'Automatic grass clippers'

We moved out where we live back in the '90s, when we bought this small place, and it has been interesting, to say the least. Marge and I grew up on ranches in Nebraska. Marge's parents raised Black Angus cattle and my parents raised Herefords. Both of our parents had milk cows, with my parents having 10 to 20 most of the time. All the milking was done by hand.

So when we moved out here with a decent amount of acres of ground, we were either going to spend a good amount of time mowing, or we had to get or find some "automatic grass clippers." Clem Lindeman ran cattle on us for a couple years, and then Johnne and Jim had horses for a year. Then we decided to buy some 4- or 5-day-old Jersey bulls and bottle feed them. Thus our journey began.

I found a place to buy Jersey calves that were a few days old. Once Rose had the number of calves we wanted, she would call me and I'd take everything out of my '91 Toyota pickup, which had a topper on it, and I'd drive up to Uniontown for the calves. We would stuff six to eight baby Jersey bulls into my pickup and then drive home. I'd clean out the bed of my Toyota, but for several months it smelled like calf doo-doo.

We had calves to feed at 6 in the morning and 6 at night. We used bottles, so bottles had to be prepared and then cleaned when we were through feeding.

Now and then one would get sick with the scours or diarrhea. Once in a while one would get pneumonia. We were really fortunate to coax most of them back to health. I made a good number of trips to see and buy meds from local veterinarians like Dr. Walter or Dr. Jeff or Dr. Karen. Then, since they were baby bull calves, they had to be altered so they became steer calves. Marge's parents and mine had ranches, so this wasn't new. But now it was personal.

The first Jersey steers we raised were pets. They started out as approximately 50-pound baby Jerseys and in the course of two years turned into 900- to 1,000-pound pets with horns. Every one of them had names as well. The names weren't real original or fancy. We might call one Spotty or Browney or such. But they were pets. We'd scratch behind their ears or scratch their backs or under their jaws. They were difficult to eat.

After that, we very seldom named them. We put ear tags with numbers in their ears so one would be No. 3 and another No. 4 and so on. But then there were the exceptions, and we named them. The last couple years I have had a Jersey steer each year who had a fuzzy topknot, so they are called Fuzzy 1 and Fuzzy 2. Both are nice steers.

Each steer has its own personality. I have one this year that is thinner than the rest, so I got him in and gave him some grain morning and night. He would eat a little, but not much. So I put another one in with him who liked grain. The one that wouldn't eat much grain went to eating grain so the other one wouldn't get it. Now he really chows down out of selfishness.

Normally I don't like to send them to the butcher. It is a sad deal when I load them up and head to the butcher shop. Then later on in the day I go back for their horns. Also sad. But then there are times when I am really glad to send one. I have a yearling now that is mean to the other yearlings. He goes out of his way to hook them or ram them with his horns. I'll be glad when he's gone. But the worst part is I have another whole year to deal with him. Darn! A steer like that bears watching. They just can't be trusted.

I have one that goes to the butcher later this year that I kind of hate to take. He was the runt of the bunch, so he took a little extra care to make it through the winters and such. He is a gentle kind of steer that really likes his grain, and he is willing to share with the other calves. Normally when it comes to grain, the steers get selfish and don't want to share. This one does. I hate to see him go.

As I watch our calves interact with each other, it reminds me of humans -- how at times we are selfish and inconsiderate, yet at other times we are generous and truly care about those around us. They may just be cattle but, in a weird sort of way, they just happen to be Marge's and Dutchess' and my friends. Some of them come up to the fence and they try to hook Dutchess with their horns. But some come up to the fence to just smell noses with Dutchess. Friendship in a neat sort of way.