Danny (our American Milking Devon steer) was a year old yesterday. That’s roughly half his life. His mother waited an extra week and then left a nice dry shed to have him under a tree in a storm, actually “Tropical Depression Danny”. I carried him back to the shed while Lisa led Ella Mae. I can’t carry him anymore. It takes all my brains and all my brawn to get him to walk where I want him to.
His momma got dual vaginal and rectal prolapses, so she is in the freezer. The previous time she rode the trailer it was to meet a bull. She was aboard before I had it hitched. He came along and saw her get off looking for her date. He came home and doesn’t miss her because he sure she’ having fun without him.
Sometimes we keep him in with the sheep, and his best friends are George and Miguel, our Icelandic rams. But he’s also quite content to get tethered where we need him, which is handy. He’s recently mowed the 800 foot driveway borders, which were full of brambles and small trees, weeds, ferns. We like to keep that brush down under the power lines with critters, or NH Co-Op comes and cuts it and sprays it with poison. Ruminants are better than Round-Up, thanks.
He’s a lot easier to treat than his mama, who only wanted Wonder Bread and rarely got it. Without her influence, he’s been far more willing to try other things and enjoys them. We give him fruit and veg that we get from the food pantry. We have a neighbor who brings by buckets of windfall apples, and he always make sure that Danny gets some of those.
In about a month, we’ll have our new heifer here, and he’ll have another cow to hang out with, which we know he’ll enjoy. But he’s a pretty even tempered, happy guy, and we really enjoy having him around.
Happy birthday, Danny.
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