Baxter Black

I confess to not owning a tractor. I have plenty of friends nearby with tractors. But, in a lapse of good judgment, I borrowed one to brush hog a patch of weeds. Experienced farmers, even 8-year-old farm kids, know you always drive a tractor thumbs up. I didn’t remember.

We all have great memories of “the best party.”

I had a party. It lasted 48 hours. I lost my socks, my dignity, two days of my life, six pingpong balls and four pounds.

I was just about to cull the cow
when the boss sees me swingin’ the gate.
“Hold it there, Doc, for a minute yet, ’cause I’ve not quite decided her fate.

Harold has been dismantling his feedlot. He built it over 40 years ago and eventually achieved a 30,000- head capacity. You can imagine the accumulation of steel, rubber, railroad ties, nails, car bodies, pipe, chains, wire, horseshoes and baler twine.

Life is just a bowl of cherries
to a first-rate feedlot hand.
All the gates swing free and easy;

In this column I have often mentioned scours, abscesses, big tits, bad bags, cancer eyes, foot rot, slurry pits, afterbirth, retained placenta, castration, heat cycles, sheep pellets and snotty noses.