I was sorting, tossing, and organizing a shelf in my office the other day when I ran across the calf books from the past five years. I grabbed 2018 and leafed through it. OH. MY. LANTA. There are words in that book that would make a sailor blush. Let me give you a little context. That year my sister came over to help us tag. We decided to tag all our calves to match their mamas. We had over 600 head of mama cows at the time, so this was not a small task. It was also not a super great decision financially, emotionally, and mentally, but lessons learned. Also, my sister and I did the majority of the tagging, and we both had infants. The babies either stayed in the house with their Gigi, or rode along in their car seats in the side by sides. So here we were, out in the pasture trying to tag calves, having either a pump (IYKYK) or an infant attached to us the majority of the time, all while dealing with mama cows who did not seem to think we should be tagging their brand-new calves. MDH helped when he got done feeding each day, but by then we often had it done for the day. I remember one particular time when we weren’t able to get out there for a few days. Tagging four or five day old calves is work. Those buggers are fast. We got a 4-wheeler and two ropes (don’t worry, babies went with Gigi for this trip), and we sat side saddle on the 4-wheeler, attempted to rope the calf, then jumped off and tried to reel it in, all while hoping that no parties involved were ran over. Now, keep in mind that many years ago my sister and I might have been classified as “handy”, but that day had come and gone by this point in our lives. I’ll let you use your imagination on how this went, but just know that we did get every single calf tagged that year. It might not have looked pretty, but we got the job done.
Anyways, I wish so badly I could blame the outrageous use of profanity that I found in that calf book on my sister or my husband, but I can clearly see that some of these words are written in my own handwriting. I am ashamed to admit that by one cow I wrote the words “dirty b*&%$”. Yikes. I can feel Grandma’s look on me all the way from heaven. I mean, she’s just being a good mom. Can I blame it on being post-partum?? Haha.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who has curse words in their calf books.
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