Punchy Protagonist

 My first show heifer was a black baldy, hand-picked by my family and I and gifted to me by my grandparents.  I named her "Domino" and she was everything a first show heifer should be. Today, her legacy lives on in our herd, bits of her sprinkled in our herd in ways I am so proud of. Domino not only quickly became the matriarch of our herd, but was known county-wide.  The school FFA teacher at the time is a long-time very close family friend, and was instrumental in getting me started in showing.  He not-so-subtly suggested that I walk Domino for about half an hour every day, which I took seriously.  At the time, we did not have a barn at our house and were keeping her at my grandparents' house in town, meaning Domino's daily walks took place on the city block, as to not disturb the other cows in the pasture and to provide us with a consistent route. As Domino lumbered around the block day after day, afternoon after afternoon, the sight of us became pretty popul...

There is currently a post ciruculating around the agriculture community on Facebook, some of which I am a frequent browser of. It reads: To the women raising cattle for butcher, but cuddling a wet, struggling newborn calf, that’s covered in afterbirth, inside their pickup truck.   To the women who believe in God and the word, but also believe that everyone has a right to love who they want.   To the women who aren’t trying to prove they can do anything a man can do, but genuinely enjoy pushing themselves to conquer any challenge.   To the women with broken and chipped nails, but still have painted on red polish.   To the women giving immunizations and administering medicine, but still believe in the healing powers of stones and plants.   To the women always dressing up for the occasion, wearing yesterday’s curls, blue jeans, and the heels of cowboy boots.   To the women busting their knuckles and callusing their palms, but still wearing their ...