About two years ago, I got a steer for $500. An Angus-cross, he was about six-months old then. He had various names; his ear tag was “95”; he was “Dave” to some and “Ribeye” to others. He enjoyed our pastures and befriended the sheep, particularly the ram — the two of them would push each other around like two brothers wrestling.
Last week, our steer went away, which I’m trying to say in a nice way. Actually, Bud’s Meats came out and took care of him. I watched some of the process but it was hard to watch, I must admit. Being in the presence of death and even being responsible for this death is not something to take lightly. It is better than avoiding death, such as we do when we eat or buy meat that we haven’t been responsible for. While I’ve raised meat chickens and processed them myself, the size of this animal makes the act more significant, and sadder.
I thought seriously about not having him butchered for meat. My daughters who are vegetarians are very persuasive. In the end, the possibility of him getting older and having problems (and vet bills) made me decide to go ahead as originally planned.
The man from Bud’s Meats said that we had a good animal, a good steer. I’m proud that he was raised humanely in open pastures with plenty of grass to eat.
Dave had a good life and I’m very grateful for it. I will miss seeing him in the pasture, his dominant black form with head bowed, always eating grass.