Since we’re all supposed to be sequestering ourselves at home or going to work and then home at the moment, I thought I’d take a bit of time to share some stories I’ve not shared on account of my thinking about it and then doing something else.
You probably know we’ve had a couple of steer for about a year now. They’ll be with us for about six more months or so and then they’ll be off to freezer camp. Now don’t get upset with me saying that. It’s a fact of farm life for many. I will truly miss them. Whether the animals here stay for years or stay a short while, we don’t take them for granted and provide them with the best care and love.
Our steers are named Stewie and Ribeye. For being on the cusp of hitting the one-year-old mark, they’re quite squirrely and rambunctious. I really would have thought by now they’d have calmed a bit, but those boys can be quite boisterous. Stewie in particular.
From the time Stewie came to us as a calf, he’s been one for fun and getting into trouble. He’s like a young boy hopped up on Sour Patch Kids. He’s all sweet and cow-eyed one moment, sour and salty the next, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. He keeps me on my toes. The only problem has been finding the right thing that stops him from bucking and leaping, pushing me around. You see, I’m the queen of this here farm. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it.
At times Stewie and Ribeye tend to get too close, swinging their heads, leaping around, general steer merriment along with a small dose of what you might have seen at the rodeo. Not always a good and safe situation. I tried carrying the yellow whiffle ball bat with me and holding it out for them to keep their distance or smacking against my hand and Stewie didn’t care about that. That bat was another thing to play with, along with water buckets, hoses, feed scoops, and just about anything else. I used all sorts of words in my stern teacher voice that means business. Words like no, stop, quit, and (#@)(*#%. None of them had any affect…until bup.
I don’t know what it is about bup, but that one word caught Stewies attention. It just came out one day in my frustration of trying to get him to stop knocking into my water bucket and soaking my boot. It was weird. Ever since the first bup left my mouth, that one word has stopped him from doing whatever it is he shouldn’t be.
It didn’t take long for Ribeye to followed suit when he heard the word. When I say bup, I mean business. I don’t know about you, but when my mom used to use my middle name, I knew I was in big trouble. Same thing when I say bup and hold my arm with my palm towards them. It’s like the dreaded middle name. Boy, I tell you, I do that and they not only stop in their tracks, but the get the saddest look on their faces. The world ends when I bup and give them the hand.
So, there you have it folks. Bup. I don’t know why it works, but it does and that’s what’s important. All it takes is a stern bup, throwing up the hand with it depending on the situation, and play time is over. If I knew that particular word held such weight beforehand, maybe it would have worked with a few ornery rams…or maybe the boys when they were younger. Regardless, it’s a real and working word around here and I’m happy to have it. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
I'm the queen of our farm, although the animals wouldn't agree. My title is Head Chicken Wrangler, but most days I'm just called Mom. Life on a farm is full of family and hard work and I wouldn't have it any other way.