Humans are rife with contrasts. And, as I prove three times weekly,
you don't have to be perfect to write a blog. I'm OK with loving cows and loving to eat them too. To be blunt about it, that's what Angus/Hereford crosses are for. Knowing that doesn't keep me from bawling like a baby when my favorites are loaded on the clattery trailer, bound to who knows where. I have a whole photo essay about that, but I haven't had time or the heart to write it up. It is a mistake to fall in love with beef cattle, to name them, to touch their wet pebbled noses and feed them apples. A mistake I gladly make over and over.
Just turned seven on December 12, Chet Baker is quite a different animal than he was at two. He can be contained, for the most part, not with leash and collar but with quiet words. I will confess that the first time he spotted these cattle in the field he lit out after them, bounding and barking. He thought when he first saw them in the distance that they were deer, and deer need to be escorted to the woods edge with a great show of bravado.