One of the things you may not know about farm folks is that
sometimes we name our animals; sometimes we don't.
I was homeschooled for a couple of years before I headed off to school. Whenever any kid found out my dad was a hog farmer, he inevitably asked, "Do you name your pigs?"
A few did have names. One sick pig got the distinct pleasure of hearing 8- or 9-year-old me read Charlotte's Web outloud. I perched on a footstool next to her while she recovered, thinking I was a pretty good nurse, although perhaps my literary selection could have been slightly more helpful. Her name was Princess.
We don't name all our cows today, but sometimes we do. There's Snout, Lucy, Snowflake, Snickers, Reba, Ruby, Queen Mother, Talulah, Clementine, Gandalf, the General, Dorothy Lynch . . . Some also have numbers, and my farmer can recall many of those digits just as quickly as he can a name.
We have a whopping six chickens at our house right now. Our rooster's name is Horace, but the five hens have no names. We've had well-named cats too, like . . . Truck Kitty and . . . Little Kitty. (Ok, so we struggle in the cat moniker department.)
And that's not even mentioning the four canines who keep all coyotes, mailmen, falling leaves and raccoons at bay.
But if you come to the farm, and you spot a calf that you think is just downright adorable, tell us her number and give us her name.
We'll remember both. We promise.
Want to read more of my 31 day farmacology writing challenge? Click here.