Goodbye, Gomer!

I remember in college making a list of things I wanted to do in my life before I died. Right now I can't remember very many of the things that were on that list, but I do recall that I wanted to own a cow. I guess now I can check it off.

Gomer met his fate this morning. I have to admit, I didn't intend to get attached to him, but there is something about having an animal dependent on me that makes me love him. He was born at Bateman Dairy just south of town in July or August of 2007, so he's about 18 months old.

He had a problem with his front leg joints just above the hoof---they wouldn't flex forward like they should, so he looked like he was walking on his tippy toes, and he was very clumsy; that's why I named him Gomer. He grew out of the leg problem after a few months. That's him on the right in the picture below.We had some other calves who were his same age, but they went to auction a long time ago and were sold at a loss. Gomer didn't go because the others had sucked on his ear and it got infected pretty badly. I treated it for several months. I even lanced it once with a razor blade (gross!) because his ear was so full of infection that it was swollen quite large and it was hot to the touch and hung down instead of being out to the side like it should be. When the infection finally went away, the growth of his right ear was stunted and it never recovered. It just sort of turned into a big hunk of thick skin that looked like half an ear.

When he was young, I was driving the kids to seminary in the mornings, so I had to get up by 5:30am every weekday, feed the calf, get some laundry started, get breakfast, and have scripture study with the kids. I did my chores first, going out in the dark to milk the goat and feed it to Gomer from an ice cream bucket. I always called him by name so he would get used to it like the goats do. He used to slurped the milk down in record time. That routine developed into him thinking I was his mama, or something.......

Gomer ate a lot. I guess if I were trying to grow to be a 1,500 pound adult, I would eat a lot, too. I tried to sell him to a guy who bought our goats in the spring last year, but he was looking a little ragged, besides the fact that he hadn't been de-horned, and the guy didn't think he was a good investment. We wanted our hay supply to last, so we thought about butchering him at that time just so he wouldn't be eating. Hay was so high this last year, and so was corn, and livestock prices went down to next to nothing. Newborn calves were selling for $10 at a dairy in Delta, Utah. Well, just in the nick of time, a neighbor mentioned that there was a pasture for sale in town that was severely overgrown. It belonged to a neighbor of ours who had moved to Rexburg after her husband died suddenly. We called her on the phone and she consented to let us put Gomer in the pasture. It became a tradition to roll down the window and yell, "Hi, Gomer!" every time we drove by, and even Matthew did it. That made the rest of us smile because most of the time Matthew couldn't even see the cow. He sits in a car seat that is low down on the car floor, and he can't see out the window. He always knew when we went around that corner, though!

He ate all summer, and it didn't cost anything. We always said as soon as the feed wasn't available anymore, he would go to the butcher. He grew so fast with all that grass and no one to share it with. Every time I went over to see him or to water the pasture, he galloped toward me and would shake his head back and forth and nudge me and head butt me. He didn't do it to anyone else, and he didn't come running for anyone else either. I liked it---I scratched his chin and cheeks and baby talked to him. There were two apple trees in the pasture, and he would eat the apples that fell.

By the time the apples were ready to be picked, Gomer had to be tied up because he was way too big for the nudge and head butt routine. The last time I went in with him, he got pretty agressive. I was trying to get away from him and thought I could seek protection from one of the apple trees, but that just pinned me. He gave give me a really painful bump to the leg with his horn. I was yelling for Russ to come and get him off me...thank goodness I wasn't alone! One time I was in the garden which was fenced off at the rear of the pasture, and the kids were in with Gomer. I was feeding him a little grain and watering him, so he was pretty occupied. When it came time to leave, I told the kids to get outside the gate and then I would come when they were all out. Everyone got out except for Molly and Matthew. Molly was near the gate, but Matthew went running to the far side away from the gate. I decided I had to make a run for it. I distracted Gomer with some overgrown spinach and carrots, and then I ran (quietly) in a sprint over to Matthew, tucked him under my arm in a football hold and ran as fast as I could toward the gate. I got within about 25 feet when Gomer noticed me and came galloping. We had just enough time to get out and get the gate up, and he was right there stomping and shaking his head at me. Scary!

We had a very mild fall, and Gomer ate grass well into November. We also had a tender mercy happen in early November when a man called from Santaquin one day. He said he had a truck load of pumpkins and squash that he was going to take to the dump, but didn't have the heart. He had called the feed store in Nephi looking for someone who had goats, and he got our names from someone there who knew of us. He brought a pick-up truck heaping full of pumpkins and several kinds of squash. It was a lot! We built a "crib" out of moldy hay bales and pallets underneath, and we loaded it up with the squash and covered it with a tarp. That fed both the goats and Gomer for quite a long time. When the squash started to dwindle, Russ called the meat processor for an appointment. There was a wait, I guess because they were busy, so Gomer ate hay for the last few weeks of his life.

I went over to see him yesterday and get a few pictures. We have been feeding him in the horse trailer to get him used to loading. We thought he wouldn't go it without a fight, but he loved it. He stayed in it all the time. Russ had to force him out one day because it didn't look like he had been drinking any water. He like the shelter, I guess; he's been living under a large pine tree all winter. Since he wouldn't come out of the trailer, it was safe for me to go inside the fence. He had to taste my hand, as always. I brought him some grain in a box for a treat. Last night, I went over to feed him his "last supper." It may seem silly, but I have had little twinges of guilt because I felt like we were deceiving him, or that I was betraying a dear old friend in some way. But I realized that even if we told him we were taking him to the butcher, he wouldn't have understood anyway. He didn't want to get out of the trailer at the point of delivery, and it took some doing. I got in the cage and called his name and held out my hand, and he came. I scrambled out of there like any good rodeo clown would have. As we left, he was bawling....probably just wondering why we left him there. I cried, but when we went inside to tell them what to do with him, the lady there assured me that I wasn't the first to shed tears when delivering an animal.

I was thinking as we drove home about how animals are for the use of man, and we are to use them with prudence and thanksgiving, and the scripture came to mind that says, "the blood of every animal will I require at your hands." To me that means that it's a responsibility to make sure we only kill animals when we need to. I felt keenly aware of God's love for his creatures.

Now, after the emotional ties are severed, I'm sure we will be very glad to have that meat in the freezer and to know where it came from. And every time we have tacos, we'll be thinking of our good old friend, Gomer. IN MEMORY OF GOMER

AUGUST 2007-FEBRUARY 2009