Calves are such unpredictable beasts. A crazy one in practice walking on a lead can be as docile as a lamb in the show ring while one that handles wonderfully for months before the fair can seem stark raving mad in front of a crowd. A scruffy looking calf that barely makes the minimum weight to be shown one year can come back the next year as a fine looking Grand Champion contender. You just never know with calves.
Cole walked into the show ring with his 590-pound calf, his chest puffed out due, I’m sure, to having the Reserve Grand Champion back in the barn, only to have his calf try to mount the one in front of and have its neutered way with it during the parade around the ring, before the judge. The stain of acute embarrassment over not being able to control the feeder crept up Cole’s
