ok...so here is Bob E. Que and his story. (composed the day that he passed on)
Happy Trails, Bob E. Que
In the spring of 1991 we made a buying trip to the Dixon, CA Livestock Auction. We were shopping for beef calves for my cattle business, and also for one milk-breed calf that would eventually serve as lean beef in the family freezer.
When you go to auction to buy, the wise thing to do is select and note your prospective purchases well before the auction begins. We had done that, had bid on the beef calves that we wanted, and were waiting for the dairy calf to come into the ring.
A similar, but smaller calf came through first. The auctioneer started the bidding at a very low price. Several people had bid when the seller rose to his feet, and from the bleachers lambasted the auctioneer for starting the bidding so unfairly low. An argument ensued, and both seller and calf were ejected from the auction with a warning to never return.
Knowing that the seller was right and being treated unfairly, I saw an opportunity to help the guy, as well as save myself some time. I slipped out to the loading dock to whisper to the seller that I wanted the calf, and to meet me at a local parking lot.
Later, as we transferred the little calf from his trailer to mine, the man's children surrounded me. With tears streaming down their cheeks, they told me the story of this little milk-calf that they had raised. They had bottle-fed him, played with him, and taught him to walk on a lead. They told me how he laid on the sofa with them to watch cartoons, and how they let him drink the leftover milk from their cereal bowls. They insisted he was a pet, and begged me to please not eat him.
With an understanding glance between the parents and myself, I lied to them. I told them NO! NO! We don't want him, to eat! We have kids too. They will take care of him, don't worry! We'll make sure he's happy.
Satisfied, but overcome with sorrow, they hugged and kissed the little calf right up to the last second that they could. I spent the whole trip home thinking about those children and feeling just rotten. (albeit, still intending to grow the calf to slaughter weight and freeze him)
Well...our arrival at home quickly steered the little guy's fate in another direction. My children, after hearing the sad story, immediately put him back on the bottle and promoted him to 'pet' status. Days led into weeks, weeks into months, and the calf grew. I continually reminded the kids that 'Bob E. Que' (pronounced quickly=barbeque) was for food.
I was wasting my breath. When his horns began to grow, they refused to allow the usual method of removal by snipping and cauterizing. He had to have them surgically removed by the vet and stitched back up, with plenty of anesthetic. When the doc had finished, he sprayed the stitches with a yellow disinfectant and added a yellow star to his forehead because he had been such a good boy. Of course the kids documented the whole thing on film.
A few months later the kids began to sense that the time was drawing near. Their solution was to teach him to ride. You CAN'T eat something that can be ridden! So they saddled him up in an English saddle, and attached reins to his halter. He acted as though all of this was normal, fully cooperating. That was the end of it for me. The battle was lost.
About the time he was pushing 1000 pounds, I had to account to my husband as to why Bob E. Que would not be eaten. And I found a solution. I put him out to pasture with the herd. Whenever we wanted the cattle to come down from the back hills, we'd saddle up and ride out far enough for Bobby to hear us call. Of course he would come running, and the other cattle would follow, saving us a LOT of work. Bobby's fate was sealed. He had a job!
Now the years have gone by, I've retired my business, and the kids are grown and gone. I've had offers to place him in petting zoos and offers for a leisurely life as a back-forty lawn mower. Our (grown) children would have none of that. They've insisted that Bobby stay in his own home. And so he has.
Oh God I can barely type this
When I went out to feed this morning, I discovered that dear sweet Bob E. Que had died in his sleep; gone on to greener pastures. He's gone. I have to tell the kids, but God I don't know how I'll be able to get the words out.
HAPPY TRAILS BOB E. QUE
WE WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER
Didn't see any girl riding a cow but I saw a story about a triple murder in Toronto.
