Big Bulls, little men and offerings...

It's bull sale season 'round here. And that means things get a little frantic for those in the stud cattle industry... lots of information gathering, marketing, careful selection and preparation of stud animals for the sale ring. Lots of vet inspections, testicle measurements (I kid you not), scanning of various bull muscles (other than crown jewels) and photography for more marketing!

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. So if I have been a little, um, erratic with my posting lately, you'll just have to understand... bear with me?

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Anyway, yesterday I decided to try and get some up-to-date photos of our bulls - we have almost 20 two and three-year-old boys here at the house. They get supplemented feed and generally pampered as we lead up to three sales over the next five weeks. And we kinda get used to having these hulking big fellas roaming around our house paddock. They are over 800 kg each and yet as curious as kittens and treat us like we are double their size. They watch the kids on their bikes but never get nervy or show any aggression. To me, that is the litmus test. They passed.

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Dash decided he wanted to ride his bike, and as I refused to let him ride it through the paddock (hey, the snakes are waking up in this neck of the woods!) he reluctantly agreed to ride up and down the road rather than come in the car with TLW and I. I headed through the grass and attempted to get some decent bull photos.

Well hello gorgeous! Please note the lovely polled (no horns) head and solid structure. A lovely example of a black Brangus bull...

This is Q278 - we have named him Quartz. His Genestar (genetic markers taken from tail hair samples) have come back with amazing results. We like him! He's also a pretty good-looking red Brangus bull... and his SC (scrotal circumference) was impressive too!

(Enjoying Bull Assessment 101 so far?)

And this boy is Q094 - Quota. He is a hunk. A big black hunk. (Yes his facts and figures are great, but really, he's fabulous bull eye-candy. And gentle as a lamb). Whoever buys this one will take a little bit of my heart home with them. Who said I'm not tough enough for this gig? Hmmm...

Here are a couple of very nice red boys... but the sun is getting low and my light is getting a bit grey. Hang on, what is that flash of blue there?? Look carefully, at the top of shot...

Quota! Don't eat that pretty purple flower... it's Blue Heliotrope. It's a weed and it's not good for bovines... Quota!! He's not used to his new name yet... heh.

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Ah well, I'm sure he'll work it out. He didn't get to 850kg by eating weeds!!

Time for this tired mum/photographer/cook/bottle washer to head for home...

Hang on. Who's that calling out?

Mum! Mum... I got somethin' for ya!

Dear Lord... a posy of...

Blue Heliotrope. It never looked so good!

How could anyone resist this offering?

I didn't ever try...

Even cross-eyed, my boy is cute as ... (and it I can't say that, as his Mum, who can?). I somehow feel a smidge sorry for the girls he courts in years to come... thinking they might not stand a chance with those big brown eyes... I know I don't!!

Hang on.

He's caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror...

Hello Handsome!

(Or as Dash would say: Hamp-sum)

Dear me... that's quite a face darling. I think we're safe from all those girls for a few years yet!

Anyone think there might be enough testosterone around these ridges?

Communing with Nana's Chooks

I have a confession:

I don't like chooks*.

(*If you are scratching your head, and you're not from Down Under, see the panel to the right regarding some interpretations of Aussie lingo. If you can't be bothered, then I'll tell you: a chook= a chicken/hen/egg producer. And make some time go read the rest... you'll need it sooner or later!)

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It's true, you read correctly. I live in the country and I don't like chooks. It's not that I don't think they are very useful animals. I love eggs. I love fresh eggs. And I s'pose chooks are kinda cute in their own feathered, heavyset kinda way. But I just don't want to keep any. I don't want to have to see them every day. I should explain...
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I have filthy chook-related memories from childhood here at Granite Glen ... of dipping struggling chooks for stick-fast fleas (we have a river nearby) and inhaling the horrid poison, of dodging bindii and burrs to nervously collect eggs from the hen house from under not-always-friendly egg-warmers, of witnessing the axe falling and then having to pluck warm carcasses for our dinner table. I never could get all the little feathers out, and hated getting a mouthful with a spiky shaft still embedded. Euwww! So therefore I am a big fan of the ready-cooked, feather-free, roasted chickens at the supermarket. And I am also a fan of other people keeping chooks. So I can access fresh eggs. I'm shallow like that...
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The kids and SSB are constantly trying to persuade to change my mind, but on this I won't budge. Cause Nana (bless her soul) keeps chooks. And she shares. So we visit and care for Nana's chooks when she is away, and she gives some of her lovely deep-yellow-yolked eggs to us. Voila!
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TLW and Dash adore collecting the eggs and attempting to commune with Nana's feathered friends... shall we see how they went with the latter activity on our most recent visit?
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Hello chook! We are Dash and TLW and we want to be your friends! Don't run away!

We come bearing grass... and CD's... do chooks like shiny things Nana??

You must be patient... wait for them to come to you, TLW!

... don't chase them!

Charming view, I'm sure!

(Anyone want to know where eggs come from? Ignorance, in this case, may be bliss!)

That is a far better view! C'mon chook... Dash is being very patient waiting (with his CD!)... chook, chook, chook!!!

Nearly! Patience... ohhhhh!!!
Chooks. Ignorant flipping things.

What a shame horses can't lay eggs.

Cause I don't mind them at all!! I heart horses!

Lucky Nana loves her chooks.

And we heart Nana!

Ode to equine nose hair

You may have guessed by now how much I am motivated by my senses...

...that the little things that might pass others by, rivet me, stall my steps, divert my attention, soak up my time. Things like a ray of light on the bark of a tree, a butterfly alighting on a manure-covered denim-clad thigh, the angle of my child's cheek as they silently pose a question.

My husband's chambray shirt melting into the blue hills of the horizon as he canters off down a dirt track. Fascinating...

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It's the frustrated artist in me - although I do not think of myself as an artist.

I'm far too practical for such a lovely, whimsical title.

I was brought up with Time and Motion as Gospel, and Daydreaming a Deadly Sin.

And, I always have been able to adhere reasonably to the former and resist the latter. But it's a battle to keep the focus on the Practical sometimes.

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One of the things which has always entralled me have been horses.

And luckily, horses and Time and Motion achievement have been twined nicely together here at Granite Glen since time immemorial. Mustering cattle on horseback and all. But my attachment to these creatures is really much greater than a strictly working relationship.

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For those who have not had the chance to experience any kind of equine affection, it's kind of a hard thing to explain.

It's really something you need to feel... and soak in... and hear... and smell.

It can be gentle and serene,

or furious adrenaline-fuelled action.

But even if you never, ever climb in a saddle, horses can be the loveliest things.

Take Rob Roy, for instance.

Sure, he's cute at first glance but let me tell you: this horse has got small man syndrome, big time. All red-headed Scottish temper and little bloke outlook.

He's a foot or two shorter than his buddy, the fabulous Trooper, but no-one's been game to tell Rob Roy! He's what you might call a bit bombastic - especially if you ever dare to come between him and his feedtin. It ain't pretty! He's even been known to nip unsuspecting humans (around his height) who take him too lightly.

Eat?? ... this pony NEVER STOPS! He's a machine!

He may be the wrong side of 10 hands, but what he lacks in altitude he MORE than recovers in attitude.

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And while none of these attributes is entirely endearing, he's just, well... gorgeous!

I can never really put my finger on why we forgive him his naughty little mannerisms so easily...

then I watched him with TLW the other day, and it dawned on me...

it's all to do with his HAIR.

His nose hairs, to be specific.

Yeah.

I know that sounds a bit, well, arty farty.

But you'll see.

Look.

Under that little pale, trusting human hand...

The sweetest, softest, tiniest nuzzliest all-over-the-nose hairs in the world.

These nose hairs are among the many arty farty reasons my ironing remains unironed.

Bush Babe's Olympic effort

Aren't you glad the Olympics are over?
I sure am.

Not that I don't have my favourite moments (personally, I couldn't go past our blond Aussie pole vaulter pretending he couldn't jump anything much until the last moment, then scraping over to win GOLD, then backing up nonchalantly to notch up an Olympic record to boot! I wonder if he plays poker too?).

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And it's not that I didn't love the fortnight of flashing of perfect human form - think Michael Phelps abdomen ...Dear Lord, is that thing legal?

...and the Jamaican Bolt's incredible thighs, our sweet gay Aussie high diver's perfect lil' butt... (reminds me of my grandmother, who was a saucy old thing, gazing at the swimmers during the Brisbane Commonwealth Games and declaring: "My, they DO have dear little bottoms!" to her slightly stunned granddaughter) ...and the super slow-mo's of the volleyball girls and the marathon women's fat-free legs as they leapt gazelle-like and ran ludicrous distances in the name of Sport. And Voyeurism. Ah, the Olympic spirit!

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I had a horrible moment myself, when I briefly contemplated what my thighs might look like in slow-mo. A ripple of Olympic Closing ceremony proportions...

*shudder*.

So I turned the TV off and started on an Olympic event of my own.

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One that I really should have put in some serious training for.

Because God knows that I am badly out of shape, for all events except the Olympic washer-to-dryer lift and dishwasher-unload. I'm starting a campaign to have those two events added to the 2016 games.

Anyone with me?

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No, really, the event I decided (in a rush of Olympic-inspired blood) to take on was...

The Clover Spraying.

By hand.

With a 12 litre backpack pump.

Made for a bloke about a foot taller than me.

And to top it off, I decided to add pink dye to the spray, to see where I had been.

Very practical, no?

Hmmm....

Well my friends, today, I look out over my lawn and imagine the inviting lush green of a clover-free summer yard. And I do my level best to ignore my bruised shoulders, from 10 loads of clover and bindii poison. I ignore the abdomen muscles shaken rudely from years of hibernation with my four-and-a-half hour spraying stint. I ignore the sunburn around my neck (it's Winter here, I forgot my sunscreen, OK?). I ignore the aching leg muscles and shaky wrist from holding the spray nozzle in a certain position for hours on end. And I ignore the fact that I was so dog-tired after this unanticipate physical activity that I couldn't even keep my eyelids open to see the start of the Closing Ceremony. I ignore it all.

Yes I do.

Do so!

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I ignore all these factors, and overcome my badly out-of-shape physique, and look at this:

Yeah.

Whole new meaning to painting the town red, eh?

Painting Granite Glen pink.

So can you see how it might look in a few weeks?

All verde and even and lush?

You've just got to use your imagination!

Luckily mine is in tip-top shape...

Ripped, you might say.

Your Olympic candidate for Imagination .

BB

Question: What was your favourite Olympic moment, and why?

Perspective

Recent posts have made me think a lot about perspective.

In a literal kinda way.

About how the angle that you look at things from really colours the way you SEE something.

Like when something LOOKS closer or more threatening than it really is...

And you perceive that angle and interpretation as the TRUTH of the event.

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Happens all the time.
And no-where really was this better illustrated than our recent visit to Australia Zoo.

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For instance, when TLW stood right beside this massive python which could have easily swallowed THREE of her...

And then you realise an inch-thick pane of glass actually seperated the two. Phew!
And for a brief second you think that Steve Irwin and family really ARE larger than life...

Til you realise the kids have found a MASSIVE poster of this iconic Aussie (slash American) family...

And like when you see some crazy dude teasing massive crocs with raw meat from across the arena...

And (getting wise to the scenario) you think: If this handler ever sees this photo, he will cross his legs IMMEDIATELY... but he MUST be a safe distance away, I just can't SEE it from this angle...

And then you realise that NO-WHERE is really a safe distance from those pearly whites!
*shudder!*

And then you see this gorgeous pussycat on a pretty leash walking quiety along a path just a METRE from you...

And then you see her DEVOUR a tasty bloody morsel, and you quietly cross your legs and look for the nearest Ladies...

And then, after this emotional rollercoaster of a day, you contemplate the amazing-ness of the wildlife of this world, and then you turn your head to ask your kids which bit was their favourite... and you see this:

Now that would be my very favourite perspective of all!

More Bull! With Manners Please...

I was going to do a Wordless Wednesday pic series.

Then I realised that I don't do wordless very well.

And it's not Wednesday.

So I didn't.

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You all got me thinking, with your reaction last post to this shot...

You got me wondering if perhaps it did seem like I was putting my darling daughter at risk, amongst such enormous, powerful bovines? But then I realised that there were a number of factors exacerbating the situation as seen above (isn't exacerbating a great word? And if I've used it wrong, please don't email me. Mum'll do it for you.)

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The first is the angle of the photo.

TLW was actually on a road about 10 metres behind this bull.

(I know I sound a bit Steve Irwin during the Baby Bob & croc incident, but it's true!)

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The second is the location.

This was in our house paddock of a few acres, not in a yard (or pen), so the bull had plenty of places to go other than near my little girl. If he could be bothered. Which this one couldn't. He was happy just having a look.

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The third is the nature of the bulls.

This is the most important aspect really, and hard to show in a photo.

Or maybe not.

You see, temperament is really important to us in our bulls. We work with cattle. (I say we as a general all-encompassing term here. It's mostly the boys, sometimes with my SIL in the saddle too, and occasionally me. And the kids. The kids love the cattlework.)

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Actually, all cattle enterprises require people to work with cattle. (You didn't need me to tell you that though!). And while I am no expert on bovine behaviour... well, it just seems vital to me that you have cattle that have manners. Animals that behave as you would want a 1000kg animal to behave around you. Calmly, carefully and with some manners.

So you need to choose your bulls carefully. Right from when they are young. We watch them whenever we are in contact with them. At branding. In the paddock, on their mums. At weaning. In the yards when we handle them.

They need to learn not to eat the lavendar when they break into the houseyard.

(I've just recently added this to the Bull Must-Do Manners list!)

Little cows and bulls must learn to be calm and orderly when we walk them out to their paddock.

Otherwise how can a couple of people on horses and a few dogs get more than 100 animals to walk 12km in the same direction? Through thickly timbered hills and past other cattle? Manners...

They need to know if they do the right thing, the water and tucker will be there waiting for them. So we need our bovines to not fear, but respect us.

Because even the biggest and sternest of us, is way smaller than them.

And the smallest of us...

Well...

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Yeah.

She can probably take care of herself!

Here endeth the Bull Manners Lesson 101.

Work not play, the BB way

I'm a little concerned that you guys think all I do is take photos of sunsets and my kids frolicking. That I live an empty life, awaiting the right light to hit a tree trunk or imbue a skylight with the correct cyan and magenta hues...

And you know, I wouldn't blame you one bit for this assumption. The evidence is there. I am sure even my family read this and think: Isn't she supposed to be working on A,B,C, and Z today?

So to reassure you all that I do other things besides taking joyful photos of stuff... I wash, I clean (well...) I cook, I ferry people around the countryside, and I do Cow Stuff. To illustrate, I present to you...

#398

She is a very nice Brangus cow who doesn't seem to mind all those flies on her face. Brangus are very easy-going like that. I took this photo recently as a possible marketing image for our business. But the flies kinda put me off, despite #398's very pretty profile. She's a very nice little poser too. Nice one, right beside the ironbark!

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And I also present #698 and #640.

Hello girls! This delightful pair are waiting to be sorted out of a mob of cows. As they are all heavy in calf and will be "joined" (ie have romantic moments) with a bull within a couple of months of calving, we are sorting them into specific paddocks which will see them spend time with their appropriate "partners". We believe in arranged marriages here at Granite Glen. At least for the bovine community.

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I could say that I was hands-on and got down and dirty during the cow sorting. But that would be a bit of a stretch. Actually my job (as a couple of girl bovines at a time are put into a small yard called a pound by SSB and Dad) is to look up each cow's number on the laptop, and tell the boys how many calves that cow has had, how many of the boy calves were kept as bulls (the less impressive ones become steers) and if the females have gone on to produce good calves themselves. It's a stressful job, not because it's hard, but because I can't do it quick enough for my impatient menfolk. Tap, tap, tap, tap-tap-tap... Hang on NEARLY there...

"Come on then... we haven't got all bloody day!!"

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My Dad is still adjusting to this whole newfangled way of assessing cows. He used to just do the sorting by eye and from memory ("That cow had a ripper bull calf last year, she back in the stud!"). Actually he has a pretty amazing memory for such things, but we are still learning (my L Plates are front and centre!) and need to be sure we are selecting properly. So he is doing his best to be patient with me and my danged computer.

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So we selected (my way) the top producing cows from the less-impressive performers. It's harsh in the stud cattle business, and there were quite a few demotions and promotions this day. And time will tell if the computer can sort any better than my Dad.

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I have also been traipsing around paddocks taking photos of bulls. You heard me. Bulls. In paddocks. Luckily they are nice bulls (hey all our bulls are nice!!!) and put up with this weird human following them and calling to them to Walk forward! and Stop! and Look UP!

They don't actually understand English but do hesitate an look enquiringly in the right spot sometimes...

This is kinda what I'm looking for - nice side-on shot, with alert head and leg back far enough to show the testicles. You heard me. It's what our customers want in their bulls. Decent crown jewels. Trust me.

Anyway, the photo-chasing is all in the name of promoting bulls for sales, and baby, it ain't easy! I spend half my time praying that I don't step on a sleeping death adder, and the other half calling out to TLW to Quit riding her trike through the mob of bulls I am trying to photograph! Dash is usually pretty good at doing as he is asked, but he chatters a lot. A lot. The bulls don't know which crazy, noisy human to look at!

You see what I'm saying??

Eventually even the most patient big bull gets jack of posing and they roll their eyes (OK maybe not, but I know they want to) and they do this...

I see a lot of bovine butt in my new job...

Can't say it's my favourite angle. But at least you can see the crown jewels! Heh.

So there you go. A little taste of the OTHER parts of a Bush Babe day. When I am sooooo busy I don't have time for silly sunset photos. Or wasting my time while waiting for the school bus by writing initials in the dirt. And taking photos of it!! Far, far too busy...

Signing off...