*I like cows
And they like me
I like cows
Just wait and see
When they go ‘moo’
Hey, move over!
Oh yeah!
Uh uh uh
Well, I like cows
I like to watch them eat
I like cows
They don’t move when they eat
And I’m a lone cowhand
From Rio Grande
I like cows
They’ve got skinny feet
Unlike their friends, the shaved sheep
They’ve got skinny feet*
College flashback. I wonder if anyone can identify that from memory.
They’re almost too intelligent to eat. Ours actually figured out how to get out of their pens twice (by which I mean it wasn’t just luck or force, they dug out where the ground was easiest and the distance the shortest). We ended up having whatever the pork equivalent of veal is because they were so much trouble we had them butchered before they were fully grown, after which we went out of the pig business altogether. (And of course they’re only that Arnold and Babe size for about three days, then they get big enough to do some damage.)
A really embarrassing confession: You know how you get scent-cravings just like food-cravings some time? I actually once drove several miles out of my way to a farmer’s exchange just to smell the real stuff (the powder anyway) once more.
Real, not cartoon, adult pigs can be kinda scary. I think it may be their little eyes. My ex-wife’s uncle had pigs, and the little kids always sorta stood back from the pens. Except for the babies, that is. Babies don’t count. We’re programmed to like them.
On the veal equivalent in swine: Suckling pig if they’re still suckling; I think just piglet after that. A large “piglet” roasted over hardwood charcoal is one of the few reasons, along with ham, bacon, and the absurd amounts of cash my cousin got at the county fair with his market pig through luck and committed letter writing, that I don’t complain too much about my uncle’s pigs. (Not that I’ve ever had it when it hot from the barbecue- the three times my uncle has done it, I was in Scotland, Montana, or attending an AP World History exam study session. I only got left-overs from the last one.)
I’ve never gone too far out of my way to smell milk replacer; I bet my aunt still has some in her laundry room or garage or in a sealed trash can in the barn. I went downstairs once to smell it to check if I was remembering the scent correctly.
millical here: When my mom(Peppermill)was a little girl she was licked by a cow. Her dad and brothers and sisters thought that this was hilarious while she was crying her eyes out :( .My mom was also licked by a horse,but that's a story for another day.