Wednesday, July 22, 2009

I always treated writing as a profession, never as a hobby. If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will (Laurell K. Hamilton).

Took the big red bull to the stockyards at Battle Creek today. Dad had to work Tuesday, so an extra few miles on the truck. Damn bull spun the entire way down. He loaded and unloaded fine, a perfect gentleman, but he must’ve known it was his first and only trip to town. I’d never been to the Battle Creek stockyards before. They’re nice. Dad said they burned many years ago and the rebuild is why they’re more modern than Lake Odessa or Marian. I’d like to say I’m sad and will miss the bull, but to tell the truth, bulls and finished steers are usually such assholes by the time it comes to sell them, that it’s almost a relief to see the ass end of them. I mean I’m not glad they’re going to die, but it makes it a little easier.

Wow, so anything else after that seems a little flippant. I guess I’m flippant.

We switched the chickens to a new feed today, which they seem to like. Of course, they pick shit in the manure pile so they’re not picky. I keep meaning to get pics to put up but never seem to make the time. They’re pretty fun having around though. They go to bed at 9:40 every night, but as the days get shorter, the time slowly moves up. We’re at 9:36 or :37 now. Goofy fucking chickens. Of course, that I know this and am amused by it, it doesn’t say much for me.