Buster; My Calf, My Buddy

My cousin Rusty runs cattle on our farm. One day daddy and I were on our way home from a long day when we spotted a cow laying on her side in the field near the barn. Daddy looked at the cow and it would seem that she was barley alive. From around the barn came a beautiful calf who sat next to his mama.

Days later we learned from Rusty that the cow had passed. But what are we going to do with the calf? Rusty's mother had been ill and he had no time to care for him, so he gave my mother the calf. My mother soon found that it is a lot of work nursing a calf. He needed to be bottle fed twice daily until he could be grain fed. The first day was easy; well somewhat easy, as my mother had to get the calf to trust her enough so that she could feed him. We were all surprised that she had him eating out of her hands in less then 20 minutes. Over the weekend we would warm his bottle and feed him. There was no chasing him around the barn, because he knew what we were there for.

I made the mistake of naming him Buster. Rusty asked, "How's the calf" To which I replied, "His name is buster." Rusty could only chuckle and reply; "Going to be pretty hard to sale him if you name him."