Many thanks for the beef stroganoff recipe and all the barbecuing tips, but I won't be needing them any time soon.
Tommy at one week of age in his stall.
Mack at the breakfast bar.
I got both when they were only a few days old. Bottle fed them. Fawned over them. Stayed in a sleeping bag by Mack's side when he had pneumonia.
Who found me in the pasture last year when I'd knocked myself out cold with that infernal trailer tote?
Tommy, that's who.
The boys are not malicious. But, they are animals who can be dangerous when they emote! I have to be the smarter one and respect their power. I'm working on it. To me, I still imagine them as the 50 lb babies I cradled in my arms.
Now, horses are a different matter. A wise man once remarked that horses only ever have two thoughts running through their minds: how to hurt you or how to hurt themselves. So true.
Black Angus tried to separate my arm and head from my body during a botched trailer loading incident. Torn shoulder muscles and double herniated discs in my neck, thanks buddy!
Axel has only thrown me twice, but one of those times, my husband watched me get planted head first. That was fun.
Opal and Indie took off at a gallop with me on a sled behind them. They took out four fence posts before stopping. Broke fingers and lost two layers of dermis from the wreck.
Oh, there's more, but need I continue? My point is that horses are inherently more dangerous than oxen. My nutty friend in Oklahoma told me today of a hiatal hernia (diaphragm tear) she suffered due to a horse crushing her. Thanks for helping prove my point, Gina.
Members of the jury, is this the face of a killer?
Besides, I have the best team of guardian angels working for me. They specialize in tough love. They allow me to get hurt only enough to teach me a lesson, not permanently maim me.
Due to the misaligning of cosmic forces over the past half year, my metabolism has been off, causing me to put on a layer of insulation suited for an Eskimo. Attempts have been made to blame it on stress, menopause, lack of sleep, too much sleep, weird work hours...the true culprit is my gluttony in cahoots with pesto pasta. A side effect of this has been the development of a part of my anatomy I'd never possessed before: a bosom.
This superfluous mass therefore bore the brunt of Tommy's squish and drag, thereby saving important internal organs. See what would have happened if I'd taken the advice to get implants?...
...I'd be sporting 1980s shoulder pads right now. My vigilant guardian angels spared me that disaster. Now, if they could do something about my appetite...last Summer, I felt like a rabbit darting through the fields. This winter, it's a moose crashing through the woods.
Last week, a client paid me a compliment. He said I was no longer 'all corners', that I looked cuddly now. He meant well, but now I'm stuck with this hilarious mental image of myself: a huge roll of Charmin toilet paper with my yoga pants clad legs sticking out the bottom.
Don't squeeze the Charmin this week, it's bruised!
On to serious matters...
I researched designs for cattle trailers.
Two 8' gates with some sort of hook and pin system would create two separate box stalls within the trailer. Voila!