I would have taken a picture of Bully.
You have not lived unless you’ve fed 16 horny bulls. Twice a day. By hand.
Yeah, you heard me.
They all come a’runnin’— all, let me see… What’s 2500 lbs. times 16? Better get out my calculator– all 40,000 lbs. of them.
It’s not that they want to kill you, it’s that they want the food and they don’t really see you at all. Except for Bully, who was hand-raised, who pushes you around with his huge head (no horns, thank god) until you pet him. He likes his forehead scratched first and then his butt. He’s very forward, has no concept of personal space. Bully has a best friend who’ll give you a sniff and let you give him a little pat– a bull with a sweet expression, but I can’t remember his name. I was too busy watching my back to manage a formal introduction.
The night I arrived in Montana, after having been awake for 24 hours straight, taken two flights, done all the grocery shopping for a week and driven two hours to the ranch, my daughter said, “Mom, you gotta feed the bulls. I can’t do it.”
And I’m like… “Feed the bulls??? Are you fuckin’ nuts?”
And she’s like… “It’s okay, they won’t hurt you. Just lay out the hay in a line so they each get their own pile.”
Yuh-huh.
The first time I did it, I was like duck and cover. Throw the hay and run. By the second day I was already yelling at the bulls to back off. However, if a 2500 lb. bull wants to run you over, he will.
You should have been there for the bull fights the day they were, ahem, tested. Sixteen randy bulls in a small corral waiting for an electrode up the ass. They knocked down fences, tossed big old wooden poles across the corral, nearly killed the in-laws. The smartest thing you can do is get the hell out of the way. My heart was pounding, I was terrified I’d have to crawl into the corral, braving those heavy hooves and heaving bodies to rescue my daughter’s father-in-law. And then I realized I’d just have to let him get stomped.
You’ll be happy to know all the bulls are fertile. And after the testing they got turned out with the cows. So everybody was in good spirits.
My son-in-law is doing better. The first few days were pretty awful. I called today to check on him because I knew he’d be home alone as my daughter and her father-in-law went to help out at a neighbor’s branding. Guess what he was doing– mowing the lawn on a riding mower. Wearing his sling with his arm and shoulder full of metal. You can’t keep a cowboy down.
Anyway, I’m home. I’m pretty disoriented from lack of sleep and travel. However maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you why I love Montana and ranch life so much. Like I said, if I’d actually had a brain while I was up there I’d have taken oodles of pictures but my brain was on hold.
Here’s a generic photo of an Angus bull:
Typical Angus Bull.
Yeah, 16 of ‘em. Sheesh!
