A Steer Is A Good Friend To Have
Our calf’s name is Billy or, My Angel if you want to call him something tender and sweet. Sometimes I call him My Best Boy. Or, My One and Only. Or even, My Best Friend. He really is a very good friend and a steer is a good friend to have. But anyway, we are weaning him. We are weaning My Billy Boy. He had his last day of nursing yesterday. I wanted to honor his last day of feasting on milk with a photography shoot that he could look back on later, when he was older. Or maybe, even offer him a crown. I could fasten the crown to his head with some string and place it in between his growing horns. It could work. I know you don’t believe me but really, it could work.
We didn’t honor his last day of nursing by doing anything really. I just shouted to Billy, “Hey, my love. This is it. This is your last milk. This is your last supper from the teat my friend.” I wanted him to know. I didn’t want him to fault me for not telling him. I didn’t want him to hold it against me. I didn’t want him to become a bitter, old resentful steer. Remember, a steer is just a bull whose testicles have been removed. I am reminded of this differentiation often. Almost every day.
Also, Billy is seven months old. Many of our neighbors (you know who you are) have mentioned to us that perhaps, just maybe, Billy might be too old to still be nursing. But he is My Little Boy, My Littlest Man and I will baby him, forever. I also know he is a cow, okay? Or rather, a steer. I know that he will individuate and push me away and grow up to be a grand and mighty, fully independent and sovereign steer. I hope for it and also, I hope he always depends fully and only on me. Is this how parents feel? I don’t know.
Billy has developed a large gut. It’s not really a gut but his sides stick out when he walks — when he waddles actually. We are guessing he has still been drinking around two gallons of milk every day plus eating all of his grasses and alfalfa. He is a big boy. But cows are supposed to be large, especially steers so don’t worry. Billy doesn’t need the milk but when you only have three cows (and one on the way), you give them more leniency than you might if you had a herd of thirty or forty cattle because well, you still have some semblance of patience left. We also have let Billy nurse until he’s seven months old because finding a home for twenty-eight gallons of milk a week is not easy. Drink up My Little Steer. Drink until you are seven months old. We won’t stop you.
But we are weaning him now, some of you will be relieved to know. And weaning, apparently is a three-step process. At least it is for us. I have never weaned a calf before so you are welcome to follow my protocol or make one up all on your own. As my friend and farmhand says, “It’s your world, Jen. I’m just living in it.”
Step One of The Weaning Process:
Place your steer in a small and warm pen overnight. The pen must be able to latch properly so that no cow can open the latch with their nose. This will get your steer used to not nursing at night and will leave you plenty of milk in the morning to use in whatever way you want. Make sure he has plenty of straw to lay on during the night and monitor his cow pies in the morning so you can tell how he’s adjusting to nights without nursing.
You will need to lead your steer into the pen on a short lead rope. Keep the rope close to his mouth so he can’t bite or lick it. He will seem to like the taste of brass that makes up the clip on the end of the lead rope. If you can’t find your lead rope, just grab him by the halter that you keep fastened around his head and pull him in to the pen. He knows the way anyway. If he pretends that he doesn’t, get behind him and give his butt a tap. Push him if you have to. He’s a cow. He is just living up to his obstinate nature. Let him relish in it.
Put a small bowl of water inside the pen for him at night so he can step in and dirty it almost immediately. It will make you feel better that you have water there for him even though he won’t drink it because it’s full of dirt and straw and manure. Try and figure out how to mount the drinking bowl on the wall and then give up.
In the morning, listen to him moo at you while you milk his mother. Tell him, “You’re doing great, my love. Just hang on one more minute.” Reassure your steer. He will need it. He needs to hear your voice. After all, you were the one who spoke to him in the womb. In some weird scenario, this makes you, The Father — placing your lips up to his mother’s belly and singing to him, speaking to him. He knows your voice. You’re a father now. Just accept it.
When you are done milking his mother, you can release your steer from his pen. This is the best part because after he smells the wheelbarrow full of manure and licks the pitchfork, he will gallop over to his mother as best he can even though his belly is huge and he will start to nurse vigorously. So vigorously that his mother will moo in protest of the violence he will place upon her udder.
Step Two of the Weaning Process:
Learn about the Weaning Ring from your friend and farmhand. The same one who says to you, “It’s your world Jen, I’m just living in it.” He will bring over one for you. He’s used them hundreds of times on his ranch to wean his calves. They look a little torturous but don’t worry, they are not.
Watch a YouTube video about how to place the ring into your calf’s nose. Watch another one with a different farmer doing the tutorial. His cows are placed in a metal stanchion which you do not have access to but will not need because your steer is nice and socialized. Ask your wife, “Why does our Weaning Ring look different than the one in the video? Why does ours have plastic spikes on it?” Stay up worrying about the plastic spikes and what this will do to the emotional development of your young little steer. Think about the way resentment works. Think about forgiveness and preemptively ask for it.
Find the Weaning Ring in the back of your bathroom cupboard along with all the other cow paraphernalia: baby bottles, a dog jacket meant for a cold calf, IV tubing and needles, blankets and then a big tub of epsom salts that you thought you had lost. Remember when you needed all these items for your very sick calf who did not make it. Feel sad that you now cannot remember what your little calf looked like because all you can picture is Billy and his massive belly. Grab the Weaning Ring and march it out to your wife. Place it on the kitchen table. Declare: “I found it!” Place the tub of epsom salts on the edge of the bathtub for later. You will need them but only if you are not close to bleeding. Otherwise, remember that baths give you a migraine when you are close to bleeding and of course, the day after.
Walk down to the barn with your wife, Weaning Ring in hand. Flex the ring between your hands, making sure it bends. It does. Unscrew the ring so that it will be wide enough to fit into your calf’s nose. Play with the screw. Think about how the screw is called a wing nut. Think about how you didn’t know that before you moved onto this property. Think about the box of wing nut screws that you have labeled in your toolshed. Think about how small the font is on the label and how your father-in-law couldn’t read the font without his glasses.
Have your wife hold Billy on the lead rope. Again, he will try and lick the brass clip on the end of the rope. Place one end of the Weaning Ring in his nose and then the other. He will move his head a lot and try to get away but not too much because after all, you are the voice in the womb that spoke to him. You Are Father. Once you get the ring in, tighten the wing nut so that the ring is secure in his nose. This will take a few tries as he will be moving his head rapidly from side to side. He is a smart boy.
Realize that now you and Billy have something in common — you both have your septum pierced. Cool. Remember when they slid the cold, thick needle through your septum and it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would? You didn’t bleed at all.
Watch your steer try and figure out the Weaning Ring. Watch him lick it and catch it on the lip of the feeding trough. He will think he cannot eat at first but then, he will realize that when he bends his head down, the ring slides up so he can eat grass. Once he figures this out, he will grab great mouthfuls of grass and attempt to chew it with his bottom teeth while most of it falls out onto the ground.
When he tries to go and nurse from his mother, watch how the ring blocks him from nursing and watch him not understand why. Watch him try the other side of the udder to see if that side will be more kind and when he realizes that it will not be, watch him give up and go back to eating the grass.
Feel your heart break. Feel your tender, soft, Father Heart break in two. Think about how the only thing that matters in the world right now is that Billy knows he is loved and that if he can’t find love through the udder than you will give it to him in every way he needs.
Question the Weaning Ring and your friend/farmhand that gave it to you. Curse him. Scorn him. Un-forgive everyone. Remember all the people you hate and why. Count your enemies. Get mad at the world. Nothing is fair anyway.
And finally, leave your great and beautiful steer to find his way in the world with his Weaning Ring on. Trust that he will figure it out. Trust that he will find his way. Wave goodbye to him and wish him well. You have to get back up to the house anyway. Squeeze your wife’s hand on the way back up to the house and say, “Is this what parents feel like? I don’t know.”
Step Three of the Weaning Process:
On the fourth day of your calf wearing the Weaning Ring, you can take it out. He will love this. He will thank you for it. He will lick your face with his tongue that is getting more rough by the day. You can place the Weaning Ring back in the recesses of your bathroom cupboard along with the IV tubing and the small dog jacket. You can throw away the old IV bag with the saline fluid in it. It’s long expired. Ruth died one year ago. Last year, May was hell for you. Remember that.
Once you take the Weaning Ring out, you need to put your steer on the opposite side of the barnyard from his mother and his Aunt Rose because you don’t want him getting any ideas that he can nurse from her either. He will have to be alone on his side of the barnyard which he will hate. The only comfort he will be able to find will be eating his grass (so give him extra) and with the fat barn cat who lays with him in the sun after she has eaten the head off a bird with yellow tail feathers. Remember that yesterday you saw her eating just the body of the bird, with all the feathers on and you called her A Bad Cat. You reminded her that her job is to kill rodents and moles. Not birds.
Your calf will get the most rowdy around milking time. This is the time when he was used to nursing the most. Remember? Right after you let him out of his pen. He will pace the fence line and moo loudly. His moo will almost sound like a grown-up moo but still not as deep as his mother’s. His moo has not dropped yet, has not changed into that baritone pitch. He is still just such a little boy, you think. He will look at you as he paces the fence line and wonder why you have yet again, betrayed him. His mother will start to moo also while she is still in the stanchion, licking out the rest of her oats and sunflower seeds from the morning’s milking. She will moo out of instinct. Not necessarily because she wants her calf to head bunt her udder and search for milk.
When your calf’s mother finally backs out of the stanchion and is distracted by the food you have placed in her trough, she will walk away from the fence line and away from her calf. The calf will give up and stop mooing and you will once again think that the world is an awful and cruel place. You will say, “Billy, I told you that growing up is hard.” You will remember the first time you ran out of gas in Gallop, New Mexico and your father had to wire you money to the Wells Fargo that was inside the Walmart across the street. You will remember when the carburetor fell out of your 240 blue Volvo on that hill in San Francisco on New Years Eve and your father wasn’t there but he was on the phone with you. You will remember when you didn’t have any money to buy dog food or even a bone for your dog and so you stole it instead. You will remember that growing up is hard. You will tell your calf that if you did it, he can do it too.
Keep your calf on one side of the barnyard and his mother and his Aunt Rose on the other for at least three days or, until your calf stops mooing at milking time. You want to make sure he is not going to try and get back on the teat. His mother is tired and she needs to replenish her stores of fat and energy for the next calf she will bear. Remember that you believe in women’s rest and wellbeing. Remember that you know how hard the body works to create milk. Remember that you’re a feminist and don’t give in to little boys who cry.
After this, your calf should be weaned but I can’t tell you for sure because we’re still experimenting. Maybe after all of this, Billy will not remember that he is meant to grow up but rather, that he prefers to go back to being little.
People keep wanting to know what we are going to do with Billy.
What they are really asking is: Will we eat him? Will we butcher him? Will Billy end up as a t-bone on my plate or hopefully theirs?
I love t-bones. I love rib-eyes. I love steak. I really, really do. I eat a steak almost every week but, I do not eat my friends.
Maybe one day, I will be able to butcher a cow that is not such a close friend. Maybe one day, I will be able to be one of those badass cowgirl women who takes their steer to the butcher, has a good cry and then releases him to the knife because she believes in the process of knowing where her food comes from and she believes that death is a gift of life. I imagine myself as that woman but I am not yet her. She is not yet me.
And maybe that is okay.
There are many uses for a good and friendly steer.
One is to be an ally and a companion. Another is to be a good friend.
Another use is so that he can add amazing nutrients to our soil and land with his manure — regenerating our dry desert landscape.
And another, is to be a lookout. He will serve as a guard for our farm and when he sees someone walking down the road, or a coyote lurking in the trees, he will let us hear his loud, baritone moo.
After all, it’s Billy’s world — I’m just living in it.
