“I’m hungry, it’s supper time, and we had to let you know!” . . . .

This is the face that met us at the front gate to our house this past week.  Abraham, (a.k.a. Abe the Babe, Feed Lot, T-bone, Rib-eye, Meat ball) came wandering into the driveway with Tilly on his heels looking for his supper.  We heard Rosie and her friend Sally from up the lane barking like crazy from the safety zone inside the fence, and upon inspection, discovered the barnyard escapees.

Abe is growing into a pretty hefty steer, and he doesn’t realize that his playful antics are a little scary at times.  As we lead them back to the barn, he bucks and snorts, kicking up his heels, butting his head at the dogs (he sent old Lady, our black lab sprawling one day, which would have been quite hilarious except we knew it hurt her arthritic old bones to be tipped up on her head) and such carrying on as a two-year old child would engage in.  Weighing in at around 650 pounds, I rue the day when he decides to trot up behind me and send me to the moon, if only for a few short seconds.

“I know I’m simply gorgeous” . . . .

He has become quite the pet, and his familiarity with us began at birth.  He loves his treats, which are small cylindrical cakes of supplemental livestock feed, and he will hose you down with his tongue searching your pockets and clothing to find them.  Creatures of habbit, he and Tilly know that at the end of the day it is time to go back to the barn for hay and treats.  Tilly spends her night in the corral attached to the loafing shed, and Abe wanders to the neighbor’s fence that separates him from his mother.  He settles down in the sagebrush, chews his cud, and communes with Mom.