Bulls

Though my childhood experiences with horses left something to be desired, my experience with bulls is an entirely different story.  On the family ranch, one uncle did the calving, another uncle oversaw the breeding, and my dad took care of the sale bulls, so we did not have any calves and cows on our part of the ranch when I was growing up.  Weaning took place after the fall bull sale in October and all the bull calves were brought to our part of the ranch.  My dad sorted these bull calves into different bunches of 10-15 bulls each looking to have groups  that had similar characteristics that would show well to visitors, such as his best bulls in a group or a sire grouping.  These bunches of bulls varied over the course of the year based on how bulls progressed or if they began fighting and endangering a bull's well being.

The best bulls were close around the barn in small pastures where they could be easily gathered, or brought into the corrals to feed. Dad chose the very best bulls for the show string and brought them two to a pen in the barn to be fed.  All the bulls were fed twice a day.  Once I started in 4-H as a nine-year-old, I was out in the barn morning and night feeding my steers and helping Dad with the rest of the chores. Dad would send me into each pen to get the water bucket at the back corner so he could refill them. These burly red and white Hereford bulls stood much taller than I and  had horns as well.  Though Herefords are noted for their quite disposition, these adolescent bulls jostled each other and I was intimidated by the possibility of getting stepped on or whacked with a horn. However, being around these animals twice a day over the years and growing myself, I became very comfortable in working with them.

As I got older, I would feed the bulls around the barn while my dad went out to the pastures to take care of the bulls there.  I had to mix up the feed in the cone shaped mixer, putting in buckets of the determined amount of corn, oats, barley, and beet pulped soaked in molasses. A string pull-switch operated the motor on the mixer that thoroughly combined these grains.  The mixer would tip to empty the contents into a rectangular wooden trough where I could measure the right amount of the sweet smelling grains into a tub to carry to each bunch of bulls. My method of carrying these large tubs was to hook one edge on my hip and stretch my arm across the tub to hold on with my right hand.  None of the guys ever carried the feed the feed this way, but I did not have the upper body strength of the men.  The rowdy hungry bulls no longer intimidated me;  I just pushed through them to the feed bunk and spread the feed all along so they could all get their fair share.

These bulls were quite tame because my dad made sure that they were all halter broken early on, so they were used to being handled.  Every evening after the show bulls finished eating, Dad would brush their hair with a soft brush training it to go up and increase the appearance of thickness. He expected me to brush my 4-H steers every night as well.  The bulls thoroughly enjoyed this brushing especially on their backs  or under the neck, showing this by stretching their necks up and licking their long rough pink tongues over their nose, just like a cat or dog would let you know they enjoyed being petted or scratched on the back.  The show bulls were almost like pets, but Dad could also walk up to most any of the bulls out in the pasture to scratch  him on the back or run a curry comb through his coat.  I never had a bull threaten me nor did I feel endangered even when they were full grown weighing 1200 plus pounds.  As a girl, there was a definite satisfaction in feeling confident around these massive animals and being able to handle them. Though they could easily over power anyone they chose, I was very comfortable with these bulls. They were an integral part of my daily experience grown up on a registered Hereford ranch.