3 months old & nearly 400 pounds

Methinks he is going to be huge.

Budding

Frisco has Daisy’s smile. He has a coat of velvet. He is living up to his name: Independent. Intelligent. Strong and fun. Horny.

Do you see the tiny horn buds? I always suspected Daisy had horns ~ she has a callus on her forehead that she always wants to scratch, and I’ve wondered if it was the result of an imperfect debudding or removal of horn.

When Frisco was born, I could feel perfectly symmetrical, tiny, bony knobs the size of pencil erasers on his skull under the skin. And I wondered if they would grow…..

Ten days old. Horns not yet showing.

The skull-nubs grew larger, wider, and then, after a few weeks, they emerged and were undeniable horn-buds. Which continue to grow, visibly, every day.

I sat in the straw and debated the horn situation ~ this is a topic on which people seem vehemently opinionated, but I believe a suitable answer depends on the situation. Because Frisco would be castrated; because I hope to train him to be an ox (horns are a boon with the gear, based on what I have read); because animals know themselves: they know how use their natural-born weapons or defenses, and, likewise, they know how curb them to be gentle; and because I have successfully trained Sir Baby, an intact bull, not to headbutt me, I am leaving Frisco with his horns.

I’m quite thrilled about them, really.

Frisco, the beginning days.

Whether it is the birth of a human child or the birth of a calf into a Farmily, the entrance of this new and unique being turns what-had-been into something very different…. and, in the first days (which seem to strech into an eternity each), life becomes chaos.

Suddenly, after two weeks of keeping vigil over Daisy’s pregnancy and therefore barely sleeping, I was milking twice a day along with all that milking entails: washing pails and jars, trying to keep ahead of the ocean of milk… ok, that’s just two things but oh, my, how they can take over one’s life.

Daisy, meanwhile, was doing her best to keep up with her baby, but, as you can see from the photo above, she looks a bit haggard. She was haggard. Frisco, from the first hour, was a lively, curious, incredibly energetic little guy who just wanted to jump! Explore! Kick his back legs! Race around the corrals and run smack into Daisy! And then eat his fill of milk.

Drinking is exhausting.

Luckily, I discovered the ecstasy of bathing and showering with fresh milk and became less overwhelmed with the overflow, and Daisy had The Aunts to help her out with Frisco: two 18-year-old black Angus cows of Mike’s. Eighteen years is an advanced age for a cow, but Mike does not sell his beef cows, as most ranchers do, when they reach a certain age. The “old gummers” live out their final years in comfort, and these two became Frisco’s nursemaids.

Frisco also has a manny ~ a male nanny ~ in the form of a crochety old goose that happens to love cattle. We thought Ricardo only had eyes for one of the Aunts but he has become quite enamored with Frisco, and feels such a kinship with Sir Baby, my Angus bull, that he ferociously flaps his wings and honks vicious threats if I have the audacity to intrude whilst they are together.

Why do I torture myself?

Voice of Lust:
You wear boots every day!
That means cost-per-wear is actually quite tiny!
You work really hard, on your feet, all day long, and sometimes all night, and your feet deserve incredible handmade homes!
It’s almost your birthday!

Voice of Logic:
$500 and they will be covered in shit 90% of the time?
Are you insane???

Seriously, look at these boots. These. These… And all of these! I think, if I owned a pair, I’d place them in the center of my desk and just gaze at them.