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Up front, Hooter McCormick never
fancied himself a world-class livestock judge—passable, above
average even, but not top of the heap. That’s one reason he’d
turn down the occasional offer to evaluate stock at this junior
show or that one. That’s also why he’d never had any aspiration
or intent to coach a livestock judging team, until now.
“It’s either you or me,” Uncas
Binglemeyer had told Hooter a week earlier.
Uncas, you may recall, was one of
Hooter’s own 4-H judging teammates, who had moved north of the
Red River years ago. Uncas still had shirttail relatives in Rio
Rojo County, though. In fact, Binkus Binglemeyer, looked and
acted exactly like Uncas had at 9 years old, which is to say,
red-haired, freckled, paper-thin, with a mind of his own and no
misgivings about sharing his thoughts with anyone.
“Unless I miss my guess, Binky
will be one of your top hands in reasons,” said Uncas, looking
prouder than a Lab pup gnawing on the furniture.
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all,”
said Hooter. If Binky was anything like Uncas, Hooter knew he
would have plenty of reasons for placing stock like he did, with
more conviction than Carry Nation during happy hour. If he was
anything like Uncas, Hooter also knew that Binky’s placings
would be absolutely wrong, and his reasons for placing them that
way unconventional.
Fruits of Necessity
Understand, Uncas Binglemeyer’s heart was in the right place.
When he heard that Binkus was interested in livestock judging,
and knowing that Rio Rojo County hadn’t fielded a team for
better than a decade, he decided either he or Hooter would be
the perfect coach. Understanding the implications of the former,
Hooter agreed to give it a go.
“Just look them over,” Hooter
told his new judgers—ages 9 to 12—at the first practice. “You’ve
got five minutes. Just look them over and think what bulls are
used for. Imagine that you need to buy a new bull for your cows.
Look at these four and decide in what order you’d buy them and
why.”
Hooter had enlisted Charlie’s
help in putting together four bulls more different than Rebels
and Yankees.
There was a sale-barn bull
standing in the first hole—of indeterminate lineage and hollower
than an old railroad tie after the termites, pencil-gutted,
sway-backed, sickle-hocked, rough-shouldered, standing just a
touch higher than a Wrangler patch, with horns pointing in
opposite directions, patches of bare skin and an asthmatic
wheeze. It was the easiest bottom since the next presidential
election.
In the next spot was Peetie
Womac’s new Balancer bull, thick and level in all of the right
spots, reeking of balance, health and prepotence. This was a
five-figure herd sire worth every penny, and it showed before
you ever looked at his pedigree or numbers. An easy top.
Next in line was a Hereford bull, what your eyes tell you is a
solid, middle-of-the-road kind of bull. Just a touch too small,
none too thick, but correct enough. An easy second, in Hooter’s
way of thinking.
The last bull in the line-up was
one of those hold-over elephants from the 1980’s—gigantic,
deep-bodied and balanced enough from a side-view, other than
being almost straight-shouldered, with feet way too small for
the frame. Look at him from the back or front, though, and he
was narrower than a gnat’s closet, with the testicular
development to match. All things considered, Hooter figured him
an easy third in the class.
That’s Why
When five minutes was up, Hooter called the kids to the other
side, one at a time, to give him their placings and reasons
while still having a chance to see the bulls. He started with
Ben Fitzsimons, whose dad managed a feedlot and ran some cows on
the side.
“If I had to buy one today, I’d
take the number four bull,” said Ben. “The reason being that
there’s no way I could afford the bull in the second spot, which
is clearly the best bull in the whole class by a mile. That
number four bull, though, he weighs the most, I can put some
pounds on him, and with cutter prices what they are, I’ve got
some cash to put toward that number two bull. That Hereford bull
isn’t bad. That bull you have in the first hole, I’d try to give
him away; he ain’t worth the gas to haul him back to the sale
barn.”
Though the placings weren’t
right, per se, the logic was crystalline. With a little coaching
in gamesmanship, Hooter figured Ben had the makings of a top
junior judge.
Next came Lucy Franklin, a niece
of Izzy’s. “You just have to start with the Hereford bull, and
the other three don’t matter,” said Lucy flatly.
“Why is that?” wondered Hooter.
“Herefords are the only cattle
Noah would allow on the ark,” said Lucy. “That’s what my grandpa
taught me. Everybody knows that.”
“All right,” said Hooter. “But if
you had to buy one of the black bulls, which one would it be?”
After a lot of fidgeting, Lucy
allowed, “Well, I’d take the second bull. He’s the best one in
the whole class, you know, but don’t tell my Grandpa I said so.”
“I won’t,” Hooter assured her
with a smile and a wink. Two for two, and so it went. Push come
shove, one by one, the rookies were finding the top and the
bottom without problem.
Probe further and they were
sorting out the middle pair in good shape, too.
Then came Binkus Binglemeyer. As
he approached, Hooter could also see Uncas coming up the fence
line to listen in.
“Well, Binkus, how do you sort
them?”
“It’s easy,” said Binkus, and
Hooter cringed. “You have to start with the number one bull,
followed by four, followed by the Hereford bull, followed by the
bull in the second spot.”
Exactly backward.
“How do you reckon that number
one bull in first place, Binkus?”
“Well, how do you expect a bull
to defend himself against coyotes without horns? He’s obviously
the only one with them. Besides which, take one look at him and
you know he’s been through a lot. He’s a survivor. Plus, he’s
the smallest in class. Given input costs, he should produce
calves that take less feed.”
“O.K. But if input costs concern
you, why would you place number four in second place?”
“Imagine a flat banana.”
“Huh?”
“On the one hand, he’s tall
alright, which is good for the rough country we have, but
there’s not much meat to him, like a flat banana. So, he
shouldn’t take as much feed. Not like that bull in the second
spot. Did you see how thick he is?”
Hooter glanced over at Uncas who
was beaming one those I-told-you-so smiles. “I did notice that
number two is plenty thick. I was thinking that muscle would be
a good thing in terms of yield grade in his calves. Why did you
place him last?”
“Feeding costs aside, which I
believe I’ve already explained adequately,” said Binkus with an
accusing tone, “did you happen to notice how big his, ahem, well
his scrotal, I mean to say…”
“Yes, I did notice the second
place bull has the most scrotal development of any bull in the
class,” helped Hooter.
“Well sir, surely you know that
has been shown to be directly related to age of puberty?”
“Yeah?”
“If they breed earlier, they
calve earlier. Can you imagine a bunch of 2-year-old heifers
calving at the same time? Delay puberty, you delay breeding, you
delay calving, and hopefully you spread it out, too.”
“Huh?”
“Heifers will be sturdier at 3.
Spread out the calving and you’re better able to keep up with
the work.”
Hooter knew exactly who had been
coaching Binkus so there was no reason to continue the
interrogation on the bull that everyone else had rightfully seen
as the top bull in the class.
“All right, then, what about the Hereford bull. Why did you put
him in third?”
“I hated to do it, Mr. Hooter. If
that other bull wasn’t so thick, I would have placed the red and
white one last. I know his color is wrong.”
“How’s that?”
“You do realize that black
absorbs the sunlight more than lighter colors.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Well, in these parts, you want
cattle to absorb as much sunlight as possible.”
Though unsurprised, Hooter was
having a hard time following this last bit of odd logic.
“Actually, I’ve known folks in
these parts to prefer lighter colored cattle because of the
heat.”
“That’s where they’re wrong. Mr.
Hooter. The hotter they are, the more opportunity there is for
subcutaneous aspiration. Besides which, the more Vitamin D they
can store. Need I say more?”
Over his shoulder, Hooter heard
Uncas: “Attaboy, Binky, attaboy!” |
