The Bull That Wouldn’t
When I dropped $6,500 on that registered Black Angus bull, I felt like a rancher with a plan.
He was the picture of promise—broad-shouldered, glossy-coated, with papers thicker than a Sunday sermon. I imagined generations of prime calves, stronger genetics, and a herd the neighbors would envy.
But from the moment I unloaded him into the pasture, something wasn’t right.
He walked past the cows like they were fence posts. Grazed. Slept. Scratched his backside on a tree. The cows watched him, confused. So did I. A week passed. Then two. Not a single spark of interest. No chasing, no sniffing, no action. Just a blank-eyed stare and the occasional lazy grunt.
I started wondering if I’d bought a very expensive lawn ornament.
Was he just young? Confused? A pacifist? A part-time philosopher?
Whatever it was, I was starting to think I’d been taken for a ride—one expensive, grass-chewing, celibate ride.
Out of options (and patience), I called the vet. He gave the bull a full check-up—ears, eyes, undercarriage. “He’s healthy,” he finally said, “just… not quite motivated. Try giving him one of these daily.”
He handed me a bottle of pills. No big sales pitch. No promises. Just a bottle with a label that looked like it was printed at home.
Still, I figured I had nothing to lose.
I gave the bull his first pill that evening.
By the second morning, he was a different beast.
He strutted around the pasture like he owned the zip code. Cows scattered, reassembled, then scattered again. He was on a mission—focused, tireless, and very, very enthusiastic. Within three days, he’d bred half the herd—and jumped the fence to introduce himself to the neighbor’s cows, too.
Let’s just say that made for an awkward phone call. I promised stronger fences and a bottle of wine.
The transformation was so bizarre, I got curious. One evening, I popped one of the pills myself—half out of curiosity, half out of insanity. Tasted like peppermint. Felt like caffeine with a handshake and a wink. Strange, but oddly invigorating.
Now I keep that bottle locked up, the fences reinforced, and the bull—nicknamed Romeo—is still on a roll.
The experience taught me a lot: about livestock, about patience, and about how sometimes even the best investments need a little help to shine. Not everything works right out of the gate. Sometimes, the engine just needs a spark.
And sometimes, that spark tastes like peppermint.