The Next Great Thing

I’ve been thinking about cattle ranching. Like, getting into it. You know, being a cattle rancher. I would say, “I am a cattle rancher” to people who would ask me what I do.

So I Googled it. And the first thing I read from Beefmagazine.com was that I needed to pick a preferred calving season, with this in mind:

“Starting the calving season at or just prior to peak native forage production — both in quality and quantity — should result in: excellent calving conditions, thus less calf death loss; faster return to estrus in cows; less harvested feed fed in late gestation; and little or no supplemental feed fed during lactation.”

Cool. Of course, I’m going to need a barn, too. And a pasture. Some water. Heat? Do you need heat? I’ve got to remember to ask that.

Meat is it this year. Or so I’m told. And for the first time in my life I’m going to get in on the ground floor. I’m aiming for the top of the financial curve in the next meat explosion. Is that how you say it? Remember to ask about that, too.

I’ve raised puppies. And kittens. They grew fine. But it must feel different to raise them for food. Feeding time must be rather conflicting. Come here you cute little thing and eat and get fat so I can kill you for money. I guess it works. But I’d probably need a beer.

But I like meat. And I like farming. You have to like farming and farmers in America. You have to wave friendly waves to any farmer you see, even while they’re doing something foul. It’s just the way it’s done. I think it has something to do with feeling really disconnected when we see them. So if we wave and say we “love farmers,” we feel a little less odd about our own jobs and disconnection. But I could be wrong.

I hope people wave to me like I wave to farmers when I become a rancher. It must feel so good. “Hello! Neighbor! Working! Man!”

But first things first. I don’t want it to get away from me. I can’t let this idea die like the rest of the ideas. You know, before you even get up to take your first piss at the coffee shop.

Yeah, so what, I’m at a coffee shop. It’s where all my ideas seem to begin and end the same way. They begin with the rush of the first sip of caffeine and then become brilliant when I pop open my laptop and get that rush that says, “you are about to accomplish something.” I’m so proud. This is when I love the eye contact at the coffee shop. I want my eyes to tell your eyes that I’m onto something. I’m not just sitting here because I got tired of doing the same thing at home all by myself. Nope. I’m getting it done. Ladies and gentlemen, the man in the booth is really onto something.

But no sooner than I reach the apex in the curve of self-assuredness, doubt sets in. It’s fleeting at first. And I swat the early doubts away like the weird thoughts that come to mind when you’re at a funeral. Or a wedding. Or anything that narcissistic. I don’t know about you, but I always start to think about what would not and should not happen while I’m there. It’s probably just me.

And I’m really starting to doubt this whole cattle rancher thing. It feels so distant now that I think about it. There’s so much to learn. And if my own preferred calving season doesn’t instantly come to mind, I doubt my heart is in it. Besides, the more I think about being a cattle rancher the less I’m yearning for the eye contact with my fellow coffee drinkers. I feel like they sense the defeat.

I need to do something that’s going to keep my heart in it. And that doesn’t need so much start up time. I need to be doing something by lunchtime. Well, after lunch, because I’m feeling a little jittery from the coffee. I need to eat something, put this rancher idea behind me and start with something more immediate.

But first I need to take a piss.