Elsie
Member
Here's a short true story I wrote awhile ago. I thought you guys might enjoy.
Hey Barb,
Remember me telling you about the steers I bought this spring. When I got them home I realized someone who couldn’t count to two had banded one of them. I ended up with two steers and a bull.
Wanted you to know I took your advice. I found a knife. That got a bit more cowboy than I expected.
Roped the Bull’s heels, dallied off to a fence post. Grabbed his tail, pulled him over and down. Never seen cattle handled like that, worked pretty darn well, I thought. This is going to be okay and over fast.
The Roper expected me to hold the Bull down by pulling on the XXXX covered tail. It didn't happen. The Bull gave a big jerk, the tail slipped right out of my hands. Leaving more poop on them than on the tail. One way to clean him up, I guess.
Before we got him down again, the Roper now Bulldogger, in the group got flipped. The Bulldogger/Roper looked puzzled and said, "Calves his size don't usually get away from me."
Yea, well his idea of what a calf is and mine differ greatly. Six hundred pounds of nasty ass bull is not a calf!
This big black fellow had developed a real attitude and had flipped a couple of dogs. So a 150-pound Bulldogger/Roper/Cowboy seemed like the next logical step to the Bull. Especially since he was fighting for his last testicle.
Finally got him down again. This time most of the poo was off his tail; I could hold it and we had the Bulldogger's wife sit on his head. The Bulldogger/Roper/Cowboy was now the knife man. He did the deed.
When we let that black son of a gun up he made one tour of the pen found the horse trailer door still open, jumped right in. I closed the gate; we were ready for the trip home. I had a steer.
Hey Barb,
Remember me telling you about the steers I bought this spring. When I got them home I realized someone who couldn’t count to two had banded one of them. I ended up with two steers and a bull.
Wanted you to know I took your advice. I found a knife. That got a bit more cowboy than I expected.
Roped the Bull’s heels, dallied off to a fence post. Grabbed his tail, pulled him over and down. Never seen cattle handled like that, worked pretty darn well, I thought. This is going to be okay and over fast.
The Roper expected me to hold the Bull down by pulling on the XXXX covered tail. It didn't happen. The Bull gave a big jerk, the tail slipped right out of my hands. Leaving more poop on them than on the tail. One way to clean him up, I guess.
Before we got him down again, the Roper now Bulldogger, in the group got flipped. The Bulldogger/Roper looked puzzled and said, "Calves his size don't usually get away from me."
Yea, well his idea of what a calf is and mine differ greatly. Six hundred pounds of nasty ass bull is not a calf!
This big black fellow had developed a real attitude and had flipped a couple of dogs. So a 150-pound Bulldogger/Roper/Cowboy seemed like the next logical step to the Bull. Especially since he was fighting for his last testicle.
Finally got him down again. This time most of the poo was off his tail; I could hold it and we had the Bulldogger's wife sit on his head. The Bulldogger/Roper/Cowboy was now the knife man. He did the deed.
When we let that black son of a gun up he made one tour of the pen found the horse trailer door still open, jumped right in. I closed the gate; we were ready for the trip home. I had a steer.
