If any boy could have grown up on a family farm during the 30's and yet fail to love most animals, I do not understand them.
I loved them from the time I was big enough to recognize them.
Each type of farm animal is unique in appearance, demeanor and attitude.
And each animal within the same type, is also unique in those things.
I learned early on to read most of them and to be able to detect their intentions.
Dogs were far out in front as far as my preference was concerned and I have encountered very few of them that I did not like.
I have been bitten, lightly, by three dogs in my life and two of those were my own fault.
The other one was from a tiny dog that slipped up behind me and nipped me on the heel as I approached her master's house.
She did not hate me, just warning me that I had better not have any bad ideas concerning her folks.
But this story is about calves.
Beautiful little gangly calves.
Born with long spindly legs that takes about 24 hours to garner enough strength to safely walk or run with.
A small blunt shiny nose like it's mother, but much prettier.
It comes into this world knowing exactly how to find it's mothers stash of milk and it is this that dwells in it's mind most of the time when very young.
Cows, and calves, are docile creatures if approached and handled with care and concern.
Ours were always easily handled and returned a show of affection when treated so.
The fact is, I have yet to find any animals that will not respond to kind and loving treatment, even wild animals.
I will admit that there are many wild animals which I have never had any close interaction with and some with which I really prefer not to attempt.
I didn't give the fact much thought as to why our animals were so gentle and easily handled at the time, but since growing older, I now know that it was because those who dealt with them all cared for them and they recognized that.
We always tried to raise enough calves and cows to furnish us with a constant and adequate supply of milk and also to raise adequate bulls to furnish us with year round beef.
We normally had 4 milking cows and their calves were raised to sell, replace any aging milk cow, or to slaughter for beef.
Plus we kept one adult bull for mating service.
Calves, when freshly born, are normally somewhat skittish, until they have been handled and rubbed with tenderness, fed from the hand, etc.
But they will soon overcome that when they go through our normal routine.
We never allowed our calves to run with their mothers in the pasture, but kept them in their stable during the day until they began to eat green food.
Then, we made rope halters on a long rope and would take them outside the pasture and barn to some grassy spot and tie them to a stake in the ground so they could graze through the day.
This was a chore that I normally was assigned, mainly because I loved it and no one else did.
But it was an experience.
When I was probably 6 or 8 years old, I was a small runt and probably weighed no more than 40 or 50 pounds.
When the calves were quite young, just old enough to begin eating grass, there was no problem.
I had already gotten them to the point of being unafraid, so getting the halter on them and leading them to the stake I had readied was routine.
But when they had gained 30 or 40 extra pounds and I had not, things began to be exciting.
Young calves love to run and when they are about twice your weight, there is not a lot you can do about it.
But I was barefoot and I could fly with them most of the time, hanging on to the rope with all my might.
They would have already learned the area we were going to and would, thankfully, slow down when we arrived there.
One particular day that I recall, really the only real disaster that I can remember, the scenario similar to the latter two sentences of the last paragraph.
When I got the, stronger than I, calf out of the gate, she knew what she intended to do so she flew, almost jerking me down, but I hung on for dear life.
The area we were headed for was down a field road a short way and at the start of the road was about a 20 yard down hill grade with gravel on it to avoid eroding.
By the time we reached the hill and started down, I was almost trailing airborne...
taking about 3 to 4 yard spans each step.
About the time we reached the bottom of the hill, I lost my footing and plowed up the gravel with my elbows and chest, and losing my grip on the rope.
Man, that hurt.
As I began to regain some composure and try to get up, I was thinking...
I wonder where that stinking calf went to.
I knew I was in no shape to chase her around over the farm.
But as I lifted myself and looked up, there she was with her nose in my face, and you could almost read an apology in her expression.
I took the rope and we walked calmly to the stake.
Things like that are what made me love animals I believe.
Even pigs and hogs learn to know you and to show affection.
Little pigs are far too active and fast, you can hardly get your hands on them to pet them.
But the older and fatter ones soon learn that you are the one who rubs and scratches them and will come stand at your side to see if you will scratch them today.
A somewhat strange phenomenon to me is that, if you have a pig or hog that is pettish enough that they will let you scratch them, you can scratch them on the lower part of their side a few strokes and they will lay down and look as if they are sleeping.
They apparently enjoy it more than most animals do.
But again, almost all animals will appreciate rubbing and/or scratching.
Although some animals can be trained to do things they would not normally do, if left alone animals will be as God created them, doing exactly what he created them to do.
Man is the only rebellious creature that He made.
I loved them from the time I was big enough to recognize them.
Each type of farm animal is unique in appearance, demeanor and attitude.
And each animal within the same type, is also unique in those things.
I learned early on to read most of them and to be able to detect their intentions.
Dogs were far out in front as far as my preference was concerned and I have encountered very few of them that I did not like.
I have been bitten, lightly, by three dogs in my life and two of those were my own fault.
The other one was from a tiny dog that slipped up behind me and nipped me on the heel as I approached her master's house.
She did not hate me, just warning me that I had better not have any bad ideas concerning her folks.
But this story is about calves.
Beautiful little gangly calves.
Born with long spindly legs that takes about 24 hours to garner enough strength to safely walk or run with.
A small blunt shiny nose like it's mother, but much prettier.
It comes into this world knowing exactly how to find it's mothers stash of milk and it is this that dwells in it's mind most of the time when very young.
Cows, and calves, are docile creatures if approached and handled with care and concern.
Ours were always easily handled and returned a show of affection when treated so.
The fact is, I have yet to find any animals that will not respond to kind and loving treatment, even wild animals.
I will admit that there are many wild animals which I have never had any close interaction with and some with which I really prefer not to attempt.
I didn't give the fact much thought as to why our animals were so gentle and easily handled at the time, but since growing older, I now know that it was because those who dealt with them all cared for them and they recognized that.
We always tried to raise enough calves and cows to furnish us with a constant and adequate supply of milk and also to raise adequate bulls to furnish us with year round beef.
We normally had 4 milking cows and their calves were raised to sell, replace any aging milk cow, or to slaughter for beef.
Plus we kept one adult bull for mating service.
Calves, when freshly born, are normally somewhat skittish, until they have been handled and rubbed with tenderness, fed from the hand, etc.
But they will soon overcome that when they go through our normal routine.
We never allowed our calves to run with their mothers in the pasture, but kept them in their stable during the day until they began to eat green food.
Then, we made rope halters on a long rope and would take them outside the pasture and barn to some grassy spot and tie them to a stake in the ground so they could graze through the day.
This was a chore that I normally was assigned, mainly because I loved it and no one else did.
But it was an experience.
When I was probably 6 or 8 years old, I was a small runt and probably weighed no more than 40 or 50 pounds.
When the calves were quite young, just old enough to begin eating grass, there was no problem.
I had already gotten them to the point of being unafraid, so getting the halter on them and leading them to the stake I had readied was routine.
But when they had gained 30 or 40 extra pounds and I had not, things began to be exciting.
Young calves love to run and when they are about twice your weight, there is not a lot you can do about it.
But I was barefoot and I could fly with them most of the time, hanging on to the rope with all my might.
They would have already learned the area we were going to and would, thankfully, slow down when we arrived there.
One particular day that I recall, really the only real disaster that I can remember, the scenario similar to the latter two sentences of the last paragraph.
When I got the, stronger than I, calf out of the gate, she knew what she intended to do so she flew, almost jerking me down, but I hung on for dear life.
The area we were headed for was down a field road a short way and at the start of the road was about a 20 yard down hill grade with gravel on it to avoid eroding.
By the time we reached the hill and started down, I was almost trailing airborne...
taking about 3 to 4 yard spans each step.
About the time we reached the bottom of the hill, I lost my footing and plowed up the gravel with my elbows and chest, and losing my grip on the rope.
Man, that hurt.
As I began to regain some composure and try to get up, I was thinking...
I wonder where that stinking calf went to.
I knew I was in no shape to chase her around over the farm.
But as I lifted myself and looked up, there she was with her nose in my face, and you could almost read an apology in her expression.
I took the rope and we walked calmly to the stake.
Things like that are what made me love animals I believe.
Even pigs and hogs learn to know you and to show affection.
Little pigs are far too active and fast, you can hardly get your hands on them to pet them.
But the older and fatter ones soon learn that you are the one who rubs and scratches them and will come stand at your side to see if you will scratch them today.
A somewhat strange phenomenon to me is that, if you have a pig or hog that is pettish enough that they will let you scratch them, you can scratch them on the lower part of their side a few strokes and they will lay down and look as if they are sleeping.
They apparently enjoy it more than most animals do.
But again, almost all animals will appreciate rubbing and/or scratching.
Although some animals can be trained to do things they would not normally do, if left alone animals will be as God created them, doing exactly what he created them to do.
Man is the only rebellious creature that He made.
Source...