Hobnob Kitchen

Please enjoy this story from Jim!

One of the sad realities of life is the passing of loved ones, and it is with true sorrow that I must announce that Otis, our prize bull, has left this world. 

Actually, he was our only bull.  At the time of his passing, he was roughly 5 & 1/2 years old, which in bull-years, is the equivalent to a little graying at the temples- a bull still in his natural prime.  And what a prime bull he was!  Otis was gentle and slow-witted, and best of all, not very particular when it came to the ladies.  (Barry White himself could have learned a thing or two from the Big O.)  He arrived at The Sims Ranch nearly two years ago, and immediately began taking care of business.  And business was good.  At last count, he had sired 22 calves from 21 mama cows, one of which (a mean cow with curly horns), had twins.  That folks, is getting it done.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why Otis was so ‘effective’, but I have some ideas.  First off, he knew how to assess a situation and devise a proper strategy.  When presented, for example, with 21 potential girlfriends, he took his time and got to know them. After all, they’re not going anywhere, and he’s the only bull in town.  Ask them about their favorite restaurant, where they get their hair done, do they think Sandi Patty is a bit heavy, that sort of thing. 

Secondly, Otis took good care of himself.  Our last bull, Lamont, had a bad habit of fighting the bull next door.  He and this other stupid creature would square off on either side of the barbed wire fence, snorting and kicking up dust until one of them, usually Lamont, would break through and commence getting his big bull ass whipped.  It’s an embarrassing thing to go next door to fetch a bull like that.  Otis was above such behavior and gave the big, dumb bull next door hardly a glance.

Otis also knew how to relax; it was possibly his greatest asset.  When the rest of the cows would stampede up the hill in the morning for breakfast, mooing and moaning like they were half-starved, Otis never so much as trotted. Never one to rush, he always ambled up mid-herd to take his place at the table, and take his meal at a leisurely pace. And in the summertime, when you could swear the whole place was about to spontaeneously combust, Otis could most often be found shoulder-deep in the lake, keeping the flies away, and keeping his man-parts cool.

Ironically, it was most likely this bathing habit that led to his demise.  Foot-rot, I have come to learn, is a fairly common ailment amongst cattle, and our proximity to Lake Limestone only exacerbates the problem.  I suppose poor Otis just bathed himself to death.  When I finally got him to a vet, the damage was done; the x-ray showed a broken toe, possibly caused by the infection, but possibly due to stressing the joint.  I like to think it was the latter, that Otis was hurt in action and went to that great cat-house in the sky.

In the meantime, we have made arrangements for a new bull, and hope to have one picked out and delivered within a week or two.  Life will go on at The Sims Ranch.  Predictably, the ladies seem hardly aware Otis is gone, in fact, I don’t think most of them even knew his name.  I hope they are easier on the next one.

Jim Thomas

Cattle Baron