![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pen_gruntToday I got a text at 7 a.m. from a friend. It was a picture of his new (last, for a while) calf. Said calf will be raised nicely, will have--by all definitions--a comfortable bovine-life*, and will eventually become hamburger or steaks.
I told him to name the calf Sir Winston the Delicious.
Another friend was raised near his grandfather's dairy farm. He was telling me how his grandfather had mostly black and white dairy cows, but one was brown and white. His grandfather used to insist that that was the cow that gave the chocolate milk. So what he would do for my young friend was put a little chocolate drink mix powder in the bottom of the tin milking-drink cup (unbeknownst to the child, of course). Lo, the milk would "come out" chocolate. That's such a fantastically weird grandfatherly thing to do.
*Well, except on what is known as "the worst day of his life"...which is castration day. But the cattle don't ever seem to be too bothered by that, oddly enough.
I told him to name the calf Sir Winston the Delicious.
Another friend was raised near his grandfather's dairy farm. He was telling me how his grandfather had mostly black and white dairy cows, but one was brown and white. His grandfather used to insist that that was the cow that gave the chocolate milk. So what he would do for my young friend was put a little chocolate drink mix powder in the bottom of the tin milking-drink cup (unbeknownst to the child, of course). Lo, the milk would "come out" chocolate. That's such a fantastically weird grandfatherly thing to do.
*Well, except on what is known as "the worst day of his life"...which is castration day. But the cattle don't ever seem to be too bothered by that, oddly enough.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-10-30 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-30 07:58 pm (UTC)