Where Worlds Collide: My Tenacious Relationship With Farm Animals

Life has certainly been busy. Each fall the museum has to decide what to do with the farm animals over the winter. If you have ever been to Minnesota in the middle of January, you are well aware the weather can be rough on people. Animals dislike the cold as much as humans; they just complain about it a lot less.

The first summer at the museum Will and Fred had to share space with the sheep.

Our Guernsey cattle survived two winters, and they had a reality shock the first winter they stayed with us. They were my favorite animals on site, though. While quite large and intimidating (especially when one is loose in the yard and galloping towards you - yes, that happened to me), these two steers were pretty much equivalent to giant puppy-dogs. Will and Fred had quite the personalities. Will was usually less moody than Fred which made him more approachable, but Fred was usually jealous of all the attention Will received. I think Fred became more laid back as he got older. Named after Wilhem die Erste & Friedrich der Grosse these two boys honored their Prussian namesakes by responding to German commands. I think that is why I liked them so much. I could speak German to them.

Most of their days were spent laying in the grass, preferably in a sunny spot.

I would always make an effort to say hello to them whenever possible. On slower days, I ate lunch in the yard with them for company. There were a few days the boys tried eating my lunch right out of my hands. I never knew cattle liked leftover Italian sausage pasta. My favorite experience, though, was when Fred walked up to me sitting on the porch and plopped his head down on my lap. That is not something you see every day.

Will is eating while Fred lifts his head up just in time for the picture.

All they do at this point is eat and poop, as evidenced by the photo.

The steers were never trained as oxen as planned, which meant some changes needed to be made. While cute and friendly with school children and guests, these boys were not earning their keep. Once they reached 800 pounds each, their keep was getting to be very expensive. Other than eating and pooping, these boys were not good for much else, and they were too old to be trained on the yoke.

Chilling with my favorite two steers. They survived winter number two!

Will came over to say hello. :)

Will is curious while Fred is just hungry, as usual.

Fred finally decided to take a break from eating.

Will poses for the camera rather nicely.

The fateful decision to send them off to the butcher before winter hits was made, and Will and Fred were loaded onto a truck this past Sunday. By Monday morning, they were most likely hanging in preparation for their new home, the freezer at the museum. I have to admit I was feeling down a bit earlier this week. I did not say goodbye to them the last time I saw them on Saturday. But perhaps that is for the better...

Fred always seemed to get tangled in his neck holster.

The last time I had to say goodbye to a farm animal heading to the butcher I was eight years old. My grandfather had found a lost piglet in the ditch by his farm when I was a young child. It probably fell off a passing truck. He placed ads in the local papers about the pig, but no one claimed him. So, Porky, as we named him, stayed on the farm. He was so cute! Every time we went to visit my grandparents' farm, we would walk out to the pen near the barn to pet Porky. Eventually, Porky grew very large and very fat, and when we were visiting, Grandpa told us to go say goodbye to Porky before we left.

I have minimal memories of this (probably because I blocked them out), but my mother says that I asked my grandfather, "Why? Where is he going?" To which my grandfather responded, "He's gonna be pork chops!" Sure enough, the next time we visited my grandparents' farm, we had pork sausage for supper. I can still see the bowl of Porky's intestines soaking in water for cleaning, to make more sausages, vividly in my mind. Needless to say, at eight years old, I did not eat the pork sausage formally known as Porky. I also do not remember (probably because I blocked it out) my two older brothers taunting me about how delicious Porky tasted. Mom says I pushed the sausage around my plate while gagging, which I yet again do not remember (probably because I blocked it out). Talk about a traumatizing experience for an eight year old!

One of the last pictures I took of the boys. They stand practically as tall as I do
by this point.

The boys were getting a little too large for the feeding trough.

Thankfully, I realize it was necessary to send Will and Fred off to the butcher. I have no sad feelings when the ducks are butchered, so why should it be any different with the cattle? I will admit having sad feelings when we lose a chicken to the cold, but it is not the same sadness as the thought of Will and Fred being loaded up on the truck to go to the butcher. It may all come down to the visible personalities of the steers, which is not seen in the poultry. Will and Fred lived to be teenagers, and had my boss not purchased them when he did, they would have been turned into veal two years ago. Mmm, veal! They lived a long life compared to most non-essential bulls, and I enjoyed their company while it lasted. Unlike Porky, I think I will have no qualms about chowing down on the meat produced from Will and Fred if given the chance.