No Bull

I admit that I have co-workers, friends and associates that lead interesting lives. Sometimes they share their adventures with me. Most of the time I smile or laugh a bit when things catch me off guard. But rarely am I so amazed at what people do and are willing to tell you about that I fall out of my chair laughing. Today was that day.

I have friends who raise registered Black Angus cattle. They take great joy in calculating which bull should be bred with which she-cow for the outcome to be the best offspring. They have mega-charts detailing which number he-cow was bred with what number she-cow, to produce little number baby cow from so far back in the family tree the cattle didn’t have names, only numbers. Mind you, these cattle do not accomplish this feat or perfect breeding by themselves. They have lots of help producing the eggs, done by something called seeding. Getting the sperm from the right bull – not sure what that’s called. Not even sure I want to know. And fertilizing the right she-cow at the proper time. My friend, being the best cattle-woman she can be even took lessons in how to artificially inseminate her herd. To prove it she has photos of her with her elbow deep in her job. Trust me, you don’t want to see them.

This same friend, Dell, was telling me one day how she was running out of bulls for breeding. It seems you can’t breed commercial cattle, which means non-pedigree type cows, with Black Angus registered cattle. Who knew? This fact creates a greater need for bulls of both types. Seems creating little cows is a big thing, and bulls are much needed for the process. At least part of the bull is needed. At this particular time it is not just Dell who is in need of bulls for the insemination of the she-cows, all the other cattlemen in the region are in need of bulls, and there just aren’t enough to go around. Dell explained this particular problem is due, in part, to the fact that her bulls kept getting broken. Ok. But I’m sitting there thinking broken is a strange word for a bull. I’m thinking hurt might be a more appropriate word.

Further investigation by inquiring minds revealed that one of the bulls had been loaned out for use at another cattleman’s farm and came back looking ‘just plain sorry’. And everyone knows you can’t use a sorry looking bull for breeding purposes, or so I’m told. This means Dell now has only two bulls for breeding. I didn’t ask if that was commercial cattle breeding or registered Angus breeding. Didn’t really seem to make a difference. The story continued enlightening me to the fact that Dell’s husband was still at the farm dealing with the lack of bull situation. Only this morning, Dell explained, that another bull got broken. This is just too much for an inquiring mind to leave alone. I inquired of Dell just how it is that a bull gets broken?

It turns out that it’s not the entire bull that’s broken this time. It’s the part of the bull that makes the bull a bull that’s broken. Huh? The newly broken bull was doing his own thing without the aid of Dell’s artificial insemination expertise. The bull was going to choose his own she-cow and do the job himself. He didn’t count on the only other available bull in the neighborhood wanting the same she-cow. As Dell puts it, the second bull wanted some of that pu-tang and just bumped bull number one out of the way. The problem being, bull number one was already engaged in his all too short love affair with the she-cow. When bull number two bumped him, bull number one fell sideways and broke, yes I said broke, his most male part.

Once again my inquiring mind got the best of me. I dumbly asked, can it be fixed? I’m guessing that most anything broken can be repaired. Dell looked at me with one of those, ‘you got to be a city girl’ looks. I continued my line of questioning with the ever stupid, ‘can’t you put it in a splint or something?’ According to Dell, once broken it’s not good for nothing no more. It’ swollen, and bent, and just don’t work.

Ok. I’ve heard enough now. I understand how cows can be broken. I understand that some things, once broken, can not be fixed, repaired, splinted, or even reassembled again. I actually understand more than I want to. Though I’m not sure it’s going to help me in the future refrain from asking stupid yet inquiring questions. I also learned that sometimes it’s best to leave inquiring minds in the dark and refrain from seeking enlightenment. Especially in cases such as broken bulls.

Wanda M. Argersinger

2008

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www.wandaargersinger.com