Meet Jebediah Jerusalem, our newest sweet baby.
And actually, he wasn't a Mother's Day present.
And actually, he is going to be our dinner some day when the winter chills are upon us. And from where I come from, you don't do that to your babies.
But, shhhh! Don't tell him that. Because, all he is right now is a cutie patooti baby who loves me. And gives me the most horribly red, itchy eyes and itchy throat. (Did I mention I am allergic to cow dander!? Yes. I married a cow man. Yes. I am allergic to cows. Yes. I am a dork and so is my husband. BUT-we are dorks IN LOVE and that makes everything better, right?!)
The name really OUGHT to be something like meatloaf. London Broil. or RIBEYE. I mean, I am not too sure how I am going to get through the actual butchering of said animal when the time comes. I don't know if I have it in me. I am more of a Bambi-lover, animals-have-feelings kind of girl. Maybe if I am reminded of this poor little bull calf's fate every time I call him by name I might prepare myself for what is to come. But. I would rather just be in a state of denial and then, one day go to a HUGE neighborhood yardsale and come home and Matt says....
"Sugarbear. Jebidiah Jerusalem done got away. He ran off and I never could catch the dern thing. So---I reckon thar's gonna hafta be a bull on the loose but thanks to yer lovin', Jebidiah wuddint be hurtin' a fly."
And I would smile a happy soul-filling smile knowing that Jebidiah was free at last, to frolic and roam and maybe even flower sniff with Ferdinand, his kindred spirit. I wouldn't pay no mind to the blood stained grass.
Yeah. That sounds like a good plan, actually.