Sunday, September 7, 2014
I've been singing the praises of deer so much lately that I feel a little bad for the other bovids in my life.
This is Bully.
He is a fine, firm, fully-packed Hereford bull. He is a gentle father, an attentive lover, and he has a wonderful harem that includes Spotify, my favorite cow. She's the leftmost cow, with the spotted face.
Bully is very nice and he will walk up to me. He lets me rub his marcelled forehead. Please notice his white-banded ears. They are very spiffy.
The cattle like to gather and watch us ride up on our bicycles.
And they watch us go. Please note the preponderance of ironweed in their heavily grazed pasture, and the utter lack of ironweed to the right of the fence. The grass truly can be greener and tastier over the fence. At least for cows.
I hadn't seen Spotify for months. I looked for her all winter, but kept missing her, so I concluded she'd been sold. She's got the best markings, clownface paint, that spot on her brisket. And her calves do, too.
Perhaps she was lying in...a new favorite phrase, which describes what new mothers used to do after the arrival of a baby. I didn't get to do a lot of that; they kicked me out of the hospital in under 24 hours with Phoebe, and Liam, too.
But this spring she showed up with the most marvelous little bull calf. Kinda favors his mama, don't he?
Growing like ironweed, he is. We both love him. Figured you would, too.