I can call him that because it's my blog...
Got grain? |
While
growing up on the ranch, we had some very special pets.
There was the perpetual dog - or dogs - that wandered around
with us.
A cat that would ride on
our shoulder when we fed the cattle. (This cat was unique. When we opened the feed bin doors, the resident mice would scurry and the
cat would jump off our shoulder and chase/catch said mice. Then he
would climb up on the fence, drop down on our shoulder as we walked by and ride
to the next bin.) By the way we had a very creative name for him. He was called “Cat”.
But probably
the most loved pet that I had was a Hereford herd bull that we called “Ted”.
When Ted was growing up we had him in a pen
with several other bulls his age. He was always the biggest one in the group.
We would feed him and his pen mates in the
morning and in the evening.
The feeding
routine usually involved: me opening the grain bin door and grabbing a bucket. And Ted moving quickly in behind, gently pushing his head under me and shoving me up on
the pile of gain so he could eat.
At
this point I would finally manage to get the buckets filled, carry them to the feed troughs and
deposit the feed there.
Ted would decide
that it was easier to get the feed from the trough and go over there to finish
his meal.
Then it was safe to shut the bin door
and move to the next pen.
Ted
grew until he weighed over 2000 lbs, but was always very quiet and very
tame. Dad kept him on the ranch and used
him as a herd bull because he was so big and quiet. In the winter, we would keep him in a small
pasture where we would feed him grain and hay and get him fattened up for the
next breeding season.
When I completed
my daily chores, I would feed Ted at the end of my routine.
Ted
was always at the other end of the pasture.
I couldn't just call him. I had
to walk out and chase him in for feed.
Well not really chase.
I’d
walk out and climb up on his back. Ted
would then walk toward the feed trough. However, he would usually stop at least once or twice. This meant that he wanted to be
scratched. As I scratched his back, he
would resume his walk.
Once
we got to the feed trough he would bow his head toward the ground and I would
slide down his neck over his head and grab a bucket of grain.
We had Ted on the ranch for a
few short years. When he developed a problem
that our veterinarian father couldn't fix, sadly, Ted left this world.
Most people have favorite pets.
I think my
sister had a favorite horse. Or ten.
For me, my favorite was big, gentle, half-the-size-of-a-truck Ted.
Great story, Blair. I can see why Ted was your favorite, your interactions with Ted were so unique (well, as far as this Bostonian can tell).
ReplyDeleteUnique for a rancher as well!
DeleteSometimes the individual animal's personality overcomes all the stereotypes, doesn't it? Truly a touching story.
ReplyDeleteTed certainly wasn't your normal bull!
DeleteAw, Ted sounds like a love! Not the typical image one has of a bull. :)
ReplyDeleteYeah. Hard to put him in any of the 'accepted' roles!
DeleteHe sounds like a real sweetie.
ReplyDeleteHe was!
DeleteGreat post Blair! We used to go to the rodeos and I can't imagine a bull this tame!
ReplyDeleteTed certainly wasn't like any of the bulls you would have seen there! Although he was probably bigger! :)
DeleteI do enjoying reading good stories about farm or ranch life. I am a cowgirl at heart. I loved this one~
ReplyDeleteBlessings to you for a great story!
We cowpeople love a good cow story!
DeleteAwwww…I love Ted just from reading this post!
ReplyDeleteHe was just a big teddy bear!
DeleteI'm with menopausal mama, Ted sounds so loveable. What a lovely pet, I can just picture you riding then sliding off.
ReplyDeleteAnd Ted just standing there, waiting to be scratched. Or fed...
Delete