Old McDonald Didn’t Name His Animals


By some standards I make a great farmer: I tend the animals, tend the gardens (this is lacking this year, I admit), tend the family, and would help with the field work if it were done when I was not working.

By other standards, not so much.

Case in point, I name my animals, even some that are going to end up on the supper plate.
Penny, one of the laying hens
Wilma, one winged laying hen
Cornelius, a butcher rooster that when panicked runs in circles rather than away
Lucy, the cow
Louise, the heifer – Yes, she my brothers cow. Yes, I named her, he wasn’t interested and she needed a name.
Just to name a few.
I have named pigs that turned into bacon and other animals that have made their way to the freezer. It’s not a common farm practice, but I like to know who I’m talking to.

Then there’s the wounded birds from the coop incident (yes, I’m still talking about it.). Any farmer in their right mind would have cut their losses and wrung the necks of the wounded birds and be done with it. Nope, not me, I make myself late for work because I have to put together a safe place for the birds to heal and dress the wounds before I go.

Knowing how last winter went, it wouldn’t surprise me if Louise was born in sub-zero temps and outside on top of it. She’s a tough cow and yet I need  to have a place in the barn for Lucy and Louise this winter. And probably a shelter of some sort to block the rain next summer. I don’t know if the cows have ever had any fly treatment whether on them or around them but that is next on the list. They flies keep biting them and that needs to stop too.

My farming habits may not all conform to the “norm” but everything that comes on this farm is well taken care of, that’s for sure!


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