Extending my sleeves past my frozen fingers, it is -3 and handles of anything get extremely bitter this time of year. I fork in splinters of silage #235 pokes her head out through the feeder. I have plans for you Missy Moo — well: our progeny.
Provided you’re in calf; provided you stay in calf; provided you calf down successfully; provided it lives long enough to be killed. If not, I’ll probably sell you and buy an in-calf heifer instead. No pressure.