“153’s bulling. 402’s calved. 808’s looking empty.”
Love that for them.
At this point, I’ve mastered the art of nodding along like I wasn’t just mentally Googling “what does ‘bulling’ mean and is it fatal?”
And those numbers? They’re cows.
Not prices. Not postcodes. Not raffle tickets. Cows. With moods, reputations, and apparently, full-blown storylines.
James talks about them like they’re part of a reality show. And somehow, he knows exactly who’s who.
So, in the spirit of honesty here’s a small list of things James (and probably most farmers) have said with complete seriousness and the inner monologue of a woman pretending this all makes sense.
“421’s off her feet again.”
Should we send flowers? Is this a medical emergency? I'm stressed.
“808’s gone lame again”
I’m starting to think 808 is faking it for attention.
“That's 774’s calf. You can tell by the attitude.”
We are now assigning sass levels by bloodline. Iconic.
“901’s off her food.”
I don’t know if that’s a health thing or a spiritual one. Either way — thoughts and prayers.
“967’s leaking on the back right.”
Okay, thank you for that visual.
Still Nodding. Still Not Qualified.
Here’s the truth: I don’t know the cows. I don’t know the terms. I don’t know how James can spot one slightly cranky black-and-white beast and instantly know it’s “701 and she’s hormonal.”
But I do know when the tone gets serious. So I sit there, nodding like I get it, repeating the line:
“Love that for them.”
And honestly? I kind of do.
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