Feeding The Beast! by Scotty Plowman

I had the privilege to be raised around animals.. At an early age I was given responsibility to care for the critters around the place... The baby orphaned lamps were bottle fed by us youngsters...Lambs which my Dad lovingly called lamb chop.. At times the question what was for dinner was answered by the resounding word " LAMB CHOPS"! I remember the pride I felt in knowing that I had help put food on the table.. That philosophy was expected to be adhered to...
I remember the Winter I was Thirteen, not long before Christmas, an old Hereford cow we owned died shortly after giving birth to a bull calf ,, which was promptly brought home , and I was given the job of caring for him!
At the age of thirteen,, I thought I was ALL cowboy,, I rode steers and bareback broncs at the little youth rodeos around the area,, I rode my horse everyday,,,normally for most of the day,, and chased every victimize and terrorized cow on the place with a rope.. One day, I realized this calf had grown to the point that I could get on him and use him for practice,, This action took place SEVERAL times a day,, To the point I had him broke to ride!
Over the next three years,, me and the bull calf,, now referred to as EL FONZO.. were a common site around the place.. and at the end of each ride,, he was given a healthy dose of ground corn,, he always rubbed me with his head trying to coax me to feed him faster!
One day, My father, who was also a loan officer at the local bank, was feeding before work.. trying to sneak the chores in on his way out the drive.. as I came from feeding the horses.. I heard words I did not think my Father was capable of using, I rounded the corner to find my Father sitting in the mud.. wearing his best three piece suit, covered in cornmeal... El Fonzo had up ended him as he pushed him with his head.
My father spoke not a word.. went to the truck and hooked up to the trailer... He loaded El Fonzo inside and gestured for me to join him in the truck.. A twenty mile drive later found us backed to the dock at the local locker plant, and El Fonzo taking his last steps through the door.. As we got back into the truck my Father finally spoke,, " That ought to show that S*% of a 8!(@H!"
My sadness at the loss of my friend was quickly resolved.. Because he sure tasted good...And... At least Dad had a little consolation in that!