Daddy Bob B–my Dad, aka Papa From Mexico because when the girls were babies he temporarily lived in Mexico for two years for a job and they STILL call him “Papa from Mexico”–works at a cattle auction barn. For “fun”, don’t you know, because he’s retired. I mean, nothing says fun like having a bull that weighs a ton chasing you around the barn.
But Dad is smart. He keeps the cows from getting too close with his trusty tool. It’s basically a long stick with a plastic bag on the end. He doesn’t have to whack the cow with the stick. All he has to do is rattle that bag on the end and the cow usually heads off in the opposite direction.
Now working at a cattle auction is pretty dangerous, both for the handlers and the cattle themselves. A mean bull crashed into a gate and broke his neck. Another cow broke her leg and was put down. I had no idea what happened to these animals when they’re accidentally killed or seriously injured like this. Not until Dad picked up a newly dead cow and drove it to the processing plant.
He’s taken several cows to the plant over the years and it’s become a sort of joke. Here comes a mean cow. The other guys shout, “Bag ’em, Bob!” Half expecting the cow to whirl around and crash into another gate to become hamburger. Sounds like a sure-fire way to fill up that freezer, right?
Kidding, kidding! But the other day, another 600-700 lb young cow suffered a fatal accident and they called Dad. He was out and about, swung by to pick it up, and took it directly to the processing plant. Then sweet man that he is, he brought the whole thing down to us as our early Christmas present. Several hundred pounds of fresh, young, grass-fed beef. My small box freezer is more than half-full of hamburger, and our upright freezer from Grandma at the Lake is full of roasts and steaks.
It’s such a blessing to know I don’t even have to THINK about buying any meat for the winter other than a chicken here and there. Plus it’s “homegrown” beef. I don’t have to wonder what it was fed or how it was handled. Dad’s been going to this small processor for years and they’re actually related distantly.
So a HUGE thank you to my Dad. I can’t wait to start making chili and watching That Man try to eat all those steaks!
Bag ’em, Bob!