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Heifer

The Source

The little girl from Chapin told me she hadn’t slept in days. The biggest event of her young life was fast approaching and she said she’d thought of nothing else in recent days. She was about to take her first 4-H heifer to the fair. The very mention of such an undertaking brought back a flood of memories…even the smells. That aromatic mixture of lemonade, corn dogs, new straw and cow manure was perfume to a young farm boy’s senses as he prepared his first animal for the livestock show. Dad had this scheme: If we bought my first 4-H heifer and he’d keep half the calves for pasture rent while I kept the remaining half to sell, that eventually I’d have enough cash to go to college. I don’t know if the finances actually worked out that way but I got an education that at least sent me to I.C. with the knowledge of how to work hard. Prepping an animal for show is just plain hard work. The toughest part when you’re about ten years old is to teach an animal that’s used to running free and wild through the Pike County hills to lead. That is, she must allow a halter to be put over her head and obediently follow the guiding hand of a pudgy little kid in a cowboy hat who’s only goal is to keep from being stepped on. I never wore tennis shoes like the other kids. When you lived around horses and cows you learned to wear boots, very strong boots. When a horse steps on your right foot she’ll most likely withdraw it immediately, recognizing the spongy top of your Wrangler boot as an untrustworthy place to walk. But when a 500-pound heifer lands directly on top of your instep, she’ll have no inclination to adjust her footing unless you respond with all the shoving power your hundred-pound body can muster, a sharp slap to the side of the head, or a string of language that cannot be found in the 4-H oath. Being thus led is not a part of an Angus’s biological sensibility. Her first reaction to the halter will be to back up at very high speed and you have a choice of either running after her or somehow winning a tug-of-war with a large chunk of meat going full speed in reverse. I nearly always lost these battles. She could back faster than I could forward and the result was nearly always the specter of me facedown in the clover. Dad had heard that tying a reluctant heifer to a mule was the secret to obedience and we tried that. Our burro would simply kick the heck out of her every time she tried to run away. This method is often effective but it’s hard on the cow and is a genuine irritation to the mule. Because I simply didn’t give enough time to training my livestock, the sight of our truck pulling in to the county fair would always draw a crowd. When other little 4-H’ers unloaded their cattle they’d peacefully walk them down the chute and into the proper stall. When we pulled up it was more like a championship rodeo mixed liberally with two parts Spanish bullring. I can remember one hot afternoon at the Western Illinois Fair when one of my heifers got Dad completely down to the ground. He still had hold of her halter but the cow was lying on top of him, and both were panting in the scorching sun. I remember him telling me to run and fetch the resident veterinarian. “One of us needs a shot,” he said, “And I don’t really care which one.” Of course the real thrill of showing cattle at the fair had nothing whatsoever to do with the actual lifestock…it was the adventure of staying overnight with your cattle. Today you’d have to pay generously to get me to sleep on a cot at the rear end of three Angus heifers amid the flies, heat, and noise that even a late-night livestock barn can produce, but when you’re ten, it’s called heaven. My grandest delight was waking early, cleaning the night’s manure out of the stalls, watering the cattle, and then strolling down the midway with over a dollar in my pocket and eating a hamburger for breakfast. A hamburger at seven in the morning! Oh heaven! I don’t have a clear memory of our winnings at the fair. Our cattle stood up well enough besides the bigger herds and premium breeders, but my showing abilities were distracting to the judges. Other contestants would lead their animals around the ring like trained dogs at the Westminster Show. I “led” my heifers at a more industrial pace, more akin to the Indianapolis 500. Fact is, they led me. Fast. If the judge wanted a good look at my heifer then he’d better look quickly because after pulling her ingloriously to the show ring, she had but one thought in mind: go home. Which we did. Quickly. I hope the little girl en route to her first fair has a mule.