Mountain Oyster Fry

Once a year the cattle farmers of Apache pool their resources and get together to wrassle calves (or something).
I was pulled in to the gathering and closely watched to see if this boy from Africa knew anything. At all. Well, they knew I didn’t by then, but I was good for a laugh!

We rounded up the calves, corralled them and roped them, brung them down and trussed them up.

We then:
De-horned them with pincers; Cauterised the stumps with a red-hot metal ‘dome’;
Injected them – inoculation; Castrated them with a pen-knife (not me!); Branded them with a red-hot branding iron.

okla wrangling calves_2
summing like this

Then released them into the next pen, where they stood around bleating with a WTF!? expression on their dials.

After a long day we went home, washed up and gathered in Walter & Pug Hrbacek’s barn for the Big Annual Mountain Oyster Fry, where we fried mountain oysters and ate them covered in batter, washing them down with Coors beer.

What reminded me about it was this:

Ball with Jesus_Testicle

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bewilderbeast

It's about life, marriage, raising kids, paddling rivers, travel in Africa . . . re-posting thoughts written over decades - at random, I'm afraid.

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