Last fall, a neighbor of mine called to say he had a small Guernsey
cow, which wasn’t producing enough milk to keep her spot in his herd.
Since she was already bred, he hated to send her to slaughter, so he
said he’d give her to us.
She could hang out with our cows and if she had a heifer (female) calf in the spring we could then sell the calf for a few hundred dollars, which would more than pay for the hay Rufus, the cow, would eat over the winter. Plus, since Rufus didn’t produce a lot of milk, the calf would drink it all and we wouldn’t have to milk her, so we agreed.
Spring came and so did the calf; only it wasn’t a heifer, it was a bull. Now what?
Last fall, a neighbor of mine called to say he had a small Guernsey cow, which wasn’t producing enough milk to keep her spot in his herd. Since she was already bred, he hated to send her to slaughter, so he said he’d give her to us. She could hang out with our cows and if she had a heifer (female) calf in the spring we could then sell the calf for a few hundred dollars, which would more than pay for the hay Rufus, the cow, would eat over the winter. Plus, since Rufus didn’t produce a lot of milk, the calf would drink it all and we wouldn’t have to milk her, so we agreed.
Spring came and so did the calf; only it wasn’t a heifer, it was a bull. Now what?
I called around to try to sell him as a bull for breeding. However, as soon as I mentioned his mother was a low producer, interest waned. We thought of turning him into a steer, by castrating him, and keeping him around as a pet. (Keeping him without castrating him would be impossible because bull calves frequently turn aggressive and dangerous as they mature). However, we already have such an animal and frankly feeding and cleaning up after another one all winter is an expense and effort we found unappealing.
Then, over breakfast one morning, I read an article in the paper about how our local Food Shelf, an organization that dispenses groceries, free of charge, to those in need, was running short on donations.
“What do you think about donating the calf,” I asked my wife.
“As beef?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, we’re not that attached yet. We’re not bottle- feeding him.,” I said. “Would you be okay with that?”
“I think so,” she said. “Why don’t you give them a call?”
“Okay, but they’re probably not even set up for that.”
But, they were. Jean, the woman I spoke to said they’d be delighted and would even pay for the “processing” if it weren’t too expensive and asked if I’d check about the costs.
“Well, it’ll be a $35.00 kill fee,” said the guy at the slaughterhouse. I told him I once had a “kill fee,” on a pilot deal, but he managed to keep from laughing as he went on to explain the butchering and packaging fees of so much per pound. In all, we’d end up with about 200 pounds of meat (assuming the calf weighs 400 pounds in September) for a total cost of about $100.00.
“That’s a lot of protein for fifty cents a pound,” said Jean, when I called her back at the food shelf. “Let’s do it.”
“I think this is great,” said my wife, when I reported back. “We’ll be doing a lot of good and Peanut’s life will have counted for something”
“Peanut,” I said. ”I didn’t know you were planning on naming him.”
“I didn’t plan it. I was in the barn filling their water trough and he was sniffing the hose and it just came out. What’s the problem?”
I said the problem was that I would find it somewhat easier to send, “the calf,” to his inevitable fate on that morning in September as opposed to, “Peanut.”
My wife said she is so sure of the correctness of our decision—to provide nutrition to our neighbors in need--that she will have no problem when they come to pick up Peanut.
When I think about it like that, I don’t believe I will either. Though we'll see how I feel when the truck pulls in the driveway.
Tom Maxwell is a former director of The Groundlings and TV writer. He now lives in Vermont where he and his wife operate Fairy Tale Farm Bed and Breakfast.