If you pampered your cow too much what would you expect to get?
Spoilt milk.
I witnessed one of my students pick up a calf ’s tail and immediately kiss the calf directly under the base of the tail.
I asked, “What are you doing that for?”
“I’ve got chapped lips,” was his reply.
“Well, that won’t cure them,” I said, sternly.
“No, Sir, but it stops me licking them.”
What do you call a bull that keeps dropping off to sleep?
A bulldozer.
When an American visitor from Texas visited my school and looked over the cattle shed door where we kept two Hereford calves he said to my students, “I see you keep Hereford cattle in England, too, do you?”
One of my twelve year old students, Paul, who was from a towny background, was very quick to give him the origin and history of the breed – needless to say I was very proud of him. However, the American was not to be outdone. He asked my students, “How many acres have you got on this little old spread?”
“Just one acre,” said Joe, proudly.
The American scoffed and said, “Don’t make me laugh son – one acre isn’t a farm. Back in Texas my garden is eight acres and my swimming pool is nearly an acre and when I get in my car at sun up I keep driving and driving and at sundown I still ain’t reached the end of my land.”
Joe replied, “Yes sir, we had a car like that once!”
Why do some cows have bells around their necks?
Because their horns don’t work.
After our son Jonathan was born I got in the lift at the hospital and pressed the button for the ground floor. I immediately recognised an ex-student in the lift, it was Simon.
“Hello sir, are you a new dad?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied “Our first child – a boy, Jonathan.”
“How about you?” I enquired.
“Yes, our first child, a girl but it took ages and ages for her to be born. We had two midwives and a doctor but it still took hours and hours, I’m exhausted! I said to the team – what are you messing about at? If my old Rural Studies teacher was here, Mr Terry, he would have got some lubricant and some calving ropes and the job would have been done in about twenty minutes.”
“You didn’t really say that did you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied, “but my wife didn’t like me saying it!”
“Well, I wouldn’t have said it in front of my wife,” I replied.
Why is the cowman happy at work in the milking parlour?
Because it is a place of udder delight.
A lovely pedigree black Aberdeen Angus bull was standing still in the centre of the road. A man driving his new Jaguar at 90 miles an hour approached the bull from around a very sharp bend. This lunatic driver had no side lights on and no headlights and not even any fog lights. Luckily he braked just in time to miss the bull. How did he miss killing or injuring the bull or indeed injuring himself?
Answer: It was daylight.
How does a cow creep out of a field and hardly get noticed?
Answer: Right pasteurise.
“You would look silly riding the cow,” I replied.
Cattle are expensive to buy and my old farm boss, Mo, was short of money.
“John, I don’t know if I should buy a bicycle or a new Friesian cow,” he pondered.
“You would look silly riding the cow,” I replied.
“I would look even sillier trying to milk the bicycle,” was his witty reply.
Why has a milking stool only got three legs?
The cow has the udder!
When I taught Rural Studies in a secondary school I was lucky to purchase a Jersey heifer called Windsor Coronets Crystal 6th from HM the Queen (and another calf at a later date).
I visited the Royal farm for the first time with a group of students. We were shown the calf but I worried how much money she would cost because she was just perfect. I asked the farm manager how much money the calf would be.
“The Queen can’t give you the calf but we thought eighty pounds would be a fair price.”
Eighty pounds! I could have dropped. Small cross bred calves at our local market fetched more than eighty pounds. I did not dare haggle the price. It was fair. Before I visited the farm I had visions of myself and Her Majesty getting our heads together and haggling, bartering with my usual currency – a dozen new laid eggs. The farm manager Trevor did not want paying there and then – the invoice would be sent to us. We all thanked Trevor very much indeed.
“You can have her for eighty pounds as long as you promise one thing – when it is time to breed with her don’t take her to the nearest bull down the road.”
One of my students, Diane’s brow furrowed. “But why can’t Mr Terry take her to the nearest bull down the road?” she asked in all innocence.
“Look, let me explain,” said Trevor patiently. “It’s the equivalent of Mr Terry taking Princess Anne out for the night. It’s just not done.”
“Well! That’s put me in my place hasn’t it?” I remarked.
What is a bullock with no legs called?
Ground beef.
What is a bullock with no back legs called?
Lean beef.
Funny stories are part of the armoury of many salesmen and the true ones are often the funniest. I heard a corker from Tom Hendrick after he had left some free substitute calf milk and a thermometer with Mo, my old farm boss, whose unenlightened ways were something of a legend in the area. The thermometer was fixed to a flat rectangular piece of plastic with a small handle on top, the whole thing being about 15cm long and 5cm wide. A week later the rep called to see how Mo was getting on with the milk.
“The milk is very good,” Mo said, “but I couldn’t get on with that damn thermometer – it was really hurting the poor calves”.
It transpired that Mo had not used the gadget for testing the milk. He had been taking the temperature of the calves with it and as you do not place a thermometer under a calf ’s tongue it was little wonder they were not very happy with the operation.
When we castrate our bull calves they are sure to weigh two stones lighter!
A farming couple I know very well built their new calf building far too close to the house which attracted flies into their house during the summer.
“I’m fed up with these flies in the house,” she yelled. Her husband was swatting them in the kitchen.
“I’ve just killed five” he reported. He went on to say, “Three males and two females.”
“How do you know what sex they were?” she asked.
“Three were on the beer and two were on the telephone,” was his reply.
“Well you won’t believe this but he wears a brown paper bag hat, a brown paper bag shirt, brown paper bag trousers and even brown paper bag boots.”
If your cow kicks your bucket of milk over don’t cry over spilled milk, turn the udder cheek and move on.
In Texas when cowboys ruled the range, the sheriff and the deputy sheriff worked well together in their office and jail house.
“I’ve at last arrested the notorious criminal Brown Paper Bag Pedro,” announced the sheriff excitedly.
“Why is he called Brown Paper Bag Pedro?” enquired the deputy sheriff.
“Well you won’t believe this but he wears a brown paper bag hat, a brown paper bag shirt, brown paper bag trousers and even brown paper bag boots.”
“So what have you arrested him for?”
“Rustling,” was the sheriff’s reply.
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