My dad wanted a boy more than anything in the world. He had three girls. Life is cruel, but my dad persevered. I guess it could be said he was ahead of his time and wanted gender equality. However, at the end of the day, he just wanted someone to do boy stuff with. I was not that kid.
This leads me to my two years of misery as part of the Adams County Beef Club. What is the Beef Club, you ask? It was a branch of 4-H in which its members raise and train steers to show. It culminated with various competitions at the county fair and finally ended with auctioning off of the animal. An animal a child had given a year of their life to so it could go on to become someone’s dinner. I should note I was blissfully unaware of the last part until my first steer was about to go onto the auction block. Yeah, that was a gut punch.
I was about 10 years old when my dad informed me of my membership to the Beef Club as he loaded me into his truck to go pick out a steer. I was not excited by this, but I did try. Despite it being a nearly impossible feat, I really did want to please my father. I selected a solid black bovine that I dubbed Cannonball. Had I known this animal’s fate at the time, I might have refrained from naming him.
Over the next several months I learned to walk my steer around in circles with its head held high while stopping to place it in poses that best showed off his physique. I was not good at this, but Cannonball was a pretty mellow dude. I also think he felt sorry for me.
I dreaded working with the steer. It was boring AF. However, it was nothing compared to the pain that was the monthly Beef Club meetings. Dear, God. These were a form of torture. They usually lasted at least three hours and the information given to us was mind-numbing. They would show slides, make us memorize different parts of the steer and then quiz us on them. I never did well. To this day, if I think of a Beef Club meeting, I’m overcome with a very specific kind of dread.
As you might have guessed I did not fare well when it came time to sell Cannonball. Everyone in the family had grown attached to him and my Papaw, who was a farmer, even contemplated buying him in the auction. However, I decided it would be really wrong if we ended up eating him. I preferred a stranger have that honor. It was brutal. I sobbed uncontrollably on that last trip around the ring. I had hoped this display of emotion would make my father realize the Beef Club life was not for me, but alas, he made me do it again the next year.
I was not so fortunate with steer number two. This jackass was about 500 pounds bigger than Cannonball and mean as shit. I named him Clyde, but I’m pretty sure I called him a lot of other stuff. Clyde’s favorite pastime was headbutting. This was bad news for all of 4’8” and 80 pounds of me. I hated this animal with the intensity of 1000 suns. Even greater than my hatred for him was my fear. I just knew this was how I was going to die.
When the day came to sell Clyde, I was met with a sense of relief like no other. I have never been so glad to see an animal go. I love animals so much. I almost felt guilty for my joy in his demise. Almost.
Clyde marked the end of my Beef Club days. I have no idea to this day why my dad allowed me to give it up. I don’t think it was ever discussed. The best I can guess is that he saw my many brushes with death, along with all the tears I shed and decided I was too weak. I honestly don’t care what made him change his mind. I was never so glad to be done with anything in my life. I’m not a girly girl, but this bitch isn’t Beef Club material either.
Side note: I went on to win first place showing our toy poodle, Fifi, at the fair. Luckily, auctioning off the animals was not part of the dog show. Fifi was our loyal companion for 16 years.
Angela Traver
What is this blog about? Well, it's a general blog, but it is also a very specific blog. If you get that reference, you get a gold star! I have been a public relations professional and writer of press releases for more than 20 years—primarily in the booze biz. I decided to do some writing for fun and embrace the humor that gets me through most days. Hopefully it will make you chuckle—or at least smile. I’m a certified crazy magnet, and more than a little nutty myself, so buckle up. Also, I have two vices—profanity and red wine/whiskey. You’ve been warned. It should also be noted, that I’m a HUGE Bob & Sheri fan. I’ve been a listener for more than 20 years. This opportunity is a dream come true and it may have made me cry. That being said, I cry at everything. If you are into booze, dogs, food and/or knitting, hit me up on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter (although I’m terrible at Twitter and it scares me) @kyspiritsgal. You can also find all my previous blog posts at www.kyspiritsgal.com.
