Anxiety the Bull

~ This article first appeared in the Leader Vindicator newspaper. ~

I excel at worrying.  The trait may be genetic, passed on from my paternal grandfather who was a kindhearted worrywart; or, more likely, it’s the result of an overactive and unchecked imagination.  Whatever the cause, most of my days are spent on the edge of my proverbial seat, waiting for something to go wrong so I can proclaim my rightness for worrying about it.

When 06E walked off the trailer on our farm, I was uncharacteristically confident.  The bull is outstanding: He is the embodiment of testosterone and fine genes, characteristics highlighted by the reality that he has never eaten a bite of grain to achieve such muscular proclivity.  In other words, he’s the product of good breeding instead of a good nutritionist.

“Doggon it, this is one to brag about,” I thought.

06E went in with the cows in early August, 2020.  He was breeding away like a goodfella, and I was living vicariously through the stud’s pasture antics.  Life was good until one fateful day when I noticed 06E wasn’t – stated casually – connecting with a heifer in heat.  All the motions were there, but my observations assured me there would be no calf as a result of their expended calories.

I started worrying.  If there is no crop of calves, there will be no grassfed beef, and I have a growing list of people who are expecting some in their freezer.

Several scenarios popped into my mind:

Had I simply assumed everything was working from the get-go, without actually observing?  Maybe none of the cows were bred!  Something to worry about, for sure.

Maybe everything was fine, and I just happened to watch one bad go at it.  I should forget the incident and allow nature to work things out.  I worried about the possibility of not worrying about anything.

Of course, if things really had gone south in the breeding department, it’s simple negligence to not intervene with an attempt to secure a calf crop, right?  I worried about what to do in order to get calves.

I concluded that I better make a phone call to a sympathetic ear, state my predicament, and ask for advice.  In relatively short order, yet another bull was introduced into the pasture, just in case.

The studs differed dramatically in size and shape.  It should be no problem, come calving season, to tell which bull sired which calves.  Plus, I had the dates when the bulls were added to the pasture, so I can use gestation calendars to determine whose calves will be born when.  Simple enough.

Simplicity ended when I sorted the bulls out of the herd in October, only to notice several days later that a cow was in heat.  Then another.  And another.

Smoke was coming out of my ears: “There were two freaking bulls in a small herd of cows and I still have cows that aren’t bred!  What am I doing wrong here??”

I started worrying about my own incompetence, and that’s when I got greedy.  I wanted those cows settled.  So I threw the bulls back in.  Of course, it would be about three weeks until the open cows cycled again, so nothing was going to happen too quickly.  Out of selfishness, I continued to lengthen breeding season by leaps and bounds.  Not bright, but in the moment it seemed like the right thing to do.

As I write, I’m experiencing the calving season begot by the breeding season described above.  Thus far, it appears as though I didn’t do any of the ‘right things’ last year.

I had six calves right in a row in May, right on time.  These are most certainly the progeny of the first bull, whose bodily characteristics I very much want.  The calves are dandies.  I was euphoric as they were popping out.

Then there was a two week gap of nothing.  This gap coincides with the date I noticed the, uh, connectivity issue I observed that started this whole drama.  The gap also aligns with the introduction of the back-up bull to the herd.  I worried throughout the entire two weeks.

Next, another wave of calves arrived, in a nice tight cluster, until the end of June.  I thought I’d be able to tell which bull sired the calves.  I cannot.  This worries me.

And now I’m in another dry spell, with six cows left to calve.  These coincide with my poor decision to turn the bulls back in after my designated breeding season.  Yes, I’ll get calves, but the cows will be out of synch with the rest of the herd and I’ll be battling an extended breeding season again this summer if I try to accommodate them.

I feel like a fool being dragged along behind a herd of cats.  It doesn’t help that everyone I talk to in the cattle business is really having the best year ever and most cannot recall making a wrong decision in their lives.  Apparently I am alone in my shortcomings.

There is one thread throughout my tale that does make perfect sense.  The bloodline of 06E, the original bull that started this ball rolling, is called Anxiety.

Yep. The name fits perfectly.