it easier if she has no name while I am in the process of wringing her beautiful neck. Raised on a farm, the processes of turning livestock into food does not bother me terribly. But I do rather treasure my pets.
I had a pet heifer (a female cow that has not had a calf) many years ago that had to be put down when injured by another cow while fighting over feed. The older and much bigger cow tipped Miss Blackie into the feed trough. No one was around during the process, but when found it was too late for Miss Blackie. Miss Blackie was stuck in the feed trough with four feet up in the air and no way to turn. After her untimely demise, she was processed (which I did not assist in) and enjoyed at many a meal by everyone except my sis. Sis did not eat beef for 6 months, afraid that she was eating Miss Blackie. As much as she was rubbed and petted, Miss Blackie had perfectly marbled meat that was full of flavor! I sure missed Miss Blackie, but I do thoroughly enjoy a good rare steak! Yeah, I know, red meat is bad for the cholesteral and when eating a rare steak, I am subjecting myself to all kind of germs.
Enough of the memories of youth. I could write all day on the adventures on a farm. Thanks for reading and have a happy week.
Belle
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Morning The Cow Lost Her Tail
Nobody can tell this story like Mom - but I will give it a try.
Dairy farming is hard at the best of times. Milking those angels early in the morning and again early afternoon, cleaning and more cleaning, planting, harvesting, feeding, then more cleaning. The milk barn is always cold and wet. A lucky farmer will have dependable help and believe me it makes all the difference. Sometimes it talks some false starts before you find just the right person. One who can get along with you, your animals, and do things the right way.
On most mornings, us girls never knew any of this was going on. We slept in our nice snug beds and dreamed our wonderful dreams, got up and had a warm nourishing breakfast, cleaned to the kitchen and then went to work or school. We didn't participate in those early morning milkings, but we worked the rest of the day. Summer and winter, wet or dry, warm or cold, it didn't matter, there was always work to be done.
The coldest day of the year and wet to boot, the milker called in sick. Yeah Right! No matter, the cows had to be milked. Dad got us all up. As we put on our layered clothes - long johns, sweats, two pair of socks, rubber boots, knit caps, and jackets - to stay as warm as possible. All those angels did not willingly come into the barn, some loved to play catch and slide in the mud and muck. Mom and Dad were already running the milking machines when my sister and I got to the barn.
What a mess! The cows had ice hanging from their tails and it was cold, really cold. Dad said we could go back to the house once we got all the cows in the barn and the feed hoppers filled. Sis and I went to work. I went after cows and she headed upstairs to fill the hoppers. There was nothing but frozen slush until you stepped in it - It wasn't frozen all the way through. Cows were in the barn, I was covered in - well you know, and Sis was down from the feed room.
Mom's head was covered in a hair net, her flannel pajama top was sticking out of the top of her sweat shirt and she was a sight. Mom was resting her head on the side of the cow as she took the milkers off. She turned around, dipped the milkers in the cleaning solution and put them on the next cow. She checked the cow she had finished milking, opened the door, and swatted her behind encouraging her to exit the milking stall. Most of the cows were hard to get out of the warmth of the barn when the milking was finished. The cow wouldn't budge, so she swatted her behind again. The cow jumped out of the stall and hollered as she ran out of the barn - without her bushy tail. A common practice in the winter, Mom had split the hair on the bottom of the cow's tail and tied it around the stall rods to keep the cow from swishing the tail in Mom's face while she was milking. Mom forgot to untie the hair when she let her out of the stall and the hair was jerked out of the end of the tail.
Mom starting hollering and crying, Dad was laughing, and Sis and I headed to the house. Poor cow! I don't believe she ever swished her tail again while being milked.
Dairy farming is hard at the best of times. Milking those angels early in the morning and again early afternoon, cleaning and more cleaning, planting, harvesting, feeding, then more cleaning. The milk barn is always cold and wet. A lucky farmer will have dependable help and believe me it makes all the difference. Sometimes it talks some false starts before you find just the right person. One who can get along with you, your animals, and do things the right way.
On most mornings, us girls never knew any of this was going on. We slept in our nice snug beds and dreamed our wonderful dreams, got up and had a warm nourishing breakfast, cleaned to the kitchen and then went to work or school. We didn't participate in those early morning milkings, but we worked the rest of the day. Summer and winter, wet or dry, warm or cold, it didn't matter, there was always work to be done.
The coldest day of the year and wet to boot, the milker called in sick. Yeah Right! No matter, the cows had to be milked. Dad got us all up. As we put on our layered clothes - long johns, sweats, two pair of socks, rubber boots, knit caps, and jackets - to stay as warm as possible. All those angels did not willingly come into the barn, some loved to play catch and slide in the mud and muck. Mom and Dad were already running the milking machines when my sister and I got to the barn.
What a mess! The cows had ice hanging from their tails and it was cold, really cold. Dad said we could go back to the house once we got all the cows in the barn and the feed hoppers filled. Sis and I went to work. I went after cows and she headed upstairs to fill the hoppers. There was nothing but frozen slush until you stepped in it - It wasn't frozen all the way through. Cows were in the barn, I was covered in - well you know, and Sis was down from the feed room.
Mom's head was covered in a hair net, her flannel pajama top was sticking out of the top of her sweat shirt and she was a sight. Mom was resting her head on the side of the cow as she took the milkers off. She turned around, dipped the milkers in the cleaning solution and put them on the next cow. She checked the cow she had finished milking, opened the door, and swatted her behind encouraging her to exit the milking stall. Most of the cows were hard to get out of the warmth of the barn when the milking was finished. The cow wouldn't budge, so she swatted her behind again. The cow jumped out of the stall and hollered as she ran out of the barn - without her bushy tail. A common practice in the winter, Mom had split the hair on the bottom of the cow's tail and tied it around the stall rods to keep the cow from swishing the tail in Mom's face while she was milking. Mom forgot to untie the hair when she let her out of the stall and the hair was jerked out of the end of the tail.
Mom starting hollering and crying, Dad was laughing, and Sis and I headed to the house. Poor cow! I don't believe she ever swished her tail again while being milked.
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