I just invested $6,500 in a registered Black Angus bull!
The acquisition of a registered Black Angus bull is more than a simple livestock purchase; for a serious cattleman, it is a strategic investment in the genetic future of a herd. When I committed $6,500 to a fine young specimen recently, I wasn’t just buying an animal; I was buying the promise of better weaning weights, improved conformation, and a more robust bloodline. On paper, he was a masterpiece of bovine engineering—deep-chested, thick-set, and possessing a pedigree that read like royalty. I envisioned him as the cornerstone of my breeding program, a commanding presence that would elevate my stock for years to come. However, as is often the case in the unpredictable world of agriculture, the transition from paper to pasture proved to be a humbling lesson in patience and the peculiarities of nature.
The trouble began the moment the trailer door swung open. Instead of the assertive, dominant behavior one expects from a high-dollar sire, my new investment stepped out with the nonchalance of a tourist on vacation. I introduced him to a prime group of cows, expecting the natural order of things to take over immediately. To my growing dismay, the bull seemed entirely oblivious to his surroundings. While the cows watched him with curious anticipation, he simply lowered his head and began a methodical, uninterested survey of the local clover. Day after day, the pattern remained unchanged. He was a picture of health and a model of tranquility, but as a breeding professional, he was a total catastrophic failure.
As the weeks ticked by, my initial excitement soured into a cold, sinking feeling of “buyer’s remorse.” I found myself leaning against the fence line every evening, watching $6,500 worth of prime beef do nothing but convert expensive grass into manure. I questioned everything: Was he too pampered at the sale barn? Was he socially stunted? Had I been swindled by a set of impressive Expected Progeny Differences (EPDs) that didn’t translate to real-world drive? The financial pressure of the ranching business doesn’t allow much room for “duds,” and I was rapidly reaching the point where I was ready to call the auction house and demand an explanation for my broken machine.
Before making any rash decisions, I decided to seek a professional opinion. The local veterinarian, a man who had seen every possible bovine malady over forty years of practice, arrived with a calm demeanor that contrasted sharply with my rising blood pressure. He conducted a meticulous “head-to-hoof” examination, checking the bull’s eyes, his gait, and his physical maturity. After a thorough assessment, the vet leaned against his truck and offered a reassuring, if somewhat frustrating, diagnosis. He explained that the bull was in peak physical condition but was likely suffering from a combination of youth and a lack of social experience. He was, in essence, a teenager who didn’t quite know what to do at his first dance.
To bridge this gap in experience, the vet reached into his bag and produced a small, nondescript bottle. He handed me a supply of supplements—simple pills to be administered once daily in the bull’s feed. He claimed they would provide the “spark” necessary to get the engine running. I was skeptical, bordering on cynical. It seemed far-fetched that a small tablet could override what appeared to be a total lack of instinct, but with $6,500 on the line, I was willing to try anything short of a miracle.
The following morning, I began the regimen, mixing the first pill into a bucket of high-quality grain. The bull ate it with his usual apathy, and for the first twenty-four hours, nothing changed. However, by the second afternoon, the atmosphere in the pasture began to shift. The bull’s posture changed; he was no longer wandering aimlessly. He carried his head higher, his ears were forward, and for the first time, he seemed to actually notice the cows. By the third day, the “spark” the vet promised had become a full-blown wildfire.
The transformation was nothing short of legendary. My once-sedentary investment had turned into a relentless breeding machine. He moved through the herd with a tireless, singular focus, “servicing” every cow in sight with a level of energy that was almost alarming to witness. The return on my investment was no longer looking bleak; it was looking like a record-breaking season. However, the bull’s newfound drive soon exceeded the boundaries of my property.
A few mornings later, I was woken by a frantic call from my neighbor. It seemed the bull’s enthusiasm had driven him to barrel through a reinforced four-strand wire fence to reach the neighbor’s Hereford cows. He wasn’t just breeding my herd anymore; he was conducting an unsanctioned, cross-county genetic expansion. While I spent the afternoon repairing the fence and apologizing profusely to a neighbor who wasn’t nearly as impressed by the bull’s stamina as I was, I found myself marveling at the sheer potency of the vet’s intervention.
My curiosity eventually got the better of me. I stood in the barn, looking at the remaining pills in the bottle, wondering what kind of powerful pharmaceutical could cause such a radical behavioral shift. Without thinking too much about the common sense of tasting livestock supplements, I took a tiny piece of one and placed it on my tongue. I expected something medicinal or perhaps bitter, but to my surprise, it had a remarkably pleasant, mild, minty flavor—not unlike a high-quality peppermint candy.
Looking back on the ordeal, the experience served as a potent reminder of the importance of professional advice and the dangers of jumping to conclusions. I had been ready to write off a valuable asset based on a few weeks of shyness, nearly losing out on what has become the most productive sire I have ever owned. The bull has more than earned his keep, even if my fence-repair budget has tripled and my neighbor still looks at me a bit sideways when we pass each other on the road.
I’ve learned that in the cattle business, as in life, sometimes all it takes to turn a “dud” into a success is a little bit of time, the right supplement, and perhaps a touch of minty fresh breath. My Black Angus is now the pride of the ranch, a $6,500 investment that is paying dividends with every new calf hitting the ground.
